5th Sunday after the Epiphany
February 9, 2020
Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 112; Matthew 5:13-20
This is a week when I’m extra glad that I follow the
lectionary because Isaiah 58 is exactly what I needed to spend time with this
past week. On Tuesday I go before the Board of Ordained Ministry for an oral
exam, the last big step in full ordination. And I have been extremely stressed
about it. I’m trying not to be, but I can feel it in my body and in my eating
habits. And so, to reread Isaiah 58, especially that middle section, has been
extremely providential and this morning, in preparation for this exam, I’m
going to share with you my full call story. As I’ve shared other times, my call
to be a pastor began with my call to serve God in Nicaragua. Isaiah 58,
especially verses 6-8, was my call passage for Nicaragua.
“Is
not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every
yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor
wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn
away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the
dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go
before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.”
I
“discovered” that passage in my early 20s, and it convicted me and it stayed
with me. I was doing my master’s in education at the time and trying to figure
out where I was going to teach when I finished. I applied to the Department of
Defense to teach abroad. I applied to a school district out in Arizona where I
had just visited a friend. I ended up back in North Carolina, teaching at an
elementary school that was one of the feeder schools for the high school where
I graduated. But I was still discerning: what does this mean? What is God
calling me to? At the same time I was involved in a Disciple II Bible Study,
first at the church where I was in grad school and then continued it at my home
church in North Carolina. (Has anyone here done a Disciple Bible Study? I love
them. They do require a commitment, but if y’all are ready, I’d love to lead
one here, too.) In Disciple II, you spend the first half on Genesis and Exodus
and the second half is Luke and Acts. Disciple involves daily reading with
note-taking and for this study, it had been suggested to divide our notes into
two sections: I read and God said; a summary of the passage we read and what we
heard God saying through that passage. Well, we got to Acts and all of my “God
said’s” were along the lines of “Heather, can you do this? Can you go where I
send you, like Paul and Barnabas? Can you be full of truth and grace, like
Stephen?” and so on. When I saw the pattern, I was like, all right God, what
are you asking? Where am I supposed to go?
I
started researching different mission agencies, Methodist, other denominations,
and non-denominational. I was intrigued by Food for the Hungry because of three
things: it offered health insurance (not all mission agencies do), it went to
Latin America (and I was already proficient in Spanish), and they had a very
clear mission and vision statement of why they do what they do. You hear me
talk about wishy-washy mission statements or the phrase “we do good things
because we’re supposed to”? That’s because that’s the mantra of too many mission
agencies. We don’t do good things because we’re supposed to. We do good things
because Jesus calls us to do them and Jesus calls us to specific good things. Food
for the Hungry has a week-long orientation program before you even apply to go
to the field. It’s time for them to get to know you and you to get to know
them. That week was the first time I ever shared the pull that Isaiah 58 had on
my heart. Others there had their passages. Every pastor you meet will have a
call passage. Isaiah 58 is mine.
Food
for the Hungry and I determined we were a good fit for each other and they
offered me three teaching positions: one in Peru, one in Guatemala, and one in
Nicaragua. Nicaragua was the only one where I’d be teaching children, and y’all
know I have a heart for children. I was an elementary
school teacher. I had to live off support and you had to have a certain
percentage raised and committed before you were allowed to start. I don’t
remember the numbers anymore, but you had a one-time set-up budget for initial
costs, like your plane flight there, buying a bed, those kinds of set-up costs.
I think you had to have at least 75% of that raised before you could even buy
your plane ticket. Then there was your monthly budget, rent, food, those kinds
of things, including a tithe built in, 10% for you to give to whatever church
you became part of or how you saw fit to give away. That was covered through
pledges; people pledged to give so much each month for the three years I was to
serve there. I raised funds and prayer partners quicker than anyone else who
was at my orientation week with me. It
was a God thing. I finished my second school year in North Carolina and
that summer went to Phase Two of orientation, getting ready to actually serve
on the ground. In September I moved to Nicaragua.
I
fell in love, with the country, with the people, with the food, with the
culture. I thought I was going to stay longer than my three-year contract. I
thought I might never move back to the U.S. My mom came down to visit and said she’d
never seen me so happy in my entire life. In Nicaragua, Food for the Hungry has
combined with about 10 other mission agencies plus many locals to form the
Nehemiah Center. That fall I joined their education component, who was in the
middle of visiting and evaluating Christian schools on the western side of the
country (also where most of the population lives). Unlike ours, their school
year follows the calendar year and so when the new school year started in
January, I started teaching at two of those Christian schools that I had
already visited, plus one day a week going out to the small rural community of
Santa Maria, who had been devastated by Hurricane Mitch. I lived with a host
family. I had a great teammate who lived with relatives of my host family.
There were two other American families nearby who were serving with other
mission agencies. Life was very good. I was actively living out Isaiah 58.
And
then I got sick. I had dengue fever the first Christmas I was there and gotten
over it. And I’d had a couple joints, like my right pointer finger, randomly
swell up. But I’d ignored them and moved on. Then it was my knees, which I
couldn’t ignore so easily, because it hurt to walk. Then it was all the joints
acting up all at the same time. I went to the doctor I’d seen when I had
dengue, and his diagnosis was the same as my best friend’s, who was in med
school at the time: rheumatoid arthritis. He put me on bedrest for a week,
acknowledging how hard it was for me to stay still like that. And I took it as
a personal retreat time to figure out what God had to say to me when I was on
my butt that I couldn’t hear God say to me when I was more active. On the first
day of bedrest I had emails from two Methodist pastors, both of whom had
separately told me when I was fund-raising that when I returned from Nicaragua
I’d be ready for seminary. Their emails that day both said, don’t forget. And
so I spent that week in prayer, journaling, reading my bible, talking with
close friends, trying to discern what God was saying and what was next. Just
because I had RA didn’t mean I had to leave Nicaragua. But the Word that came
was that God was doing a new thing. Three years had never felt like the right
number, not because it was supposed to be higher, but because it was going to
be lower. God had other plans.
 |
| Lee and me with my host family, the last time I was in Nicaragua |
Y’all
know most of the rest of the story. I came back. I went to seminary. I re-met
Lee and this time, we fell in love and got married. I served two churches in
North Carolina before God did another new thing and brought us up here to
Maryland. In the move, the Baltimore-Washington Conference had me start the
ordination process over again from the beginning. When I was commissioned three
years ago was the earliest I was eligible for provisional ordination. This
year, ten years after finishing seminary, 13 years after leaving Nicaragua, is
the first time I am eligible to go forward for full ordination. It has been a
long journey. It has been a different journey than any of my colleagues. It all
started with Isaiah 58.
“Is this
the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for people to humble themselves? …Is
that what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is not this the kind
of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords
of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share
your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when
you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and
blood?... If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger
and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and
satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.”
“Instead of the traditional fast days, ‘the fast that I
choose,’ says God, is a whole new way of life.” Fasting is no longer something
you do for one day every now and then. “Instead, fasting is a new set of
relationships within ongoing life. The fasting acceptable to God is a daily
fast from domination, blaming others, evil speech, self-satisfaction,
entitlement and blindness to one's privilege. The fast that God seeks calls for
vigilance for justice and generosity day in and day out.”[1]
It’s a different way of life. It’s a different way of being in the world. And
you don’t have to leave home and family and go to another country to do it. It
ties in with the kindness we talked about last week, because essentially God is
saying fast from unkindness.
Let your light shine. Don’t worry about rejection. Take
courage. Jesus said, “You are the light of the world… let your light shine
before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in
heaven.” Let your light shine. In our psalm we read that those who have a right
relationship with the Lord “rise in the darkness as a light for the upright.” You
are the light of the world. Let your light rise up. Let it shine. Let it break
forth, to go back to Isaiah 58.
Actually, it’s not a choice in Isaiah 58; it’s a promise.
“If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and
malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy
the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your
night will become like the noonday.” There are a few more promises, too, if you keep reading. In this part of Isaiah, the people have
returned after the exile back to Jerusalem. They have to rebuild the city and
their community. God reminds them their moral choices have consequences and
that God expects them to be both restored and restorative people. When you let
God into your life, when you partner with God in God’s fast, then your light
will break forth and your light shall rise in the darkness. Thanks be to God!
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