Asking to be at Jesus' right hand

 Sermon for 10/17/2021 delivered at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Louisville, KY.
Text: Mark 10:35-45

I have been at St. Paul’s now since 1998, 23 years this past Palm Sunday. That’s a long time, yet many of you don’t know my story, my walk along the path that has led me to where I am called by the Church, by you, to serve as a Deacon. Part of my story is echoed in the Gospel reading this morning, where James and John ask Jesus to grant them a place of honor and authority by sitting on his right and left. Being on the right side of someone with power and authority is a place of privilege, immediately at their dominant hand, ready to give to them whatever they need or to receive something for us to act on. We recite every Sunday the Nicene Creed, where we are reminded that Jesus ascended to heaven and sits at the right hand of God. To be on the right side of someone is to be in a position of being depended on, or being necessary to carry out that person’s wishes. It is the origin of the phrase that identifies you as someone’s right-hand man, or woman, or person. All of that said, I am very left-handed, and that has an unexpected benefit of my left hand being next to their dominant hand as I stand to their right, making it a natural position for me to be in. I will be at the right hand of Father Andrew during the Eucharistic prayers where a  Deacon would stand. I have been invited to be in that position for reasons that were not clear to me when I first began my journey, reasons that Jesus mentions in the reading.

My story started in early 1989, 32 years ago, when I approached the Rector of Trinity Church in Bloomington, Indiana about a calling to the Priesthood that I felt. Two years later, I was informed that my parish committee had not recommended me to move forward in the process and go on to Seminary. I was crushed and didn’t know where to go next, and that was my first clue as to why I wasn’t chosen to go forward; I was so sure that I was being called that I didn’t have a Plan B. I had an attitude that was similar to the attitudes that James and John likely had, where they knew what they wanted to do, and how to get there. Sure, they would help people along the way, but to serve someone else was not a big part of their plan. Like them, I had more important priorities; I wanted to be someone that people noticed and sought out. At the time, I didn’t realize that my committee’s decision was in effect Jesus saying to me “You do not know what you are asking."

The second clue why I wasn’t chosen to go to Seminary came years later when I realized two things: that I was looking for a job, and that I was calling myself to ordained ministry. Like James and John, I was asking to sit at the right hand of Jesus as a Priest, to be depended on to tend to his flock and needed to carry out his ministry to the world. But, I couldn’t answer the question that Jesus had posed to James and John, if I could drink from the cup he had drunk from, or be baptised as he had been baptised. I couldn’t, because I had it backwards. James and John assume that they will gain power and authority by asking to sit with Jesus or God, where they will go through the motions of ministry, but not accomplishing what God wants. But that’s not how it works, Jesus says, because granting that request is for those who are prepared, not for those who desire the position. My pursuit of the Priesthood was a vain request for something beyond my knowledge and ability at that time, something that I was spiritually unprepared for. So I did what any reasonable person would do and went back to school to start a career in medical science.

In the years after I started that career, I moved back to Louisville and joined St. Paul’s. A funny thing happened after that, where I became less focused on a ministry and started paying attention to the baptismal vows that I renewed at every baptism in the parish.  After each vow was asked, I responded with “I will, with God’s help.” With God’s help. Slowly, I began to understand and accept that there were things that I couldn’t do on my own. I needed God’s help to know what to do, how to do it, and who to pay attention to. The attitude of “I can” sit at the right hand of Jesus gave way to a more humble response of commitment and reliance on God to guide me. “I will, with God’s help.” It was a declaration of humility instead of a declaration of confidence, and it was the beginning of recognizing that if I really wanted to pursue an ordained ministry, I would be walking into an unpredictable life. As time went on and my life became intertwined with the life of this parish, I experienced a call again from God, asking me once more if I could drink from the same cup Jesus drank from. But this time, I responded with a request that God prepare me for what God was calling me to do. I had found where to start building a humble faith in God’s call.
I am not perfect in that humility, and it gets the better of me at times. As I went through EfM, the Diocesan School of Ministry, an internship, clinical pastoral education, and several meetings with the Commission on Ministry, I learned that greatness does not come from standing to the right of Father Andrew at the altar. It does not come from wearing a cassock, a silver cross, and a surplice. It comes from admitting where my life does not follow Jesus’ teachings. It comes from sitting with the grieving family of the dying and the dead. It comes from putting the needs of others, your needs, before my wants, and serving those needs in humility. It comes from not asking to sit at the right hand of Jesus because I want the power and authority, but being invited because I have been prepared. If I say, like James and John did, that I am able to drink from the cup and be baptised, it is because I have already done so, made all the mistakes that it’s possible to make, and learned what it truly means to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

As I reviewed and revised this sermon, I realized that it is a spiritual autobiography of sorts, similar to the autobiographies written at the beginning of every year of EfM classes. I am sure that my story is like many other stories in the past and like stories to come, the only difference being in the details. It is a story of self-election in naive self-confidence to be the greatest that is replaced by preparation for an invitation to love others unconditionally in humility. This invitation to selflessly love others was Jesus’ message to James and John, and to the disciples upset with them for daring to ask to sit in a place of privilege. It is an invitation to us as well to prepare ourselves to serve others when we stand at the right hand of Jesus. What we think of ministry as a high-profile place of honor that confers authority is really an invitation to experience the selflessness that Jesus embodied. The difference is desire versus preparation, and if we open ourselves to the idea of preparation, we will serve God and the world because we are able and not because we will be visible.

The invitation to ministry is not limited to people in the church who have been ordained, but is extended to everyone, when they begin their preparation saying “I will, with God’s help.” That is the basis of the ministry of Bishops, Priests, Deacons, and most importantly the congregation, the largest body of ministers in the Church. It is also the basis for our ministry together, as the Body of Christ at St. Paul's. Jesus' call to ministry is a call to prepare us as a parish to be the presence of Jesus in the community. The call is also to us individually to be the least, to be the last, and by doing so to become the first, and the greatest to respond to the world’s needs.