“The Journey”

Sermon Preached By The Rev. Jeff Seaton
June 3, 2007

Genesis 12:1-9;  Mark 8:34-38;  Romans 5:1-5

            As part of the preparations for ordination last weekend, the church invited the new ministers to a half-day retreat on Saturday.  It was a time of prayer and singing, and a period of silent meditation.  For the meditation time, we were asked to reflect on our journey towards ministry, using a line from the book of Deuteronomy:  “Remember the long way the Lord your God has brought you...” 

This sermon is based on a similar process of reflection.  As I prepare to leave this community, and take up my responsibilities as Minister at Kimberley United Church, I wanted to share with you some highlights of my journey in this community.  In a way, this sermon is a form of testimony, of sharing with you how God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit have been active in my life as I have journeyed toward ordained ministry.  And while testimony comes out of a particular person’s story, in this case mine, its purpose is to point beyond the particular set of circumstances to something that is available to all of us. 

Recently, during coffee time in the Great Hall, I was reflecting on the personal transformation I have undergone over the past few years.  The person I was talking with said, “Yes – I’ve really noticed how you’ve changed.  And I think, ‘Well, if you can do it, so can I!’”  That is the purpose of testimony.  The telling of one’s own story is meant to show others something about their own story.  That is my hope for today’s sermon. 

In essence, my story has three parts – there’s that Trinity theme again – a call; a response to the call; and the process of transformation that followed my response to the call.  You may have noticed that the three readings I chose for today follow that pattern:  first, there is God’s call to Abraham; second, there’s Jesus’ word to the disciples about the nature of the response to the call; and finally, there is Paul’s word to the church about the way our lives are transformed by the Spirit when we respond to God’s call.

Let’s begin with God’s call to Abraham:  God says, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.”  This call, to leave one’s place and one’s people, resonates particularly strongly with me now, as I stand on the threshold of a move away from this place and this people, and to a place and a people that I do not know.  But not all of us are called to literally pull up stakes and move to a new place.  Often the moves we are called to make are on another level.  We may be called to make a move to new spiritual territory, or new emotional, intellectual, or psychological territory. 

The other day, Susan reminded me that it was five years ago that I first sat down with her to do a spiritual gifts inventory.  Those were the early days of my discerning a call into ordained ministry.  I remember that, at that time, I sat in the pew each Sunday, watching Bruce, particularly in this pulpit, and thinking, “I think that’s where I want to be!”  I mentioned it to Don, who kind of smiled and nodded.  I found out later that Don had kept his real thoughts and feelings to himself.  A long time later, probably when I was well into my theological training, and had grown more comfortable over here, Don confessed:  “When you first told me about this, I thought, ‘I don’t see how you can do it.  You hate public speaking.’” 

That was true then.  And yet in my mind, and heart, I could see myself up here.  I needed to make a journey; I needed to move!  And, by the grace of God, I have moved – I am standing here now.  I’ll say something about the how of that a little later.  That was how I experienced God’s call – like Abraham, I was called to leave the familiar and make my way into unexplored territory, and into new relationships with people.

That’s step one:  God’s call.  Step two is outlined by Jesus in the passage from Mark:  “those who want to save their live will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”  Again, this can be read literally – there are extreme circumstances in which people are called to risk their lives in the service of peace and justice.  But, more often, this giving up of our lives occurs on those other levels:  spiritual, emotional, intellectual, or psychological.

 Those of you who have participated in the Heart of Christianity book study might remember that, in this passage, Jesus is describing the Way, the path, that lies at the heart of Christian spirituality.  Marcus Borg describes it as a way of dying and rising, of dying to the old, and being born again.  In my own situation, I have reflected on this pathway as I have grown accustomed to the United Church practice of Settlement.  Settlement is a process by which the United Church sends newly ordained ministers out to their first posting in ministry.  In my case, I am being settled in Kimberley. 

This practice of settlement goes against the grain of a culture that values freedom of choice most highly.  In North American culture particularly, there is a sense in which individual freedom of choice is the highest value.  We want to be free to choose every aspect of our lives, from where we live, to what we do, to what we eat and what we drive.  For the most part, this freedom is a good thing.  But is there a point at which so much choice becomes too much?

A number of years ago, I purchased a new type of cell phone.  It came in one colour – silver – and I loved it.  I thought it was the greatest device ever.  Then, a couple of years later, the maker came out with a new and improved version of the phone.  This time, it came in four colours.  I was smitten; I had to have it.  I think I spent about six weeks trying to decide what colour to buy!  Now, granted, I’m sure that most of you are not as unusual as I am when it comes to making such minor choices; but the point I am trying to make is that having so much choice can sometimes be debilitating.  We can feel overwhelmed about whether or not we are making the right choice, especially in a culture that provides us with so many options. 

What I have been experiencing over the past few months has been a process of dying to freedom of choice.  If it was totally my choice, I wouldn’t be moving out of my home; I love my home.  And if it was totally my choice, I wouldn’t be leaving this community; I love this community.  Why would I want to leave?  But what I’ve learned from this Settlement process, from seeing Settlement as a spiritual practice of dying and rising, is that letting go of some of my freedom of choice, has opened me up to experience all kinds of other gifts.

I’ve been able to experience a whole other level of living, what I experience as a deeper level.  On one level, on the level of my feelings, there are feelings of sadness and loss and some anxiety about what the future may bring.  But below that, there is a calm, a sense that this really is the right thing for Don and I to be doing now.  There is a level of confidence that comes from recognising that things are in God’s hands.  I’m freed up from worrying about whether or not I made the right choice, and freed up to look for the blessings that come with choosing to turn this decision over to God.

This brings me to the third stage in the process, and the third reading, from Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Paul lays out a description of the stages of transformation available to us when we hear God’s call, and set out on the Way.  The series of stages that Paul describes – from  challenges to patience to experience to hope – reminds me of an image I have shared with some of you before.  It is an image that comes from a pilgrimage to Ireland that Don and I made two years ago (a pilgrimage that Jocelyn has also made). 

The image is of a mist-shrouded mountain in the Dingle peninsula.  Our assignment on that day of the pilgrimage was to hike up to a ridge on the slopes of this mountain, and then down the other side.  As we ascended the slopes, the ground beneath our feet became soggier, and the mist got thicker, so that we could not see more than a few feet ahead.  Our way was marked by a series of posts that would slowly emerge from the mist as we approached them.

Each post had a bright yellow pictogram of a pilgrim, and underneath, a bold yellow arrow pointing out the way ahead.  In that thick fog, we had no choice but to follow that arrow, and to trust that it would lead us to the next post, and the next stage of the journey.  Eventually, the next post emerged, and the next, and the next, until we found our way down the other side of the ridge, and into the village at the base of the mountain.

On that trip we learned that you don’t always need a map of the road ahead in order to live well.  You don’t need to know where you are going.  That was a big thing for me to learn, since I always like to know everything that going’s to happen, to plan every detail.  That trip taught us that it is enough to trust that God knows the road ahead.  God knows the road ahead.  And our job is to trust, to relax into the journey God has planned for us. 

A common image of pilgrimage in Ireland is the bantry boat – a local fishing boat – carrying St. Brendan and his group of monks.  This image speaks to the other thing necessary for pilgrimage, for journeying along the Way, and that is good travelling companions.  Don and I have been so extraordinarily blessed to have had all of you as travelling companions this past seven years.  We are deeply, deeply grateful for your love and friendship.

In the beginning, it is God who calls each of us.  And indeed, along the Way we are called to travel, we may be called to loosen our grip on the things that we think we need in our lives.  As we learn to do so, as we learn to trust in God, we are given the gifts that each of us needs to become the people God created us to be. 

A final image of pilgrimage that I want to share with you is that of the circle.  There is a sense in which pilgrimage is a circular journey that always brings us safely home.  When we were in Ireland we travelled in a circular movement; St. Brendan and his monks, after travelling through a series of islands, found themselves back in the land where their journey began.  And so we can trust that whatever journey God calls us out on, whatever the distance, whatever the uncertainties, we too will find ourselves back where our journey began:  safe, loved, and held in the very heart of God.  Amen.