On Saturday January 7th, Father Will Reller celebrated the 50th anniversary of his ordination as a priest. St John’s honored Will+ with a service of Holy Eucharist, and I was honored he invited me to preach. This week I want to share that sermon, which I hope will be of interest to those unable to make the service. It offers a glimpse into a truly fascinating life and ministry, touches upon a couple of the themes of Epiphany, and reminds us of the call God places in the hearts of all Christians. Father Will currently serves as a Hospice chaplain and since January 2012 has served St John’s as a Pastoral Care Chaplain. Will+ visits those who are long-term home-bound and also, in his own words, “reaches out to Episcopalians on the fringes.” I am blessed to call him my colleague.
In 1992, Irene Sullivan preached at the 25th anniversary celebration of her husband Will Reller’s ordination. In her sermon she confessed that since she’d known Will for not quite half those 25 years, she felt inadequate for the task. Irene, I stand here before you now on the occasion of your husband’s 50th anniversary of ordination, as one who’s only known him a fraction of that time, and I pray my words are in some small way as inspired as were yours a quarter century ago.
To be ordained is a mysterious and wonderful gift. To be ordained during the Feast of the Epiphany is a gift even greater, and in Will’s case the Epiphany story would shape his ministry in way he couldn’t know when he started out on the journey.
When you answer a call from God, you don’t embark on the journey alone. God is everywhere you turn. That everywhere-ness of God is what we recall and celebrate on the Feast of the Epiphany. Consider the blazing bright star that appeared long ago in the night sky. “Look! Here I am,” cried God the star. “Follow me.” A newborn baby lay wrapped in some hay in a lean-to in Bethlehem. “Look! Here I am,” whispered God the infant. “Follow me.” God would go on to show up and dazzle people in the form of human flesh, in the fish and bread of a seaside feast, in lepers and sinners restored to wholeness, in the wood and iron of the cross, in the stone of a hillside tomb—each time crying, “Look! Here I am! Follow me!”
That is, quite simply, at the core of all callings from God: the ability to listen, to be able to trust, to be willing to act on what is heard, and to comply with the direction that is given.
When Will said, “Here I am. Send me,” God for the next half-century led him on a grand walkabout of the earth. Will followed God from Missouri to Illinois, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Wisconsin, Mississippi, California, and Iowa. Will followed God—and I quote here from Irene’s record of the itinerary—to the island of Papua New Guinea, the plains of Africa, into the war in Guatemala and into the mountains in Mexico, the forests of the Canadian arctic, and finally to the plains and mountains of Colorado. During the course of this incredible journey, Will collected bits of his own humanity and the humanity of God, and he also accumulated great wisdom.
Parishioners of St John’s and people elsewhere along the Front Range have been the beneficiaries of Will’s humanity and wisdom. In Irene’s sermon 25 years ago, she recalled the words of a nurse at Boulder Community Hospital who said of Will, “He does wonderful work. He helps people die. He knows that death is not the enemy.” And then Irene said this: “A priest of God knows there is something beyond [this mortal life] and stands with those who face [death] so that they will not be alone.” Will, you have spent much of your ministry giving people the profound gift of your calm and faithful presence.
Irene went on to speak of Will eating wild pigs and boiled yams and dancing with warriors in Papua New Guinea. She spoke about him dodging the contra rebels in Guatemala. She told the story of how Will left Roman Catholicism and was received as a priest in the Episcopal Church, so that they could marry.
I’d like to share with you a piece from Irene’s sermon, the account of Will’s time in the Canadian arctic: “The people [of the Canadian north] loved you and still do. You helped build homes, clean fish, drill holes in the 5’ thick frozen lake ice in -40 degree temperatures. You cradled the old, buried the dead, welcomed the newborns and tossed fish scraps to the bald eagles on the river bank. You split wood, made fire, argued with the Mounties and listened to bear stories. You confronted the bishop, skied for miles, and fixed the frozen plumbing at least a hundred times. All the while you smoked those awful cigars. The Swampy Cree Indians still talk of the amegimoya [priest] in the woods, smoking a cigar, trying to call a moose.”
Most of us have such a narrow concept of what a priest looks like. We think of some ephemeral being, floating about an empty church six days a week, waiting for Sunday to come. In truth, most of us look more like cigar-smoking moose-calling amateur plumbers. And God delights in shining the divine light through us just as God delights in shining the divine light through you.
Light is another theme of Epiphany—the light of that first great blazing star, and the light of Christ we take into our innermost selves and tend and feed. We become light shining onto the path so that others can see more clearly how to follow God.
Will is that light shining on the path so that others can see. To shine like this is not just the calling of a priest; it is the calling of the priesthood of all believers. We are all meant to listen, to follow, and to light the way.
Following God is like driving down a dark 4-wheel-drive road with your headlights on low beam. You can see, but only what is immediately before you. If you’re one of those people who needs the comfort of seeing hundreds of feet down a smooth blacktop highway you’re out of luck. Following God is risky. You can’t let your attention wander. Sometimes you have to travel more slowly. But even so, there is no journey like it, no adventure more magnificent.
When you walk away from this church tonight, God will be waiting somewhere along your path, waving the divine arms at you, dancing to try and get your attention: “Look! Here I am. Follow me.” It doesn’t matter whether you are 80 or 30, whether you come to God with an eager heart or one full of cynicism, God is calling you, just like God called Will. God is trying to show you the divine self that is woven into every corner of Creation and into every living being, and God is urging you to set out on the magnificent journey; the great adventure of walking the path he unfolds for you, serving his people, growing ever more at home in your own gloriously imperfect, unique, and beautiful skin, lighting the way for others, and using the days that remain to you to bring the world before you a little closer to harmony and joy. That, quite simply, is why we were born. Amen.
