Flashback

An entry written yesterday, but held back...and now reconsidered:

One year ago today (August 20), I received a "Rev." in front of my name and was given a call to go out and serve God and God's people with "energy, intelligence, imagination, and love." And as I turned around and faced the congregation, I was dumb struck. With a sea of family and friends in front of me, I was almost paralyzed by the realization that God had used so many people to bring me down that road to ordination...the people who had formed me, taught me, loved me, and made me who I am. And I was paralyzed, too, with the realization of that call in front of me...that I was to be a pastor.

Has it been one year already?

Some days it feels shorter...like the blink of an eye. When it feels like a miracle that all those sermon have somehow managed to come out of me. When I can feel and see myself growing, learning, and giving more up. Days when I thank God for my seminary and for all those people who taught me so much along the way. Days when I feel called, part of family and a tradition, days when I know that this is who I am made to be.

Some days it feels longer. And sometimes, it's a whole week that feels that way. This past week, neck-deep in church decor squabbles, lack of volunteers, a sermon that just won't work, IRS junk, and a whole list of things that need to get done...it feels like work. Like I'm fooling myself. Like the energy, imagination, intelligence and love aren't limitless. There are days when the self-pity kicks in and I feel alone, overworked, and useless. In other words, the last thing I feel is called.

I heard news Sunday of a long time friend of the family, a doctor who was one of my mother's first co-workers, delivered me and my siblings, sang next to me in the church choir for years, continued to write me every week, and was, in general a wonderful mentor and friend. Julie and I made sure to stop and see Doc and his wife every time we were home...to catch up and re-connect. We had a running joke. Nearly every time I would see him growing up, he would try to convince me to go into medicine, usually with something to the effect of: "You need to stop playing around and join the best profession." After my decision to go to seminary, he made that joke less...but we'd still throw it around once and a while.

Sunday I learned that Doc had decided to stop dialysis for his failed kidneys. He had made the decision earlier in the week, so by the time Sunday rolled around, they were worried that his consciousness/faculties would be slipping. If I wanted to talk to him, I needed to do so as soon as possible.

I hesitantly dialed the phone...and, sure enough, got him in the hospital room and he was still aware of what was going on. He asked how church was going, how many we had on Sunday, and how Julie was doing. I asked him if his family was there, if he was in any pain, how long he had been at the hospital. You know, "small talk" when you know you're talking to somebody for the last time. There was a long pause, and then the following exchange:

Me: "Doc, I just want you to know that we love you and are praying for you."
Doc: "Thank you. I want you to know that I'm proud of the work you're doing."
Me: "Well, I'm doing my best for the second-best profession...thanks."
Doc: "No. You are doing what you should be doing...and your'e doing a magnificent job. God is using you. You are doing what you were made to do."

We said good-bye, and that was all.

And so it happened that the Sunday exactly one year after my ordination at nearly the exact time that I stood before friends and family and gave the benediction one year ago...God reached down again. And again, it was through the self-giving love of those who have ministered to me. And again I am paralyzed...that even in the midst of pain and grief, God decided that I was somehow deserving, reached down...

And saw fit to ordain my call once again.