The ordination of Craig Simenson - Mark 10:17-21

January 17, 2015 

This is the sermon I preached at the ordination of Craig Simenson,
called to serve Grace Lutheran Church, Darlington.   

St. Anthony of the Desert

    

            Craig and I met during CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) at Meriter Hospital a few years ago.  Craig was a chaplain resident.  That meant that he was there full time for a full year.  I was a chaplain intern.  That meant that I was there half-time for half a year.  I started CPE in the middle of his residence year.  

            So, we were on slightly different tracks.  But we did have one group meeting of residents and chaplains each week.  And we did work together on providing spiritual care for patients and families.

            Craig was doing his CPE work as part of his preparation for ordained ministry.  And I think it is an excellent preparation.  I would recommend it for anyone in seminary.  I did my work much closer to the end of my career in ordained ministry.  For me it was more in the work of renewal rather than preparation.  And I would recommend that for anyone already in ordained ministry.

            CPE took me out of my comfort zone.  It took me away from the things that I had been doing for years among people I knew well and who respected me.  It put me in a new situation, doing things that were similar to what I had been doing, but with a different set of expectations and not always the automatic welcome and assumed role that I often had as a pastor.

            In the hospital, I was often put into situations where, even though everyone else’s role was clear, mine was not. What it forced me to do was to be more self-aware, to be more honest and to be more vulnerable.   In short, what CPE gave me an opportunity to do was to rediscover my heart in ministry.

            I think that’s the reason why Antony went to the desert.  I don’t think it was as an escape from the evils of life.  I don’t think it was out of a desire to seek moral or even spiritual perfection.  I think it was out of a hope of discovering who he was in a much deeper way, who he was in relationship to God and to himself and to others and to life.  I think he went to discover his heart more deeply.

            Antony was born in the third century in lower Egypt.  His parents were wealthy.  They were landowners.  But when Antony was around 20, his parents died.  He inherited all of his parents’ holdings and wealth.  Not long after, while he was in church, he heard the reading in which Jesus says to a rich, young man: “Go, sell everything you own and give the money to the poor.  Then you will have treasures in heaven.  Then come and follow me.”

            Antony did as Jesus said.  He sold everything and, after providing for his sister, gave it away.  Then he went into the desert.  Antony was not the first monk, but he was the first to go into the desert.  And I think he went to the desert to discover his heart.

            I have always tended to think that the command of Jesus to sell everything, give it to the poor and then come and follow him was an act of devotion and act of complete and utter trust in God.  And it is.  But I think there is more to it than that.

            There are studies that have been done recently on the effects of the presence of money on us – not merely the love of money, but the presence of money.  I found it in an article in the Harvard Business Review, entitled, “The mere thought of money makes you feel less pain.”  The work has been done at the University of Minnesota Carlson School of Management.  I won’t give you the details on the studies, but that have found that money makes us want to work harder but also to work alone and not ask for help.  We become less helpful, too.  We choose to sit farther away from other people when we’re thinking about money.  It even makes us want to enjoy leisure activities alone, rather than with other people.

            So, rather than being a command to achieve perfection, it is teaching about becoming more connected to others, to God, and to life.  It is about being more open, more vulnerable, more interested in serving.  In a word, I would say, the command to sell everything and give it away, deepens our heart.

            Since CPE, I have continued to serve as a night chaplain once a month at Meriter.  In the last year, I have also started serving in another way.  Twice each month I go with a group of people to the Columbia Correctional Institution, in Portage, one of the state’s maximum security prisons.  And we teach mindfulness meditation.  We have developed a couple of general population groups, but where we started was in segregation, in the solitary confinement units.

            Segregation is the prison within the prison.  It’s where prisoners go when they have violated one of the rules or have become a danger to themselves or others.  It is even more restrictive than the general population units.  And it is also a more difficult environment.  In the room where we meet, which is on the edge of the unit and has a door we can close, we can hear the loud clanging of metal doors, the shouting of voices, the occasional screaming of prisoners, to say nothing of the stories we hear from the prisoners themselves.  In fact, one prisoner said to us not long ago, “If you can teach mindfulness meditation here, you can teach it anywhere.”

            Now, last month, in December, we were out for lunch together.  One of our group, Steven Spiro, who is a Zen priest and a hospice chaplain, passed out small packages, gifts for us.  When we opened them, we found this – I’m not sure what the name of it is – Steven said we could hang them on our rear-view mirrors.  I asked him if I could put it on my Christmas tree and he said yes.

            The medallion is an image of one of the traditional bodhisattva figures in Buddhism.  A bodhisattva is one who has vowed not to enter nirvana until all beings have become liberated from suffering.  It’s like if St. Peter came to you and said, “I’ve got great news!  Your ticket to heaven is punched!  It’s time to go!”

            And you say, “That is great news, Peter!  I’m delighted to hear it.  But would you mind if I took a rain check?  There are people here who still need ministry and I don’t want to abandon them.  So, if it’s okay with you, maybe I could catch a later bus.”

            That’s a bodhisattva.  And this particular bodhisattva is Ksitigarbha.  He has entered the hell realms.  He has vowed not to enter nirvana until all beings from the hell realms have been liberated from suffering.

            Steven gave these to us as expression of what we do in the prison.  Yes, we teach a skill, the tool of mindfulness, which we hope can benefit prisoners both in prison and after their release.  But what is more important to them is our presence, that it is our human presence that represents hope to them.

            

            Now I was really touched by this gift.  And I thanked Steven for it.  And then I told him about Jesus.

            I said, “Steven, you may not realize it, but in many Christian churches on most Sundays, we say the Apostles’ Creed.  And, in that creed, we say that we believe that, after he was crucified, Jesus “descended into hell.”

            “I think most Christians don’t really know what to do with that.  Most of the time, I think of it as saying that Jesus died good and dead.  He didn’t just fall asleep and wake up.  He didn’t go into a coma and revive.  And he didn’t get assumed right away up into heaven.  But he really died.  He died good and dead.  There is even a verse in the New Testament (I Peter 3) that says that he descended into hell and there he preached to disobedient souls.

            Steven was amazed at hearing that about Jesus.  He had grown up UCC, but had never used the Apostles’ Creed.  So, he was amazed when I told him that.

            But I was amazed as well.  This bodhisattva gives me a new way of thinking about Jesus and about his descending into hell – that he is present to us even when we are in our darkest time, our most acute suffering, the times when we have lost hope that there is any escape.  Jesus descends into hell for us.

            This is what Jesus did.  This is what we do.  It is what we do for each other.  And I know that you know this, Craig.  I know that you know it because you’ve been through CPE.  I think that, if you don’t learn this in CPE, then you’re probably not paying attention.

            But, Craig, I know in particular that you know this because I have a specific memory related to it.  There was one Thursday morning meeting with residents and interns when we listened to an interview of Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen.  I don’t remember who did the interview, or even what much of the interview was about.  But I do remember that we had a transcript and that you took what Dr. Remen said near the very end of the interview and recast it in theological language.  I remember it.  I wrote it down and included it in my final evaluation for CPE under the question, “How has CPE changed your experience of God?”

            You said, ““[God] includes all of our wounds. [God] includes all of our vulnerabilities. [God] is our authentic self…[God] doesn't sit in judgment on our wounds or our vulnerabilities.  [God] simply says, 'This is the way we connect to one another.'

            So, I know you understand this.  And I know you know you don’t have to go to the prison or to the hospital in order to witness suffering.  All you need to do is look around.  We’re all around you.

            The challenge is to remember it.  You will begin your pastoral ministry and there will be meetings and appointments and agendas and tasks and functions and roles.  And there will be much good work in those things.

            But what I recommend to you is this: that, on a regular basis, you go to the desert.  Maybe that means getting in your car and going someplace.  Maybe it means getting a canoe and carrying it down to the Pecatonica River.  Maybe it means walking the streets of Darlington.  Or maybe it just means sitting still wherever you are and taking a breath.  

            And after some time of silence, I invite you to ask, “Good Teacher, what must I do to be a good pastor?”

            And the teacher who does not like to be called good will say, “Well, you know what’s in your letter of call…preach the gospel…administer the sacraments…visit the sick…teach the faith…and so on.”

            And you will say, “I am doing all of these things.”

            And Jesus will look on you with love. And he will say, “You lack only one thing – do everything from your deepest heart.  Be open; be accessible, be vulnerable.  Show compassion to yourself and to others. 

“Take the path that I am taking.  And you will receive life.  And you will bring life.”