Joshua House, August 27, 2023, 13th Sunday after Pentecost
Good morning. For those who don’t know me, my name is Josh House, and I’ve been at Saint George’s for about 8 years. I’m also honored to say that I’m the most recent member of Saint George’s to be sponsored for ordination as a priest and to be sent to seminary.
We use that terminology quite intentionally. I’m not leaving Saint George’s. Saint George’s is sponsoring me, is sending me out. It is part of Saint George’s mission. Discerning my call to the priesthood has taken years, and it has taken much time, talent, and treasure from this congregation to help me discern and respond to that sense of call. I am incredibly grateful to this entire congregation for years of support in this process. Thank you.
But on a more bitter note: It’s customary for seminarians to leave their sending parish when attending seminary. I’ll have to visit other parishes and, eventually, spend years as a seminarian at another church. That means—as we were starkly told in our first week of seminary—I will no longer will have a home parish. So this is a goodbye of sorts. And I’m thankful that Shearon and Paddy invited me to preach today. Not only as the culmination of Saint George’s efforts in preparing me for postulancy and for seminary, but also as a goodbye to a church family that my family and I love so much.
I was hoping that today’s lessons would give us something about a sending off, or a response to a call, or something that would make my first sermon both very timely and—perhaps more importantly—easy for me to prepare.
And, in a sense, we did get a couple of those: First we have Moses’ origin story, where we are told of how Moses was saved by his mother and sister and is adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter. This story shows Moses destined for great things: He “was a fine baby,” and was brought up in Egypt’s royal household. The lesson even tells us that both his mother and his father were Levites, which is Israel’s special priestly caste. Only Levites were allowed to carry the ark of the covenant, and they would later provide music for services, administer the law, and run the temple. The point is: Moses had the pedigree to lead the nation. And of course, Moses goes on to receive a call directly from God and leads the Israelites out of Egypt.
We also have in our gospel reading Peter’s commissioning, where, after he declares that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah, Jesus gives him his new name. “You are Peter,” Jesus says—which means “Rock” in the Aramaic spoken back then. “And on this rock I will build my church.” And then by tradition Peter goes on to be a leader of this new Christian community and a founder of the church in Rome.
You’d understand why I’d be reticent to compare my own call to “destined for great things” Moses and “Rock of the Church” Peter. Giving it even a second’s thought is enough to send one into a whirlpool of status anxiety, performance anxiety, and imposter syndrome. Could any of us compare ourselves to a Moses or a Peter?
Well, it just so happens that our Epistle today, from Paul’s Letter to the Romans, has something to say about those sorts of comparisons.
But first, a story: Many of you here know our daughter Teagan, who will be turning three in just a couple months. She’s at this great age where she’s starting to play make-believe about all sorts of things. One of her favorite games is “restaurant,” where she pretends to be both the server and cook. She waits on Lauren and I, bringing pretend menus, taking our orders, the whole thing. When Teagan sets up the game, she’ll usually say something like this: “Let’s play restaurant. I’ll be the lady,” by which she means the server, “and you’ll be the persons.” If I were to ask if I can be something else, maybe a cook, bartender, or anything more exciting, she’ll respond with, “no you’re just a person.” She does the same thing when she pretends she’s a Disney princess: “I’ll be Elsa, Mommy is Anna, and you… you’re just a person,” by which I have to assume I’m one of the nameless extras trying to get in on the castle’s chocolate fondue.
What this shows is that, from a very early age, we adopt a sort of “great person” theory of history, which is: The events that matter are done by singularly great people, and unless you happen to be one of those people, you are “just a person,” a nameless extra on the movie reel of life. If this view of history is true, then of course you would have some amount of anxiety—some sense that if you did not try harder, compete better, win more often, then your life might not amount to much. And if that anxiety permeates your thoughts, notice how tempting it would be to measure your progress and your status against other people, against other Christians, against your fellow parishioners here at Saint George’s, or even against your family and friends.
Paul’s response to that sort of thinking is straightforward: Cut it out. That may be how the world organizes itself, how it categorizes us, but it’s not how the Kingdom of Heaven works. “Do not be conformed to this world.” Or as one commentary puts it, do not let the cultural “zeitgeist . . . set [your] agenda.”
Paul commands “not think of yourself more highly than you ought to think,” and why? Because “we have gifts that differ.” To be a whole body, he says, all the members are required. There are no nameless extras in the Kingdom of Heaven. To use a video game reference: There are no non-playable-characters in God’s kingdom. Everyone is real; everyone really matters.
Paul really cares about this issue. He makes an identical argument to the Corinthians, who also appear to have been struggling with status anxiety. And in 1 Corinthians 12 he expands on it: Not only do we have different gifts and play different but essential parts in God’s Kingdom, but he says in verses 24 and 25 that God has given greater honor to the inferior members of the body. And Ephesians 4 makes a similar point. Paul really wants us to get this: Worldly status has no purchase in God’s Kingdom.
During the COVID-19 pandemic we all became familiar with terms “frontline worker” or “essential worker.” These are people who need to be physically present to do their work, who cannot retreat to the safety of an air-conditioned and -filtered home during the outbreak of a novel respiratory virus. And they’re often people who perform roles critical to keeping us healthy, safe, or fed.
The term “frontline worker” immediately conjures images of hospital workers or first responders. But for many of us, the pandemic was a wake-up call to just how dependent we all are on even the most unassuming professions: waste collectors, bus drivers, meatpackers.
Throughout the pandemic I was inspired to see people taking notice of these workers and thanking them for the roles they play in our complex economy. How many times do we pass through a grocery store without looking at a single employee in the eyes—getting in, getting our items, using the self-checkout, and getting out—to say nothing of online shopping! But during the pandemic we celebrated those workers and others who had to turn up in person for society as we know it to continue functioning. New York City is even planning to build a memorial for its essential workers.
God’s Kingdom goes one step further: There is no division between essential and inessential workers; all workers are essential workers. In the church we need all sorts of spiritual gifts, and we should recognize and appreciate every gift used to serve God, each other, and the world. Again, in God’s kingdom, everyone and every gift is essential.
This is exactly the theology proclaimed by our prayer book. The Catechism says that all Christians are the ministers of the Church; not just bishops and priests and deacons, but lay persons too. Lay persons are mentioned first! “The ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world.”
I know there are some here today who sense a calling. Maybe it’s to a career, but maybe not. Maybe it’s to a certain role at church, or to a particular role in your family life, to play a role in our community.
But when you think about all the steps required to equip yourself for that role, you feel deflated. You start comparing yourselves to other people already serving in that capacity and you think, “I could never do what they are doing.” Maybe you’re already serving in a way that you originally felt called to, but you just can’t seem to enjoy it, because you’re not as good at it as someone else is or it doesn’t come as naturally to you. Or maybe you know what you are called to do, and you are confident you could do it well, but you’re embarrassed by it. It doesn’t pay well, it lacks prestige. You’re afraid that you would lose status if you pursued that calling.
To all of you Paul says, all workers are essential workers. Whatever your vocation is, we—all of us—need you to fulfill it. And if you don’t? Well, we get a clue about that in our Gospel reading. Jesus calls Peter “Son of Jonah,” and the book of Jonah is a prime example of someone running from their call. Spoiler: It doesn’t go well, not for those stuck with Jonah on the ship and not for Jonah himself.
Like Peter’s affirmation of Jesus as the Messiah, we must both discern and affirm our calls. And our membership in the body of Christ frees us to do so. It frees us from status anxiety, from worrying about prestige or honor in the eyes of the world.
Why? Because, Paul says, Christ’s death and resurrection, by inaugurating God’s Kingdom, has changed things. In God’s Kingdom, which is breaking into the world through the work of the Holy Spirit, your work is just as essential as me standing here preaching this morning, or as Shearon or Paddy in their work as clergy, or as the work of the President of the United States. You don’t have to be a Moses or a Peter. The world needs you simply to discern and fulfill your own vocation, whatever that may be.
When we feel tempted to compare our gifts or our callings to our neighbors, our colleagues, or strangers on the Internet, we must remember that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” and his Kingdom plays by different rules. Paul says: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God.”
Amen.