Ordination of Christina Wible to the Diaconate

Trinity Church, Princeton, NJ

Readings: Jeremiah 1:1-9; 2 Corinthians 4:1-6; Luke 22:24-27

It was a strange meal, that meal.
They hadn't known what to expect, coming in to town on the busiest day of the year,
rooms full to overflowing.
The invitation of a stranger
unexpected,
cool water dripping on their feet
lamps flickering shadows against the cracked plaster walls
oily sweetness of roasted meat and bitter-sharp sting of herbs
and the quiet voice of a friend
speaking love
and betrayal
and death.

The fear of treachery stretched out its hand,
and sideways glances and accusatory phrases
began to reach across the room.
Who will it be?
Which one of you
could sink so low
as to become a traitor?
And if he's
down there, where does that
put me?

And so it came as no surprise
when the first one asked
"Which one of us, then,
is the greatest?"
and a cascade of controversy swept aside the fear.
"I am."
"No, I am."
"No, he called me before you."
"But he asked me
to come up the mountain with him."

And then, in the midst of the kerfuffle
he spoke.

So they caught their words,
held still for an answer,
or at least an arbitrator.
But none came.

"You know how it is. Kings rule, and governments give benefits. But not so
with you."

And they looked at their feet, and cleaned their nails and shifted in their
seats.

"Not so with you. The greatest
must be like the newest
and the leader
like a servant.
And how do you know the greatest?
Is it the one
who sits back at the table, enjoying the feast,
or the one who waits on him, bringing the food, wiping up spills , clearing
the
dishes?"

They looked at the table, cups smeared with greasy fingerprints, platters
littered with well chewed bones, a scrap of bread resting on a bed of
crumbs.

Pay attention, use your eyes...
I come among you
as one who serves."

*****
The call of God
came loud and clear that night
to the disciples
as they gathered together,
for the feast of the Passover.

They had been called together
by the traditions of their faith for a celebration,
but this was no celebration, or at least, not the kind of celebration
they had been expecting.

For this celebration
was hung around
with death,
and the language of a meal
became the language of their lives.

Take, eat, this is my body.
Take, drink, this is my blood.

We know that language so well. For many of us,
it has become the language of our lives.

But the language of the meal
was not just
that of receiving,
not just that
of bread and wine,
the language of death
not just body and blood.

"Who is greater? The one who eats or the one who serves? But I come
among you as one who serves?"
The language of this meal
was the language of serving.
Serving which means, if nothing else,
taking a chance on reaching out to others
taking a chance
on seeking out people
to care for
in their need,
taking a chance
that when you have used every part of your body and mind and spirit in the
service of others, when you have exhausted all your resources,
God will care for you. But you don't know for sure.

It turns our popular wisdom upside down. " God helps those who help
themselves", we say. Be responsible. Owe no favors. Don't become a burden.
Take care of yourself.

"But no," Jesus says. "Not so with you. I come among you
as one who serves.
Do likewise, even if it costs you the world."

And where is death, if not here? Life spent freely for others,
giving up ourselves, not because we expect anything out of it,
but because we have heard a voice
calling in the darkness,
calling us onwards in following Christ
to service, death, and yes,
new life.

Serving can be
a kind of death.
And it is this language of serving
which became the language of their lives.

And of our lives too. Today we are here
to celebrate together in the ordination of our sister Chris
to the diaconate, to the ministry of serving.
And I want to talk a little more about that later.

But first of all, we need to remember that
that ministry of serving
does not belong to deacons alone.
For it is rooted
in our baptismal identity.
In the baptismal covenant we were asked,
"Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?"
And we answered, or for those of us baptized as babies, it was answered on our behalf,
"I will, with God's help."
Service
is at the heart
of what it is to be Christians, followers
of one who serves.
Whether we are lay people, deacons, priests, or even bishops, we are called to serve.
And this call to serve
calls us
to the edge.
When we walk up Mercer Street and a car pulls over, and in halting words
obviously strange to him the driver asks us for directions to the
university,
we are called to serve.
When we see a child whose nose needs wiping,
we are called to serve.
When we sit on the subway on an icy morning
and are panhandled for coffee money,
we are called to serve.
When we hear of teenagers
so scared of life that they fight it with guns,
we are called to serve.
When we are faced with the needs of elderly parents
no longer able to care for themselves,
we are called to serve.

It is not that we can meet every need. It's that we as Christians are
called
to an attitude
of service.
To turn our faces towards those in need,
and not to look away.
To soil our hands
to wash someone else.
To stand in the margins of our society
with those just born
and those ready to die,
with those whose humanity
is compromised
by fear
and hate
and pain.
And the call to serve
is a call to the edge
of our own humanity.
We are called out of what is safe,
called out of what is comfortable,
called to live on the edge
of fear
and hope,
of death and life.
Its not an easy place, and so often we just want to turn our backs
and move back into the safety
of anonymity
and independence.

And yet...and yet...
Something calls us on.
And as we stand on the edge, sometimes looking at the abyss,
sometimes,
so unexpectedly
we see Christ,

looking back at us
in the faces of those whom we serve.
But even more unexpected, even more surprising
is when they look at us,
and see
not just our faces,
but the very face of God.
For as we serve, we are open
to the transforming love
and grace of God,
filling us, making us whole
calling us to be
the very people
we were created to be,
drawn into the holy acts and the holy life of God.

Our baptismal call
never leaves us.

But some of us
have heard another call,
a voice in the night
urging us to a peculiar ministry
of servanthood.

For Chris,
serving will be her life.
She will minister in our name
when we cannot
and when we do not want to.
She will carry with her
the light of God
and be to those whom she serves,
the face of Christ
And she will call us
to our calling.

As the disciples
sat around the table,
Jesus spoke to them
of death
and life
and serving,
and the language of that meal became the language of their lives.

Chris, my sister,
as a deacon,
you will set the table
for the Eucharist,
you will place bread on the table
for that celebration.

But you will place bread on the table
in other ways,
as you seek to reach out
to those in need.

You will put bread on the table
for those who hunger for faith.
You will put bread on the table
for those who hunger for hope.
You will put bread on the table
for those who hunger for love. And even when
you have no bread left,
you are called to put bread on the table
because it is not your bread
but Christ, the bread of life,
and still the call will come
to put bread on the table,
to work
so that even when your own table is bare
other's tables will be full,
groaning with the silver dishes and crystal and rich food
dripping with the aromas
of the grace of God.

May the language of this meal
be the language of your life.
Amen.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
23 October 1999