Who Needs To Know?

My Sundays are frequently studies in contrast and today was no exception.  Three churches, all in Bosqueville, and each as different from the others as different can be. I preached this morning from 1 Corinthians 2:6-13 for Bosqueville United Methodist Church, sharing an inspirational (in my opinion) introduction to the life, ministry, and global impact of John and Charles Wesley. This afternoon, I preached a sermon entitled "Tight Rope" from Proverbs 22:6 at the baccalaureate service of Bosqueville High School.  An admittedly odd text for such an occasion, the message was aimed at encouraging parents of soon-to-be graduates to function as a safety net while their budding adult children walk the high wire above them. I call this "encouraging safe independence."  This evening, I spoke to the small church called Crossings, which meets in the recording studio of Dick and Marilyn Gimble, preaching from the final portion of the last chapter in the book of Ecclesiastes, encouraging each of us to find intimacy in light of God's majesty.

As the curtain falls on such a varied day of ministry, I cannot help but reflect on what I anticipated God's calling to be when I set out on this ministerial journey some thirty eight years ago. It seemed so well defined back then, and had someone told me what Christian service would look like these many years later, I would likely have laughed or cried or possibly, run in the opposite direction. What I've learned over these years is that God's call is really a sphere of influence, rather than a target to be struck with a homiletical arrow, or a clerical act to be performed according to some predetermined script. A divine call is a living, breathing thing, as dynamic as the One who issues the summons. As a young pastor, I thought that, and at times acted like  such a call was an honor earned by devotion and deserved by ecclesiastical potential. As a slightly older missionary, I served with the silent conviction that cross-cultural sacrifice was the badge of highest courage. When life changed radically due to some circumstances out of my control and others of my own choosing, I developed a ministerial chip on my shoulder that dared anyone to question my standing and usefulness in the kingdom. These many years later, out of experience and, at times, necessity, I embrace grace in each moment, and wonder at God's willingness to use me at all.  If given the chance to retrace steps, remove the pain, erase the scars, and retrieve my earlier innocent arrogance, I would refuse without hesitation. Who can know the Father's plans, but who needs to know them?  All that remains is to accept, to believe, to submit, and to love. Nothing, it seems, better prepares a heart for resurrection, than a soiled towel and a bloody cross. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that called a wretch like me.