"Therefore, since it is by God's mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart." (2 Corinthians 4:1)
In the epistle reading appointed for this morning, Paul lays out the great paradox of ministry - both ordained and lay. On the one hand, we carry this treasure in "clay jars" (or as the Revised Standard Version has it, "earthen vessels.") That is where Lent begins and ends: with this great reminder that we are dust, formed of the same clay from which the potter makes a jar. (2 Corinthians 4:7)
And yet, we are called to let our little lights shine in the darkness - as we profess not ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as slaves for His sake. (2 Corinthians 4:5-6)
It is a tricky thing, I think, to hold these together, especially for ordained leaders. It isn't only about getting clearer about our own ego needs, which would be more than enough to spend a lifetime sorting through. It's also about sorting through all of the projection that clergy are subject to. Those who have buried their charisms deep within those "clay jars" so that nothing seems to shine, for a whole host of reasons, don't tend to instill health in congregations. On the other hand, the experience of bright, gifted clergy creating congregations in their own image, that will topple over of their own weight when that cleric leaves, or falls down off a perch, are too many to number.
Into the twenty-third year of my ordained life, and my thirteenth as rector of St. Francis, I know this is an ongoing challenge and not something that is ever "settled." Congregations like the one I serve are organic, and therefore ever-changing. There is no formula and as soon as one finds a place of "stasis" it seems that something new happens, and change brings with it the potential for new opportunities and challenges. It is easy to "lose heart," especially when I begin to think that I am "in charge." There is a vital role for servant-leaders--I couldn't disagree more with those who abdicate responsibility by saying that God will take care of it. For one thing it is to easy to hide our own ego needs within that kind of piety. For another, it just isn't the God I encounter in the Bible. When God sees and hears the cries of God's people, God sends Moses! I know too many people, including clergy (and including me sometimes) who are better at telling God what God should do than about listening for what God has in mind for us to do.
Control is an elusive, and I think idolatrous, goal. Very often I realize that when I am "losing heart" it is because I can't see where things are headed, and what is needed in those moments is not control but trust in the Spirit's guidance, the Wind of God that blows where She will.
My insight on this day at least is that I stand a much better chance at not losing heart when I am more deeply aware of this dance, more deeply connected to the Spirit of God at work not only in my life but in and through each member of the Body, a Spirit sometimes shining forth and sometimes hidden deep within a broken clay jar.
In the epistle reading appointed for this morning, Paul lays out the great paradox of ministry - both ordained and lay. On the one hand, we carry this treasure in "clay jars" (or as the Revised Standard Version has it, "earthen vessels.") That is where Lent begins and ends: with this great reminder that we are dust, formed of the same clay from which the potter makes a jar. (2 Corinthians 4:7)
And yet, we are called to let our little lights shine in the darkness - as we profess not ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as slaves for His sake. (2 Corinthians 4:5-6)
It is a tricky thing, I think, to hold these together, especially for ordained leaders. It isn't only about getting clearer about our own ego needs, which would be more than enough to spend a lifetime sorting through. It's also about sorting through all of the projection that clergy are subject to. Those who have buried their charisms deep within those "clay jars" so that nothing seems to shine, for a whole host of reasons, don't tend to instill health in congregations. On the other hand, the experience of bright, gifted clergy creating congregations in their own image, that will topple over of their own weight when that cleric leaves, or falls down off a perch, are too many to number.
Into the twenty-third year of my ordained life, and my thirteenth as rector of St. Francis, I know this is an ongoing challenge and not something that is ever "settled." Congregations like the one I serve are organic, and therefore ever-changing. There is no formula and as soon as one finds a place of "stasis" it seems that something new happens, and change brings with it the potential for new opportunities and challenges. It is easy to "lose heart," especially when I begin to think that I am "in charge." There is a vital role for servant-leaders--I couldn't disagree more with those who abdicate responsibility by saying that God will take care of it. For one thing it is to easy to hide our own ego needs within that kind of piety. For another, it just isn't the God I encounter in the Bible. When God sees and hears the cries of God's people, God sends Moses! I know too many people, including clergy (and including me sometimes) who are better at telling God what God should do than about listening for what God has in mind for us to do.
Control is an elusive, and I think idolatrous, goal. Very often I realize that when I am "losing heart" it is because I can't see where things are headed, and what is needed in those moments is not control but trust in the Spirit's guidance, the Wind of God that blows where She will.
My insight on this day at least is that I stand a much better chance at not losing heart when I am more deeply aware of this dance, more deeply connected to the Spirit of God at work not only in my life but in and through each member of the Body, a Spirit sometimes shining forth and sometimes hidden deep within a broken clay jar.
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