Her hands were shaking, and her mouth trembled when she came to the front of the room to tell her story. Fe is a tiny woman – 4’9 tall when she’s all stretched out and maybe 70 pounds soaking wet. We could see how tightly each muscle in her body was tensed. She said she was taking the preaching class because she was not comfortable speaking to groups. Fe is Filipina, a member of an order of Roman Catholic nuns. She works in a retreat center in Manila, where she teaches seminarians and serves as spiritual director to people on retreat. She came to Berkeley to do post-graduate work, and our paths crossed several years ago in a one week intensive preaching course.
The first class assignment, on the very first morning of class, was to tell
a story about our lives.
Fe began her story by telling us of her awakening that stormy January morning.
She told us of hearing the wind in the trees and thinking how God is like the
wind and wondering what surprises God would be bringing her that day. Fe said
God had given her many surprises in her life. And then she told us about the
surprises she experienced in Manila during the coup d’etat in which Marcos
was overthrown.
The convent superior had gotten a telephone call late at night. “There is a coup d’etat,” she was told. “Don’t let your sisters leave the house. Keep them safe inside.” She gathered the sisters around her and told them her plans for their safety. They listened. All were quiet. Then Fe said, “This is not right. We cannot just stay inside.” Fe suggested that all the sisters pray and think and sleep and let the spirit tell them what they should do. The next morning, the superior said, “Those who would like to go outside may do so. Those who would like to remain here will do so and will pray for those who go out.”
So Fe went out and the streets were full of people—and tanks—full of Marcos’ forces trying to push back the revolution. And Fe—tiny little Fe—walked into the streets. She walked into the streets and joined hands with other women and with children to block the path of the tanks. And they knocked on the tanks. (Knock, knock, knock!) “Little brothers, come out. This is wrong. We are your brothers and sisters. Come out.” People brought food and water and flowers to the soldiers, and some of those young men came out and left their tanks.
As the days went on and it seemed that the coup would certainly be successful, the streets continued to be full of people. There were microphones on some of the street-corners, and it seemed to Fe that whoever had the mikes controlled the crowds. A young man was speaking and stirring the people to violence, and Fe felt in her heart that this was not right. So, she stepped to the corner and took the microphone and said, “Brothers and sisters, this is not right. We are all children of God. Even Marcos is our brother and we cannot do violence to him.” As she spoke, she felt the energy of violence leave the people, and when she finally moved away from the mike, she had to sit down on the side of the road because her knees were so weak. And Fe, tiny, timid little Fe, was so terrified by daring to speak to the crowd that she had no memory of the words she had said.
Many of you have heard me tell Fe’s story before. I tell it again and again because it is to me a compelling example of what happens to our lives when we hear God’s call. Years before the Manila coup, when Fe made her vows as a nun, she made a commitment to follow Christ in a particular way, to follow his teachings as she lived her life. In that golden moment of commitment, I imagine that Fe thought she had made the ultimate decision about how she would live her life of poverty and obedience. But she learned – as we all do, that the golden moment of commitment is only a landmark in an ongoing journey of discernment and decision-making. Every day—perhaps hourly—even minute by minute on some of the more difficult days—each of us is presented with opportunities to live into our vows, to act out our promises. Our lives are filled with opportunities and choices—filled with choices that call us to decide over and over and over again whether we will make our commitment to Christ in that moment.
I doubt that Fe envisioned her role as a peacemaker during a coup d’etat when she took her vows as a nun. I doubt that Simon and Andrew, James and John envisioned the lives they would lead as they dropped everything to follow Jesus. My own story is in no way as dramatic as Fe’s or the disciples, but it has its own twists and turns. Today is the 6th anniversary of my ordination, and I will tell you truly that I never thought my call to priesthood would lead me to St. Mark’s, Santa Clara. I looked forward to serving as an associate or perhaps being a hospital chaplain, a role that I love. After my ordination, I was called to serve as associate at Trinity Cathedral. Eighteen extremely difficult months later, it was time for me to leave. I went to the bishop, and we talked about possibilities. I suggested a few places that seemed to me to be a good match for my gifts and my growing edges. He suggested St. Mark’s. I suggested he pray about those places I had just mentioned. I believed that I needed some space for my own healing before I could help with the healing of this community. The bishop and I promised each other we would pray to discern the place where I was truly called to be, and I went home. And I prayed. For two weeks, I did my best to pray about those other churches. For two weeks, every time I turned my heart and mind to prayer, St. Mark’s came to my mind – neon letters across the inside of my forehead. And two weeks after my meeting with the bishop, I called him and asked him to put my name in consideration here. My days have not always been easy ones, but every day has held blessing for me, and I have never doubted that this is where I’m called to be.
Every time we make vows – of baptism, confirmation, ordination – or marriage! – or renew our baptismal covenant as we did two weeks ago, we make promises in absolute ignorance of the road ahead. And maybe that’s a good thing. Perhaps it’s just as well that we can’t see down the road when we make the commitments. Perhaps it’s just as well, because these commitments are not the last decision. They are the first of many decisions stretching down the years. Still we make our promises, adding the words “with God’s help.” And deep down in our hearts, we know that’s the only way we’re able to come close to keeping those promises.
The real-life actions required to fulfil our promise to put our whole trust in Christ’s grace and love – to proclaim the good news by word and example – to serve Christ in all persons – to respect the dignity of every human being – are sometimes the very last things we want to do. The decisions that lead to those actions can be heart-wrenching. And discerning, deciding the right thing to do is sometimes very difficult.
And, as you may have noticed, scripture is sometimes less than helpful in our decision-making. In today’s gospel, Mark has Jesus telling the fishermen: “Come with me, turn away from all you’ve been, change into something you can’t begin to recognise.” But Paul’s letter to the people of the church at Corinth tells them to stay just as they were when they first heard the Good News.
How do we know what we’re called to do? How do we know when it’s time to stay safe in the house or go out into the streets? How do we know whether to uproot ourselves to follow or to stay where we are? How can we know what commitment we’re called to make?
There is a way.
First, we pray. Not just in the moment of difficulty or indecision, but in the times in between. As Fe did, we develop a pattern of prayer that allows us to be in relationship with God, to be in conversation with God – to talk and listen, listen and talk.
Then we wait. We wait in the company of those whom we can trust to help guide us. We wait with those who can listen with us.
And then we listen. We cultivate the practice of listening to the silence just as Andrew and Simon, John and James, listened in the silence of the sea.
We pray. We wait. We listen. Then when the choices come, we can hear God’s call to us just as clearly as did Fe or as did those fishermen by the Sea of Galilee.
We can hear the call, and we can rely on God’s help as we do what it is that we are called to do.
Thanks be to God