Faith is Confidence

Hebrews 11:1-16

Sunday, 30 July 2017

Mowbray Presbyterian Church, Cape Town, South Africa

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen.

Well, here we are. It has been ten remarkably brief weeks, and our time together has come to an end. My leaving is bittersweet, because I have found delight in your company, compassion and prayer. Of course, a part of me longs for home and family, but another part of me has come to call Cape Town ‘home’ and Mowbray ‘family’. The effect you have had goes beyond what you may realise, for what was a mandatory Princeton Theological Seminary field education placement has become a chapter that has changed my life—a chapter that has been defined by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, which abides in you now and forevermore. God willing, may our paths cross again.

I want to speak to you this morning about confidence and assurance in faith when discerning your call. As I have expressed to some of you, although I am a seminarian, I do not necessarily want to be pastor. Do not get me wrong, I want to serve the Lord with all of my life; but, I have struggled to believe that ordination is the means by which I am called to fulfil the will of God. I have been battling with myself over this issue for some time; with professors and peers in the Princeton community, I expressed my confidences and my concerns before I journeyed halfway around the world to do fulltime ministry. I found myself repeatedly telling whoever sat across from me over a cup of coffee or a cafeteria lunch that I feared the depravity of my own heart. I thought I might do ministry for the wrong reasons: for the glorification of self by the power of the pulpit. To be honest, half of me wanted to preach, but the other half of me feared what would become of me if the word ‘Reverend’ preceded the word ‘Tom.’

But most with whom I spoke responded similarly, saying that such is a struggle for many in ministry, but that, once I’m doing it, by the grace of God, I might overcome my infatuation with Self. My stateside field education supervisor even said that she has yet to see a student return from an international placement without his or her heart set on ordination. While I found these words to be encouraging, I boarded the plane unconvinced of myself and my call.

I stand here before you, behind this pulpit and in this sanctuary, admitting that I will return to the States knowing well that I am not called to the traditional fulltime pastorate. But, I see myself as neither a failure nor a quitter; rather, I believe that through all the joys and sorrows that Mowbray Presbyterian Church and I have gone through together have been the means by which God has illumined my path with truth, atoned my mind with peace and filled my heart with conviction; this season has given me faith in God’s unrelenting love and unstoppable will, confidence in what I hope for and assurance about what I do not see. I will return knowing all the more what it is that God wills for my life. But, to expound, I want to share with you the divine whisper of guidance that occurred over the course of my time in South Africa.

While you may not have seen much of it on Sunday mornings, I have kept busy these weeks. The bulk of my work was, as I would consider the lot of it, behind-the-scenes, because to do what was needed did not require the pulpit as much as it called for a desk in an unfriendly office that never got any sunlight and was just a bit wintrier than the inside of the glaciers I visited in Iceland. Weekly, I drafted bulletins, proofed church emails, planned a combined ‘Cell Group’ meeting, joined the parsons for pastoral visits, and played guitar or piano in the worship team. I also led a devotion at Rhodes High School, attended a plethora of church meetings, co-directed Holiday Club with Nigel, designed the August edition of Mowbray Times, and filled in whatever gaps on the clock I was left by climbing mountains and exploring Cape Town.

For a few weeks, being behind-the-scenes brought me joy; I did my work with brilliance and enthusiasm—energy that was due to everything’s novelty. I did not mind that I spent most of my time alone in an upstairs office; as long as whatever I was doing was in Cape Town, I was content.

But time took its toll. I will admit that I am now, quite frankly, altogether exhausted from the extent of work that I have done with you. And this might be because a few things happened all at once: Dave, one of my supervisors, and Reneé flew to Germany, Nigel, my other supervisor, took ill, I was displaced from the nearness of Claremont to the faraway lands of Constantia, plan after plan was cancelled by some of the most noncommittal ‘friends’ and I was left entirely to my own, futile devices. By the fourth week, the novelty had become a bother. By the fifth week, I had become despondent. As the field education office had warned, loneliness had saturated every facet of my work and left me drained of joy, as though the bottom of my being was tapped and all my motive had fallen waste like spilt communion wine soaked into the carpet in the house of the Lord.

See, I came to Cape Town expecting my placement to be much different. Even though I am an introvert, I didn’t expect to be hiding in the background so much. By no means was this the fault of my supervisors or myself; rather, that was how I was moulded into what God was doing in this church—how the gifts God gave me and the requests Mowbray tabled fit together. While I was expecting an apple, I got an orange; but all I really needed was a piece of fruit. As a result, instead of working in church with and in faith, I longed for company and credit that I wrongfully thought I was due. I sought affirmation from others—from my supervisors, my fellow congregants, and my friends—but not from my God.

I thought the life of a minister was all sunshine and flowers and having tea and biscuits with congregants and laughing and praying and just having a good ole time with Jesus. I didn’t realise how much work went into ministry–hard work, office work, writing and reading and being alone with God. I let the isolation and industry of ministry get to me.

But just as I thought I was going to sink, I realized the lesson that God was trying to teach me. As I sat there in my freezing office, my heart was opened to the presence of God, who was whispering quietly to me in the silence. While I did not actually hear audible words spoken from thin air like Paul had on the road to Damascus, I was made aware of my Creator, who called me to come to Cape Town to do ministry. I was not called to stay home, where I would have found confidence and assurance in the wrong things, where I would have gone without vulnerability, revelation and, above all else, sanctification. But here in this church, at my desk and in one glorious moment, God whispered revelation that, yes, of course I am expendable, but nonetheless, I am beloved. The way I see it, this was God trying to tell me that the pulpit doesn’t need me. Instead, those at the pulpit would benefit from people like me with them as behind-the-scenes support, just as it has been throughout this placement.

Maybe I can put it another way.

According to the Synoptic Gospels, when Jesus was tested in the wilderness, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” But Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’” I question my ability to worship the Lord my God and serve him only without getting myself in the way when standing at the pulpit, for it is like a very high mountain from which one can see all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour.

When I was little, I looked up to my UMC Pastor Gavin as a good minister for three particular reasons. First: he always tore an extra-large, extra delicious portion of bread during communion at the sight of my eight-year-old face approaching with hands outstretched and mouth salivating. Second: he always knelt in his vestments, ready and relentless to field my trivial Sunday morning ‘seminary questions.’ Third: when he talked, people listened. Although I have long since moved away from that small United Methodist church, the image of Pastor Gavin swaying the congregation became for me a dream. I sought the power of the preacher.

But just as God’s laming of Jacob served as a permanent reminder that Israel struggled with God, so must my behind-the-scenes ministry serve as my reminder to worship only the Lord my God and not myself. To God be the glory: that is a prayer I struggle to pray. Christ reached into my life. But he didn’t force me to the pulpit; he forced me from it. And without such a call, I am free to sit at the Lord’s feet and listen to what he says. I was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made and by the glorification of ministry. I was a Martha, asking, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” But the Lord answered, “Tom, Tom, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

I need less of me and more of you, Lord. My value is not found in whether I am at the pulpit or behind-the-scenes, because my value is found in Christ. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” In Jeremiah, the Lord declares, “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” As God has made it clear to me, I am confident and sure that my hope and future need not be collared.

The Shining Barrier I wanted to build up between me and my Mzansi ministry, behind which I was tempted to worship myself, my image and my insecurities, was breached by the God in whom I live and move and have my being. Sometimes it takes a good breaking before something can really be put back together. But, I am fortunate that things did not utterly crumble before my identity moved from being found in Self to being found in God. To be honest, my problem was that I lacked the faith to understand in what to place my identity. And without faith, it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. Was I earnestly seeking him?

Into this revelation God continued to speak throughout the week of Holiday Club.

As I have mentioned to both my supervisors, Dave and Nigel, my position as ‘co-director’ was complicated by my age. Although, at first, I was approached as Nigel’s counterpart, as a minister and manager, it did not take long for the team to view me as less their superior and more their friend. This position provided for me an avenue of connection between people, because it let them relax a little, because I wasn’t ‘the minister.’ People let me in in ways that a collar would have kept me out.

While I struggled to find a balance between saying ‘no’ as a leader and encouraging a ‘no’ as a friend, I found that God was working through me, beyond the temptation of the pulpit mountaintop. It was through my freedom from the muted words of clerics that I felt I was actually doing ministry, and so I gained confidence in what I hoped for and assurance about what I did not see. The more I was humbled, the more I was given faith, and the more I could lead. But it really wasn’t anything that I was doing by my own power, for my faith came through what God had revealed to me, first in my cold office and now at Holiday Club. By faith, I was able to be a blind sinner and guide blind sinners. I found life in what I was doing, even though the authority of my position as co-director had nearly dissolved.

It was towards the end of the L’vaya Mzansi Road Trip that I heard again God’s guiding voice. As I sleepily tried to finish preparing the Powerpoint presentation for the following morning, I became aware that I was doing exactly what it was God wanted to me to do: the behind-the-scenes work. It was not the work of facing people head-on with sermons to which I was called but to walk alongside as a congregant showing love for the Other as they are. By the work of Holiday Club, I could discern God’s will with my life; it was not from the pulpit that I was called to ministry, but from the pew.

See, I was not the master of ceremonies; I was just running the presentation and taking photographs. I was not a section leader; I was just a gofer and a postman. I was not an actor in the drama; I just helped with the scripts and the directing. I was behind-the-scenes, but everything had novelty again, not just because it was new for me, but because I could do it with this divinely-whispered revelation in mind. I was living fully into the call of being background instead of being mainstage, and this allowed my life to be lived to glorify God. It should not be the power of the preacher that I seek but the power of the Holy Spirit for the sake of the kingdom of God.

I want to apologise for using Mowbray Presbyterian Church as my practise pitch. I came wanting to discern my call, and I leave having confidence, assurance and faith, things for which the women and men of Scripture were commended. You have done for me exactly what it was I needed you to do. You pushed me in all the right ways, forced me to question not only my vocation but my intent and purpose and made me all the more devoted to God. I have thus fallen deeper into love with my Lord, because I no longer will do what I do for myself, but for him.

One of the things my stateside field education supervisor told me was that Princeton interns are sent presuming that they will help the church grow in quality and quantity, as if having a seminary education is a free pass to successful ministry or the embodiment of God’s blessing. However, it is actually the intern that benefits more from the relationship. I can honestly say that they were spot on with this: I have gained so much through you, and I can only hope that you have gained through me.

So, where does this leave me, a humbled and insecure seminarian that does not want to be ordained? I am thankful that my supervisors have reminded me of First Peter 2:5–9: ‘You, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood. For in Scripture it says: ‘I lay a stone in Zion, a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.’ Now to you who believe, this stone is precious. But to those who do not believe, ‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.’ You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.’

The priesthood of all believers does not require that we should receive clerical garb after we are baptised. Rather, it means we are called to live by faith with confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command. By faith Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham and Sarah lived and died in glory.

In fact, of the women and men listed in Hebrews 11—the scripture reading for today—not one of them was a Presbyterian minister. They simply and wholly lived their lives with faith. They trusted in none other than the Lord himself. They are for us profiles of what it means to live amongst one another, as beloved with beloved, acting with purpose and persistence and charged with a message of love for those who seek to be valued and attentiveness for those who seek to be known—this is their and our joyous burden.

But it is glorious news, because by it, we may fulfil the Great Commission found at the end of the Gospel of Matthew. As Jesus commanded, ‘Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.’ This call is not just for the Reverends Dave and Nigel. This is the call to all Christians.

And to close, I want to say that the Apostle Paul was a tent-maker. Prior to his journey along the road to Damascus, his being blinded by a light from heaven, and his conversion from Saul to Paul, he was a Pharisee, a highly-respected ecclesiastic of first-century Israel. It was from this religious position of power that he persecuted Christians. But it was as a humble wanderer and a tent-maker that Paul revolutionised the early church.

I believe that, according to the Great Commission and the priesthood of all believers, by the examples of those in the passage from Hebrews read this morning and in the life of Paul, and made personal by the divine presence that has been with me throughout my time with you in Cape Town, I am able to discern that my life will be a ministry not by my being a traditionally-ordained clergyman, but as a heavily involved congregant. I might preach every once in a while, but I will take charge as a behind-the-scenes Christian by helping provide devoted assistance as a disciple of Jesus Christ to his apostolic successors, and our shepherds.

So by faith, I will continue to love the Lord our God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my strength and with all my mind'; I will love my neighbour as myself, so that I may please God with all of my being. If there is one thing you take away from this reflection, do not forget that ministering to others does not require the title of minister.

I thank you for allowing me to discern my call with you. I thank my supervisors for providing wisdom, witness and hope throughout this challenging but rewarding season. But most of all, I thank the Lord for opening my eyes, forcing me to be vulnerable, revealing my simultaneous expendability and beloved-ness, illuminating my path with truth, atoning my mind with peace, filling my heart with conviction and sanctifying my soul. I have faith in God’s unrelenting love and unstoppable will, confidence in what I hope for and assurance about what I do not see.

May you continue to bless many more discerning Princeton interns. The work is hard, but the work is worth it. Given the chance, I would do it all over again.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.