Twenty Years And Counting
Isaiah 6: 1-8 & Luke 4: 16-21
Roger C. Lynn
September 16, 2001

Twenty years and one month ago a small group of family, friends, colleagues and parishioners gathered in a small rural church just south of Dallas, Texas on a hot August afternoon for a very special worship service. It was a milestone moment in my life. In the midst of that worship experience I knelt at the front of sanctuary as a handful of clergy and elders laid their hands on my head in a practice which is as old as the Church itself. Invoking the very Spirit of God, I was ordained into the Christian Ministry. My life has not been the same since.

Being ordained is a little bit like getting married or having children. There really is no way of fully comprehending what it is you are getting yourself into. You can feel yourself led. You can study and prepare. It can seem like the right thing to do. But finally you must simply trust that the God who has called and led you to this moment will continue to guide and direct and provide strength and courage and wisdom for the journey ahead. I took that leap of faith twenty years ago, and I continue to take that leap of faith today. Thus far I have not been disappointed.

So, how do you measure and define twenty years of ministry? Four congregations served, four congregations who have given me more than they have received and taught me more than they have learned. Countless meetings attended -- from General Assemblies to monthly board and committee meetings. Hundreds of sermons preached and worship services planned. Thousands of prayers offered -- both publicly and privately. Untold hospital visits, weddings, baby dedications, funerals. The sometimes overwhelming privilege and responsibility of sharing life with people on a deep and intimate level as an official representative of the Church, and even of God. Embodying the roles of pastor, priest, prophet, servant. And doing so with the full awareness of my very real limitations as a flawed human being.

In the past twenty years I have witnessed lots of changes -- in the world, in the Church, in myself. It is, in many ways, a more complicated world we live in. The Church is more uncertain about its role and its future. I am older and (hopefully) wiser and certainly more scarred. But, as I said in my “Notes from the Journey” article in last month’s newsletter, I remain convinced that my choice to invest myself in the life and work of God’s Church was and is a good one. My life would have been very different, and far less rich and filled with meaning and purpose. I have had the opportunity to work with amazing people over the years -- colleagues in ministry and dedicated laity in my congregations. They have touched my life with their gifts. I have had the rare privilege of sharing in people’s lives at moments of tremendous joy and deep pain. I have received the priceless gift of trust and respect from people whom I hold in the highest esteem. The Spirit of God has been active and present in my life and in my ministry in ways which I neither deserve or can even account for. I have been richly blessed.

One of the most powerful and meaningful ways in which my life has been impacted by my ministry is the opportunity to bear witness to the value of faith during the painful moments of life. Whether it is occasions of personal loss such as the death of a family member, or community loss such as when acts of hatred have occurred in our midst, or global loss such as we have experienced this past week, I have the great privilege of standing with you as together we search for hope and meaning. It does not mean I have all the answers -- or even any of the answers. It does not mean I have some sort of special connection with God which isn’t available to “mere mortals.” It most certainly does not mean I am above the pain and loss myself. But it does mean I am afforded the privilege of being the bearer of God’s comfort and healing and hope. Being in ministry means that I get to say, as I did on Tuesday, “We are going to gather together for prayer.” It means standing with you asking questions because there are no answers which will suffice. I have the opportunity to stand here this morning and share with you the message of hope which is found when we trust in God -- even when we cannot see beyond the darkness of the moment.

I would remind you of the psalmist who began by crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me...” and then ended by declaring, “Future generations will be told about the Lord, and proclaim God’s deliverance to a people yet unborn...” (Psalm 22) I would recall for you John of Patmos who wrote, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them as their God; they will be God’s peoples, and God will be with them; and will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ ” (Revelation 21:1-5) I would lift up to you William Sloane Coffin, who in the face of his own overwhelming grief at the death of his son said, “The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is, ‘It is the will of God.’ Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex died; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.” Those words remain powerfully true in the face of this week’s overwhelming devastation. I have to say that I have no idea why this happened. Sense cannot be made of the senseless. But I know with every fiber of my being that in that moment on Tuesday morning when our world was forever changed, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break. And then what must also be said is that God is working, even in this tragic situation, to redeem it -- for that is what God does. In the very midst of our doubts and bewilderment and anguish and loss, God is present, offering love and comfort and strength. In Paul’s words to the Romans, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.”

And if I may take up my role as prophet for just a moment, I would also remind you that beyond our own grief and pain, we are called to bring healing and peace to a broken world. That has always been our calling -- it is just a little more obviously broken now than it was last week. Practice peace. Live love. Remember that if we choose to hate in response to hate, then hate wins. And that is, most certainly, not the path of faith.

After twenty years of ministry, I have come to understand it is not so much about what I do as it is about who I am. I serve among you as a road sign pointing the way to the kind of faithful living to which all of us have been called. I thank God for the privilege of the life I have been given and the opportunity to live it with you, even in these dark days. In the days and months and years ahead, may we seek to live out our calling as ministers of the gospel together.