
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said:
‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
the whole earth is full of his glory.’
The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. And I said: ‘Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!’
Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’ Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’
-Isaiah 6:1-8
In the calendar of the church year, today marks the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist. It’s a day with particular resonance for me because it was on this day in 1999 that I was ordained priest at St Michael’s Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas. The preacher that night was my great mentor and friend, Hill Riddle, Rector of Trinity. Hill and Trinity had sent my family and me to seminary in Austin in 1995 and St Michael’s was my first posting following graduation. So I was certainly new to this work and had a great deal of trepidation about whether I was up to the task. Which is to say, I was pretty sure I was unworthy.
Ordination sermons often focus on vocation and Hill’s was no exception. The Latin root word for vocation is “vocare” which means “to call,” and as I listened to Hill preach, I found myself thinking about a novel I had just read called Evensong by Gail Godwin. The protagonist is a young woman, Margaret, who is in seminary in New York preparing for ordination as an Episcopal priest. She is in the midst of an internship as a chaplain in a busy hospital in Greenwich Village where, almost hourly, she finds herself ministering to victims of domestic abuse and violent crime, addicts, the sick, the dying, the lonely, the desperate. Overwhelmed, doubting whether she is up to this work, doubting whether she has anything to offer suffering people, which is to say, she was pretty sure she was unworthy, she turns to Adrian, a crusty older priest, for help. Telling Adrian she doubts that this ministry is her calling, she wonders what her vocation might be. “I can’t tell you what your vocation is”, he replies, “only you can know that. What I do know is that your vocation is whatever you do that makes more of you.” Margaret goes on to live into the call to ordained ministry and the rest of this beautiful novel tells the story of her eventual marriage to Adrian and the challenges of ministry in a small rural parish. Yet, in spite of those challenges and in the face of lots of suffering and considerable doubt, it turns out that indeed Margaret’s vocation has made more of her.
Now, as Hill’s sermon continued, he made the point in a lot of different ways that the call to ministry, just like young Isaiah’s call to be a prophet, had nothing to do with worthiness. The fact of the matter is that we are ALL unworthy! If God called only the worthy, “the pickins would be mighty slim”, as we say in my home state of West Virginia. When the seraph touched the burning coal to Isaiah’s lips, his eyes were opened to his true self, to the fullness of his heart and soul. He was able to hear the divine voice calling to his true self, and so he could say in spite of his unworthiness, “Here am I Lord, send me.” In that moment, I recognized that despite my own unworthiness, the work of ordained ministry was work that would “make more of me.” So I answered the call on that night of the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist. And I’ve for sure had all sorts of missteps and misgivings and failures along the way. But I’ve never doubted that this work I’m doing is work “that makes more of me.”
What about you? Are you doing work that makes more of you? Work that calls out your true self? Work that makes your heart sing? If not, how might you begin to come to discern that kind of work? And by “work”, I don’t necessarily mean a job. It’s whatever we do when we get up in the morning. So beginning the day with time for prayer and reflection is a good start. Because you know what? Your heart will know before your head does what it is that makes the heart to sing. Try it tomorrow. See what it is that is making more of you.
Musical Reflection - David McKinley Williams "In the year King Uzziah died" Clayton College Choir
Christ Jesus, transform my "woe is me" to SEND ME with the fire of your Holy Spirit. Amen.
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