For Such A Time As This: What do you preach at an ordination in 2025?
In the evening heat of July 20th in the sanctuary of Knox Oakville, our Ministry Forum Intern, Rachel moved from recently graduated student of Knox College to The Rev. Rachel Kennedy-Proctor, newly ordained and soon to be inducted minister of Clarkson Road Presbyterian Church, Mississauga. We celebrate with Rachel and her family and friends and were honoured to be present and participate in a small part in her ordination.
What do you say at an ordination service in today’s Church? They are so rare these days. What fresh word could be offered? Do you stay safe… lean heavily in to the fulfilment of a dream that had its source in God a la Jeremiah or the Psalmist? Do you stick with traditional call stories like Moses and the burning bush, Isaiah and the hot coals, or Hannah’s boy Samuel? I can’t imagine that anyone would preach on Jael from Judges and her tent peg. I confess, I did, when Jacqui Foxall was ordained (there’s so much more to that story!)
The now Rev. Jacqui Foxall preached at Rachel’s ordination service and I want to share it with the Ministry Forum Community. It is a sermon that I believe needs to be heard by as many people in the Church today as possible. It was vulnerable and filled with raw honesty but it was also funny and it clearly looked like the preacher loved her craft. I’ll admit that I was the one who started the applause at the end - we don’t tend to applaud for sermons. Children doing something cute and fun, yes indeed. A particularly rousing choir anthem, definitely… why, most congregations that I’ve attended over the last decade or so, stays seated until the conclusion of the postlude (despite it being music for egressing) to offer a final round of applause - while most ministers are waiting on the front steps (but I digress). Some sermons deserve a standing ovation! This one did, in my opinion, and I don’t want to fight you on who we are expected to give all the glory… I know him, his name is Jesus - and I saw Him as the preacher preached that sweltering July evening in Oakville.
I share it with Rev. Jacqui’s humble approval. Listen (or read… listening is so much better though) the Word preached for an ordination in the Church of 2025. I’d love to hear how it resonated with you - or not… at Ministry Forum we are always open to respectful dialogue
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In fact, if you don’t speak up at this very important time, relief and rescue will appear for the Jews from another place, but you and your family will die. But who knows? Maybe it was for a moment like this that you came to be part of the royal family.”
15 Esther sent back this word to Mordecai: 16 “Go, gather all the Jews who are in Susa and tell them to give up eating to help me be brave. They aren’t to eat or drink anything for three whole days, and I myself will do the same, along with my female servants. Then, even though it’s against the law, I will go to the king; and if I am to die, then die I will.” 17 So Mordecai left where he was and did exactly what Esther had ordered him.
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Many nations will go and say,
“Come, let’s go up to the Lord’s mountain,
to the house of Jacob’s God
so that he may teach us his ways
and we may walk in God’s paths.”
Instruction will come from Zion;
the Lord’s word from Jerusalem.
4 God will judge between the nations,
and settle disputes of mighty nations.
Then they will beat their swords into iron plows
and their spears into pruning tools.
Nation will not take up sword against nation;
they will no longer learn how to make war.
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15 When they finished eating, Jesus asked Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”
Simon replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” 16 Jesus asked a second time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
Simon replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Take care of my sheep.” 17 He asked a third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
Peter was sad that Jesus asked him a third time, “Do you love me?” He replied, “Lord, you know everything; you know I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.
Sermon: The Rev. Jacqui Foxall
It was the afternoon of Friday, September 17, 2021, that you Rachel came to my home for a pastoral visit. I remember sitting across from you on my couch when you blurted out the words, I think I'm called to ministry almost four years later, and with some sincerity, I do want to apologize for my reaction that day, I realize that Hollywood probably would have gone with like an emotional musical swell, and for me to have thrown my arms around you in one of those deep, rib cracking hugs, tears of joy streaming down our faces. Instead, I think my jaw dropped. I might have asked for a scotch, and I said, “are you actually kidding me right now!? Please say you're joking.”
You weren't.
In the fall of 2021 you were in your last year of Teachers College and still in the throes of your Presby-costal glory. Serving as leadership in Young Life and actively participating in countless Youth and Young Adult Ministries aglow with this new revelation. Conversely, I was a dozen years in here at Knox, and in my second year of trying desperately to lead a church through the unknown territory of a global pandemic - not my best self. I was also in the throes of a messy divorce, so I was single parenting two young children through virtual schooling, and I still do not understand how Google Classroom works. My colleague and mentor was 1,000 miles and an ocean away. My family was an hour away, everything and everyone had gone online - which is not my natural habitat. I spent a lot of time crying on my couch, and nothing in seminary had prepared me for any of it - sorry, Knox College!
Everyone kept looking at me, because either I was the mom or I was the minister. So if anyone was going to know what to do or how to do it, it ought to be me, right?
I was a mess and I wasn't alone.
Ministers in every denomination were dropping like flies, switching careers, taking early retirement or being put on medical leave for mental health reasons. They called it the great exodus. Nobody knew what they were doing, at home, at work, in the church, in the world, everyone was scared and exhausted and fighting for their lives.
And then there was you sitting on my couch with your cup of tea. Young earnest, hopeful vibrating with the possibility that the creator of the cosmos had been calling you to enter into vocational ministry.
I think I had to walk out of the room at one point, honestly, I wanted to protect you from it. I've known you since you were littler than my kids are now. I wanted to protect you from life in the fishbowl and outrageous expectations from pedestals and pyres and prejudices simply because you are young and a woman - a brutal combination in this vocation.
But despite my protestations, God knew best what God was up to. God always does. There is no doubt in anyone's mind, least of mine, that you, Rachel Kennedy-Proctor are called the ministry of Word and Sacrament.
It's not going to be easy and the next few pages are not sugar coated, but it is your calling, and for good or ill, your time is now.
When I asked you about scripture readings for the service tonight, you very quickly blurted out a paraphrase of the words of Mordecai to his cousin, Esther. Perhaps you have come for just a time as this, and again, I felt that old familiar drop in my stomach, because you're right, God is calling you to such a time as this! And not unlike the plight of Esther Mordecai and their people, the stakes have never been higher. Death is on the table. You are entering ministry at a time fraught with challenges, the likes of which we in the Presbyterian Church in Canada and truthfully, most churches in the West have never experienced. Churches are closing, left, right and center, and those managing to stay open are sparsely peopled with congregants who are faithful, but tired and burned out.
As communities or systems, churches are anxious because they can see their numbers are dwindling, as are their coffers, and when resources are dwindling, people turn inwards, seeking to protect and preserve, which just exacerbates the situation. Suddenly, the colour of the carpet matters more than it really ought to, and the plaques on the walls become enshrined and holy, and the music we've always had for that special service becomes a golden calf. Nostalgia has the church in a chokehold, and decline is taking it out at the knees, and here you are called to be a pastor, a shepherd, a teaching elder for such a time as this.
Hold fast.
Esther turns to her cousin, and she says to him and those gathered, hold a fast for me, then I'll go do what needs to be done. If I die, I die. Well, it's a good thing we serve the God of resurrection!
Rachel, you have been called by God to minister in a time and a place completely unknown.
And not just because churches as we know it is in decline,
And not just because of the return of fascism,
And not just because of economic and militaristic uncertainty,
But also the unfettered rise of technology,
AI
Globalization
And rapid environmental decline caused by the climate crisis.
Good luck, sister.
You have been called by God for such a time as this.
And while on the surface this does sound terrifying, and feels futile, I have come to appreciate over these past few years what God is doing here. I see God's fingerprint in it, just as the opening of the first flowers of spring, still covered in snow and frost break through to remind us that spring is coming, and the birds singing their chorus at four o'clock in the morning while it's still dark out reminds us that a new day is about to dawn. By continuing to call people to ministry, by calling you to ministry Rachel, God is reassuring us - all of us - reassuring Christ's church in the world, that despite everything looking like it's going to the contrary, the work is not yet done.
God needs laborers in the vineyard. There is yet more to do. Dying and death appear inevitable, but we know how that story ends. I don't have a clue what it's going to look like Rach, but God has called you to it. To equip the saints for this work of ministry, whatever it is, whatever new thing God is doing, bringing forth. Resurrection is going to come out of the grave clothes of the old ways of being the church in the world, and that gives me hope, despite all the brokenness I've experienced and witnessed in the last few years. Your call gives me hope.
But hope is a funny thing, because it rarely takes the shape that we want it to take. So often we want it to look like churches filled to the brim again, Sunday schools bursting at the seams. We want it to look like balanced budgets instead of deficits. We want it to look like goals and benchmarks and to do lists. We want full choir stalls, long volunteer lists and the good silver out and polished for every reception. We want it to look like our Christian institutions, holding seats of honour and privilege in our cities and towns. We want hope to look like that - like we're winning!
Seems an odd thing to want in light of the One to whom we give our hearts and lives. The one who aid with tax collectors and sex workers and sinners, who was chided for touching the untouchable, for depending on others for hospitality and support, the one who allowed himself to be betrayed by a friend, falsely accused, and publicly humiliated in his death. Not exactly a victory story in the traditional sense, and yet it is the exact place where hope bursts forth, leaving a tomb empty and guards knocked over on their rear ends. Hope is disruptive. I suspect Rachel, in fact, I have hope, that God has called you to be a bit disruptive, to be a prophetic voice in the church today, grabbing her gently by the shoulders and singing the words of her story over and over again to her, not as the powerhouse of Christendom, but as the humble, relentless motley crew of Jesus followers. Not as an institution propping up and celebrating worldly powers and principalities, but speaking a word of resistance when the World would seek to dehumanize and oppress. This is heart and back-breaking work. At times it's going to feel soul crushing. And sometimes you're going to feel like you're going crazy, like you're standing in the breach, because you'll be able to see on one hand what the church is called to be today, but the church is tired and scared, and she needs to lament.
They will accuse you of having your head in the clouds, of not living in the real world. The church is scared. Rach, teach her how to lament, help her grieve, and then teach her that death is not something to be feared, because it's not the end, it's a gateway to resurrection, to something new. Remind them of the God of Revelation, who declares, “See, I am making all things new”. In order to do that though, we have to let go of what was, and that can feel impossible.
Your calling, Rachel is like new wine, old wine skins won't be able to hold it.
Things will break.
Things will die.
Hold fast.
You were called for such a time as this.
And hey, if you die, you die.
But we serve the God of resurrection, so don't be afraid.
It was interesting to me that you also selected the passage from Isaiah about beating swords into plowshares. I will not belabor it here tonight, but I'll share with you a curious question I've always had about this passage.
We love to wonder here:
I wonder how the people who profit from war and weapons of war feel about their tools being remade in this way.
I wonder how disruptive it might be when the people of God take the weapons of empire and oppression and death and mold them into tools for community gardens and picnics.
Rachel, brace yourself if you are a prophet who preaches and teaches how to turn swords into plowshares. You and I both know you aren't great with confrontation or conflict. - there are courses for that. You will gain adversaries along the way, but hold fast and stay the course, because you are called for such a time as this. Ground your trust and your courage in Christ, the Prince of Peace, not everyone liked his style either, you're in good company.
We don't know what it's going to look like, but I do know you're called, we all do, all of us here, all of us who know you and love you, who have witnessed the Spirit at work in your life. And while we can't possibly begin to imagine what God is going to do in and through you and your ministry, your prophetic voice and your boundless compassion. My charge to you remains unchanged:
Love the church.
Love her.
She's wily
and beautiful.
The church is God's conduit of blessing to the world.
So equip her.
She can be a bit curmudgeonly at times, even a bit stubborn.
Watch out for the Scottish ones.
Hold fast.
The church is scared because the future is profoundly unknown.
Help her to trust the spirit.
You were called for such a time as this. Your calling is hope that God is not done with the church yet. Peter, Jesus said,“Do you love me? Tend my sheep, Feed my lambs”. Yes, you are human, you are going to make mistakes - I have, we all do. You're going to stumble into conflict, whether you like it or not, it's inevitable. You will disappoint the church and she will disappoint you.
The world will break your heart. Rachel, let it, let it be as painful as it is, and see what amazing things come when the potter gets their hands on the broken clay.
So prophets sing her story over her again and again. Remind the church who she is called and sent into the world to be, not with more of what had been, but something new and unimagined. Old wine skins will have to burst because new wine is coming, so let things break. Many are still seeking meaning and connection and community and transcendence in the world. The world is still groaning in need, and God's grace and compassion and love and salvation are more than up to the task. So love the church, Rachel. Love her until she remembers who she is. Feed the sheep, tend the lambs. You were called for this “see, says the Lord, I am making all Things new.”
To God be all the glory.
Amen