On the last day of BACAM, I stood out by the lake at the Canterbury Retreat Center in Oviedo. After seeing the view the day before, I had remembered to bring my camera that morning.
The water was still and a small group of ducks paddled their way across the lake leaving only the smallest of wakes behind them.
Across the lake, a tall, white cross stood on the shore. I don’t know the history of Canterbury or the history of that cross, but to me that cross standing out there in the midst of nothing but trees and lake could only have one message:
Remember.
Remember why you are here.
I was at Canterbury for BACAM, the Bishop’s Advisory Council on Aspirants to the Ministry. It was a two day event and at the end of two days of interviews and group exercises, the Commission on Ministry would meet and decide who to recommend to the Bishop to continue on in the process of becoming a deacon or priest.
As I left the lakeside that morning, I began to feel the weight of what that recommendation (yes or no) would mean for me. And after breakfast, with pancakes and eggs sitting like lead in my stomach, I texted Pastor Debbie, frantic for prayer.
Throughout the morning, I told my story repeatedly to each person who interviewed me. I told them of my journey to Hope, how God’s timing was perfect and divine, so that I would wind up exactly where I was supposed to be at just the right time.
I told them of walking into Hope last Easter, how it felt like waking up from a long, restless sleep.
And I told them that more than anything I wanted to share my story with others. I wanted everyone to know how God had worked in my life so that by knowing my story they might be able to see how God works in theirs.
I spoke of joy, of unceasing and life-affirming joy.
And then I spoke of sacrifice.
Virtually everyone who interviewed me that morning asked me if I was aware of the financial costs of this journey, specifically paying for seminary.
And I said yes, I was well aware of those costs, but that recently I had become aware of the true sacrifice involved in a journey to the priesthood.
Matthew 10:39 reads: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”
Those words had meant nothing to me until just recently. Now that I understand the meaning of those words I can’t let go of them.
I have built over the past thirteen years a very comfortable, safe life for myself. I have a good job. I own my own home. I’m not rich, in any financial sense of the word, but I’m not suffering either. It has always been a goal of mine to reach that point where I could feel secure.
But I have to say that though God has clearly blessed me, I have reached this point in my life without consulting God. Who I am today is, in fact, the dream of a child. When I was thirteen I wrote in an autobiography for school that I hoped that one day I would be a teacher and a part-time writer.
And what do you know? I’ve achieved that dream.
But now I know that that dream is not God’s dream and that the life I have created for myself is not the life God intended for me.
And if I want to follow God’s path, I will have to let go of the life I have worked so hard for.
It is here that the words of Matthew resonate so clearly with me.
"Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."
The first part is the sacrifice, a hard, albeit faith-strengthened sacrifice. The second part, though, (if you can get through the first part) is the blessing and the promise.
If you let go of the life you have made for yourself and give your life to God, you will find your life again, your true life, your true purpose, the life God has intended for you since before you were born.
If you can make that initial sacrifice, the blessings are enormous.
Who would have thought that there could be so much joy in sacrifice?
But there is.
As for now, BACAM is over, and I await the next step in the journey.
