"Unfinished Business"
The joys and sorrows of Christian ministry
Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Text: Philippians 1:12-26
I have often wondered why and how frequently the passions of youth subside into cynicism as we get a little bit older. I have often wondered why the lofty ideals and great and grand thoughts of the young are sometimes submerged by the exigencies of time: The sharpness and crispness of values and passions and ideas become rounder and softer and less “edgier,” the older we get. It seems to be one of the manifestations of maturing. We try to cover this up by saying that with age comes wisdom, as if that comforts us. However, there is no doubt about it, for many of us, the older we get and the more experiences we have, the less youthful passion we have.
Today I have been asked to reflect on 25 years of preaching the Gospels. It has been 25 years, although I have only been ordained 21, because 25 years ago this past spring, in 1980, I began preaching in a small, black, rural church outside of Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape in South Africa. Months later, through no fault of my own, I was forced to leave the country and come to Canada, and took up the position of trained lay supply in a pastoral church in Picton County, in Nova Scotia. From that moment on, for the last 25 years, unbroken, I have been privileged to preach the Gospel on Sunday morning in churches across this and other lands.
I ask myself today: Do I still have the same passion for the Gospel that I had 25 years ago? Have I become softer? Have I had my edges rounded? Is my passion any less because of the vicissitudes of experience? Oh, I know a few things: I have become a bit heavier. I have definitely become balder. And I would like to think, once in a while, that I have become just a little bit wiser. But other than that, I ask myself, do I still have the same passion? Is what was in me 25 years ago still in me, or have I lost the great desire that I once had?
Now, I ask this because it is important and, not only to me, because this sermon isn't about me, really. This sermon is about the Christian life; what keeps it passionate and inflamed; what causes it to find joy; what gives it its passion. The only way that I think I can gauge myself, let alone anyone else, is by looking through the lens of a seminal text preached the day I received my call into the ministry, just over 25 years ago.
The text on that particular night was from Philippians, Chapter 1 and 2, and I will tell you about that preaching in a little while. As I heard the sermon and the text, I was overcome with a sense of joy, with a sense that this had been written and was being spoken, not just to the world, but to me, personally. The words are clear;, as Paul says, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” When Paul wrote these words to the Philippians, he was imprisoned in Rome. He had somehow offended Roman sensibility. He along with his friend, Silas, had challenged Roman customs. He was not accepted in the society in which he lived, and he was rejected for proclaiming the Gospel, particularly to those in the military. Word was out that Paul was seditious, and that the Gospel of this Jewish Messiah was dangerous. So, after having undertaken what would be his last missionary journey, during which he created congregations in places like Corinth and Philippi, Paul now found himself in prison. And yet, his passion for Christ and his love for the congregations he had helped establish on his first missionary journey had in no way subsided just because he was in prison.
On the contrary, if anything, his passion for Christ and his love for the congregation in Philippi was even greater, for of all the congregations Paul established on his missionary journeys, it was the Philippians who cared for him when he was in prison. They even offered to send a friend called Epaphroditus to minister to him and help and strengthen him. He was supported by knowing that the people back in Philippi were lifting him up on the wings of prayer. He felt courage and joy when he thought about them every single day in prison, and was frustrated that he couldn't get to see them. In his heart, though, he wondered if he would lose his courage once he was released. He wondered if he would have the power to speak, and if he could finish what he had previously started. So, he said to them honestly, “I hope, I pray, that I don't lose my passion, that I don't lose my commitment.”
The great South American preacher and martyr Oscar Romero once said that freedom of speech is the badge and the privilege of being a servant of Christ. In other words, to have the commitment and the freedom, no matter what, to speak of Christ, is the most important thing of all. Paul believed. I ask myself, “Do I have that same freedom?” And I ask you whether you have that passion in your own lives, for the Church is, in fact, the body of Christ, and the call to be a minister is not given just to the ordained, but also to the whole body of Christ.
When we baptized these delightful, darling children this morning, we brought them into the body of Christ, into the Church. We believe, we hope and we pray that they will have a passion for God and Christ as they grow up, and that their parents and their grandparents and their families and the whole of the Christian community may share in that joy. Therefore, I don't only ask myself, “Is the passion still alive?” I ask myself, “How can we find it and reclaim it?”
First of all, I always remember the circumstances of my call. I go back to that stormy night in Cape Town, when the spring winds were blowing the ocean over the city. It was dark, and the Christian community had all gathered in St. George's Cathedral that Sunday night to pray for our nation. In 1979, South Africa was under a state of emergency. The country was riddled with violence, just like France is now. There were curfews at night; young people were causing violence; the military was clamping down; the church newspaper was banned. So too, was the newspaper at the University of Cape Town, where I attended, banned, and students arrested. The country was facing a dark night of the soul, and so we gathered in the cathedral in Cape Town, in the Cathedral of St. George the Martyr, which Desmond Tutu later called “The People's Cathedral.”
As we worshipped, there was a prayer and a sermon, led by wonderful Anglican preacher called Colin Urquhart, who had flown all the way from England to give us a word of inspiration. His word was from Philippians. He said that we must have the same passion as Paul, to say, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die gain.” To say that we have the same love that Paul had for the Philippians, we must have that love for one another and for our nation; we must have such passion that even when we are in prison, even when everything seems dark and difficult, we know that it is Christ and Christ alone who can sustain us.
At the end of the sermon, he said something remarkable: “When this is over, I want five people whom the Lord has called into ministry to come forward and to meet me on the church steps.” At the end of the service, I thought that I might go forward and see if anyone else came along. I went to the front and stood next to Colin Urquhart, and four other people stood with me. Urquhart said, “Tonight, you are being called in ministry to serve Christ.” I was conflicted, terribly conflicted. I was studying law. I wanted to be a lawyer, but this man wanted me to serve Christ for the rest of my life. What was the Lord doing? My mother was upset; she wanted me to be a lawyer. My grandmother wanted me to be a lawyer. My bank manager wanted me to be a lawyer. Everyone wanted me to be a lawyer, except this minister from England, who said that the five of us were called.
I went home, and I tossed and I turned. I loved the Justinian legal code. I really loved torts: good, solid law. I loved jurisprudence. However, all I could hear in my mind was: “You are going to be an advocate for me.” The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was to be an advocate for Christ, and that meant that I would represent the wishes of my client. Also, if I was going to be an advocate for Christ, it would be his direction and his direction alone that I could follow: not popularity; not the whims of the day; not good and lofty ideals; but a passionate desire to represent him. So, my friends, every single one of us is called to do exactly that, to represent Christ in the world, to have him as the one who leads us. I know it doesn't look very impressive on a resumé: “Advocate for Jesus Christ,” I mean, what job can you get by being an “Advocate for Jesus Christ,” except to be in the church?
I was once given some wise advice when I went for an interview for a call. These are some things you probably shouldn't put in your resumé if you want a job as a minister:
• I believe that empathy is over-rated;
• that I have faithfully served in five churches over the past two years;
• I am willing to sacrifice my family for the sake of a ministry (as I am also willing to sacrifice yours);
• I have learned to cope with financial crises in every church that I have served;
• (this will be comforting for the Strathcona group) my extensive counselling of church members has proved a rich source of sermon illustrations; and
• I have been told that every sermon I preach is better than the next!
It takes a while, doesn't it? An “advocate for Christ,” what a thing to put on a resumé! Yet, it is a lonely thing, really. It is lonely. Paul said, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Every one of us, whatever we do, whatever ministry we embark upon, whether we teach Bethel, or lead labyrinth, or help in the food bank, or build houses in Christ's name, whatever we do, we do as “advocates for Christ.” We need to remember our call.
Finally, we also need to remember our constituency. Our constituency is the church, and Paul, in Greek, said literally: “I will walk beside you as you walk along the road.” The Christian ministry is walking beside one another as we walk along the road. Sometimes it is a joyful and a good thing to walk beside someone. It is a good thing to walk beside you as we build this magnificent atrium and elevator, and we can celebrate that, when we are done, and raise our hands in joy as light pours into the building and people who are challenged physically can get where they need to go.
It was joyful, I found, to bless the fleet in Picton County in Nova Scotia as the fishers go out on the Northumberland Strait or the North Atlantic - that was great fun! It is glorious and wonderful to celebrate when people get new jobs or when they are successful in their careers. It was tremendous when those fishers brought back one-tenth of their lobsters and gave them to the minister. It is wonderful to walk beside people when they do that. It was wonderful to help my last church in Ottawa build a home for seniors next door, and I see members of that church here this morning. It was wonderful to do that! And it is joyful to baptize babies and to welcome them into the church. There are so many joyful things when you walk along the road together in Christ.
And there are sad days, very sad days. It is sad when there is a funeral, and you have to sit with a grieving family, and sometimes hold their hands as they remember their loved one. It is sad when someone in your congregation loses a job, and sees no prospects immediately ahead. It is sad when people are told they have terminal diseases, and you have to walk with them through those days. It is sad when there are tensions and divisions in the body of Christ, and you worry and are concerned for its wellbeing. It is sad when there is financial difficulty in the church, for you see others suffering and are unable to make a financial contribution, even though you know they are destitute.
I look back on 25 years of ministry, and among the many sad moments, as well as the joyful ones, I remember one especially. It was my job on Friday nights to drive 150 kilometres up to River John from Halifax for the weekend, to preach. However, this one Friday night I decided to have dinner with my friends, forego the drive, and go early in the morning in the hope that no one would notice. On that Saturday morning, I got up feeling a little uneasy, and I drove up. As I pulled into the manse I saw 10 young people sitting on the steps, who I had confirmed, the Sunday before in the most glorious confirmation service that I remember. I wondered why they were so faithful as to come and greet me on a Saturday morning. Wow, this was unusual! But, when I looked into their sad eyes, I knew something was wrong. As soon as I opened the car door, they came and told me that one of the young girls who I had confirmed the week before had been killed that night in a car accident, and they were looking for me. You don't always get it right just because you are a servant of Christ!
Sometimes it is sad to walk beside people in the church and in the faith. That is what Paul felt. He was in prison, in a devastated world not unlike our world today. But still he said, “I want to walk beside you, and someday I will walk with you, and your progress and joy in the faith might be through my being with you in Jesus Christ and overflow on account of me.” Sometimes the sad things in ministry and the joyful things in ministry are the same.
Take the Strathcona Group. One of the most joyful things in my ministry is playing golf with some of its members, but it is painful when they play better than I do, and let me know it at the end of the game.
Sadness or joy, grief or pleasure, the death of Christ on the cross or the glory of his resurrection, we do it all in his name and for his sake. So when I ask myself, “Do I have the same passion?” I answer yes! This is because the church and the proclamation are always unfinished business. Amen.
This is a verbatim transcription of the original sermon.