Ordination Reflections

Today is the 27th anniversary of my ordination.

Twenty-seven years ago I knelt amidst the chancel of the Covenant Presbyterian Church sanctuary, feeling the crush of hands weigh me down as a prayer was said on my behalf, asking of God what God had already purposed beforehand, but reminding me that all actions taken in Christ’s name and on Christ’s behalf were merely the acts of a servant to one’s Master. Over the years I believe the combined weight of those hands is as a feather compared to the weight of responsibility to care for the lives represented by those hands. Those hands weigh me down still today even as they also, by an act of Providence and grace, lift me up, as they did twenty-seven years ago: in prayer.

One of the little ironies of my ordination service was that when I knelt amidst the chancel I did so on one knee, hobbled from the beginning, having lurched to the front of the sanctuary on crutches. I had broken my ankle playing basketball at a Young Life meeting the Monday before I was to be ordained. In many ways, I take those crutches as emblematic of the best of my ministry, for those times when my own woundedness has been most pronounced are the times when God has been most glorified; when I have decreased, Jesus has increased.

Another of the little ironies of my ordination service was that my wife, Laura, was present: she served punch at the reception. We were not yet dating, (not even flirting!), and yet she met my parents, my siblings, my entire, troubled, dysfunctional, and beloved family. Little did I imagine on that day the way God would bless me through her presence; little could I have imagined the ways God would work to bless me through her presence. Such are often the ways of God, I have experienced, who causes Sarah to laugh and Mary to rejoice and catches us by surprise over and over again: And a little child shall lead them...you shall call him Immanuel.

My ministry of Word and sacrament (for that is how I think of it!) is now expressed in a way not imaginable to my twenty-five year old self. I no more could have imagined being a “presbytery pastor” as I could have imagined a world in which the Iron Curtain had been torn asunder, or imagined a world in which “love your neighbor as you love yourself” would be cause for controversy within the Church and fearful demagoguery in our nation. Yet I could and did imagine that serving Jesus Christ would be the greatest, singular privilege of my life and a great and grand adventure, and, as such, reflects a bit of the Advent spirit: looking at the past helps me renew for the challenges of the present, even as it gives me good hope for what is to come.

A little child still leads us...and he is still Immanuel. What surprises does God have in store for us next?

Blessed to be a part of you,

Brad