Sermon for the 4th Sunday of Easter

Just about two years ago I found myself in serious need of discernment. I like to think that over the past 5 years of being in a diocesan discernment process I have gotten pretty good at discernment, but at this particular point in time two years ago I found that I had much more to learn. I had been called by two very different churches to spend the next two years in two very different roles as a seminarian. The first church was a huge conservative church in northern Virginia that was looking for a seminarian to help their internal church planter setup a separate worship space. This was really appealing to me as I came off a year where, in reaction to an Episcopal world that I didn’t know, I had become increasingly knee-jerk conservative and being an closet introvert in a parish of thirty-five hundred people it would be easy to get lost until the new plant took shape. The other was St. James’, where I would fill the role of the everyday seminarian; teaching a class here and there, preaching every month or so, and working with a rector who had a vision for the future of the parish. St. James’ was attractive because it was a parish with a history of theological breadth, charismatic worship, good preaching, and had in many ways dealt with the intense pain surrounding the current issues in the church. In consultation with my bishop, it was clear that he would not be happy if I chose to do Field Education at the conservative mega-church, but when I got a call from both parishes that morning things got interesting.

My initial reaction was to go to the large northern Virginia parish; Cassie and I had been worshipping there throughout our first year here and I really wanted to learn how to plant churches. So, at about 9am I called the bishop and left a message for him to call me back. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. In the midst of waiting I struggled, and thought, and prayed. At some point during the day I came to a realization, I heard the voice of the Lord say to me, “Come off it. Learning how to plant churches is a great thing, but you aren’t that great. You need to learn how to preach, how to teach, and how to be a clergy person before you start learning other stuff.” By the time the Bishop called at three my mind had been changed, and our conversation was very short and very cordial, and I ended up at St. James’.

Looking back now I can say that I’m glad to have heard the voice of God on that day. As you have learned I did need to learn how to preach. As some of you have seen, I had lots of room to grow in my role as teacher. You, the community here at St. James’ have helped me grow into the role I will enter on June 9^th, that of an ordained member of the clergy.

I tell this story for two reasons. First, I tell this story as a way of officially saying “thank you” to each of you for the role you’ve taken in my formation over the last two years. I am grateful to God for speaking to me on Field Ed call day. I am thankful for being called to St. James’ where I have learned much about preaching, teaching, and ministering. My second reason for this story is in response to today’s gospel lesson. So often in contemporary society we minimize the miraculous works of God in Creation, Jesus in his life, and the Holy Spirit in our lives. When Jesus tells us that his sheep hear his voice we like to look at it metaphorically. We find it easy to say that we hear Jesus’ voice in the canon of Scripture; in his call to love God and love neighbor. But I want to make the claim that Jesus still speaks to us today; it is still possible that we, his sheep, can hear his voice speaking loud and clear in our prayers and in the voice of others in addition to the written word of the Bible.

I feel comfortable making this claim, that Jesus still speaks to us based on our Easter Season liturgy. At the beginning of this service we made a bold claim. The celebrant begins, “Alleluia, Christ is risen.” And we respond, “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.” I’m not one for getting nitty gritty about language, but there is something to be noted here. We don’t claim that Christ was risen and now isn’t, but that Jesus Christ, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, is risen. He rose from the dead as a living, breathing, eating man on that first Easter Sunday. He ascended into heaven 50 days later. He did not die again. He is sitting at the right hand of God the Father today as the same living, breathing, eating man he was on the day of his resurrection. Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. If Jesus is risen, then it can be assumed that Jesus is still at work. Jesus still speaks to his sheep, and we are still called to listen for his voice and to follow his word which leads to eternal life.

Of course, we have to be careful. Discernment is always a tricky thing. Is the voice I’m hearing my own, is it the voice of Jesus, or is it one of the other voices that float around; our culture, our shadow, or our neuroses? Even more so, we must be prudent in our claiming this voice as that of Jesus outside of the context of prayer.

Before I could come to seminary I had to pass an extensive psychological evaluation. A Myers-Briggs Personality Profile, a Rorschach Ink-Blot Test, the Minnesota Mutiphasic Personality Inventory, and two hours worth of awkward conversation later, Dr. Perry Hazeltine was given the task of determining if I was sane or insane enough for ordained ministry. One question that I really struggled with during the seemingly endless round of computer examinations came as part of the Minnesota Mutliphasic Personality Inventory or MMPI. The goal of the MMPI is to help identify personal, social, and behavioral problems in psychiatric patients. One of the criteria the MMPI uses to identify possible psychiatric problems is whether or not one hears voices. This question placed me into quite the pickle. Just two years earlier I was minding my own business in a breakout session for Christian college students when we were asked, “are you studying business to further God’s Kingdom in some way or to get money and buy stuff?” And then I heard it. I heard a voice. It was a voice that said, “you are studying business to hide from what God has called you to do.” I received my call to ordained ministry through this voice, a voice which, as I sat in front of the MMPI was now a serious issue. Do I admit to hearing a voice and risk being diagnosed as a schizophrenic or do I lie about “hearing voices” in the midst of an ordination process?

As Christians who strive to hear the voice of Jesus in our lives we make a claim that is very strange to the rest of the world. Even more, the media; Christian and secular, has not helped our cause when they make Christians look like lunatics saying, “Jesus told me that my ministry should have two jets.” Or, “Jesus told me not to take my son to the doctor.” The key isn’t just hearing the voice of Jesus, but being a sheep, the key is to know him as our shepherd. It is knowing him and hearing him that allows for discernment. Is Jesus calling you to leave your wife and family to be a missionary in Mongolia, no I don’t think so. Is Jesus calling you to kill you neighbor, of course not. Is Jesus calling you to share in his ministry here at St. James’ by utilizing those things which excite me for the glory of God, yes, yes, one-thousand times yes!

Jesus is risen. He is alive and well at the right hand of the Father. He speaks to us in prayer and discernment even to this day. We, his sheep, are called to know him and hear him by faith. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.