Elizabeth of Hungary, Fran McCoy, & the Goats

“What’s wrong with goats?!”

-5 year old Joe

Today we celebrated the Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, the 13^th century princess and philanthropist who has been remembered for her care and nurture of the poor.  She sewed garments to clothe those in need and fished with the common folk in order that they might be fed.  She is a beautiful example of Christian charity and love to the “least of these.”

The Gospel reading for St. Elizabeth today was the story of the sheep and the goats from Matthew.  You know the story:  At the end of the age the Son of Man will separate the righteous from the evil just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  It’s an image of the Final Judgment that many in Jesus’ time would have understood fully. 

Which brings me to 5 year old Joe.  In 1989 my little home parish of All Saints, Norton (VA) called its first female rector, The Rev. Fran McCoy.  Fran would be a fixture at that little parish for 19 years, the longest tenured rector in the history of All Saints.  She brought new perspectives, stretched the congregation when it needed stretching, and preached with abandon, while offering the most pastoral presence one can image from a priest.  She was our pastor in every sense of the word.

(L-R:  The Rev. Joe Mitchell, The Rev. Preston Mitchell, & The Rev. Fran MccCoy)

The first sermon Fran preached (or one of the first) revolved around this story, the sheep and the goats.  As we filed through the line at the narthex at the end of the service, 5 year old Joe came up to his new priest and ask straight up, “What’s wrong with goats?”  You see, 5 year old Joe remembered his mom driving home on the backroads and seeing goats on the hillsides and commenting how much she loved goats.  So, he wondered, what was so wrong with the goats?

Fran didn’t have an answer then.  But the years passed, and 5 year old Joe became 28 year old Joe, newly graduated from General Seminary and on the verge of being ordained a deacon at little All Saints.  Fran was there that day, and after the liturgy was over and the bishop blessed the food, Fran—who had retired and moved on from All Saints—spoke up.  “Joe,” she said in that commanding voice, “you once asked me after a sermon what was wrong with goats.”  Everyone laughed.  She continued.  “I can tell you now that your job is to go and take care of the goats.”

Such simple words, yet they were powerful in their simplicity.  The ministry of the deacon is a ministry of service—one that I have learned a great deal about from my two favorite deacons, Paula Ott and Preston Mitchell.  That same spirit of service I carry with me as a priest.  But the service is not just to the goats, not just to those who the world might label as unrighteous.  The service is to all God’s children, all the sheep, goats, and everyone in-between.  And Fran McCoy did that.

As a little kid I wasn’t sure what to make of God or this whole business of church.  I knew I loved going to church on Sundays, knew that I loved to serve at the altar and read the lessons and prayers.  Yet as a teenager I struggled with what I was really meant to do.  Was there a next step after being confirmed?  Should I “feel the Spirit” flowing through me like some of my charismatic Baptist friends talked about?  Was I missing something completely? 

And so I experimented.  I prayed in different ways, even taking the Muslim posture of sajdah when I served as an acolyte during the Eucharistic Prayer.  I would pray with my arms out, intently, almost as if I could force God to come down upon me.  It must have made folks in the pews nervous.  Yet all the while Fran let me do it.  She let me explore my faith, ask questions, and grow.  At 13 when I asked her what I was supposed to do next she suggested I preach a sermon (First Sunday of Christmas).  A few years later she encouraged me to become licensed to serve the chalice and lead Morning Prayer on Sundays when she wasn’t there.  And when I came home from college she often asked me to help her out by serving in any number of roles.  She tended to me.  She cared for me.  She saw something in me that I could not see.  Not yet.  And when the time came for me to ask what I needed to do to go to seminary she said simply, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since you were 5!”

The call to serve, to tend and care for one another is not limited to those who wear the collar.  It is given to us all in our baptismal covenant—“seek and serve God in all persons…love your neighbor as yourself…respect the dignity of every human being.”  We are called, every one of us, to care for the sheep and the goats alike.  We are called to nurture them, to feed them, to tend to them, to empower them.  We are called to see in them that which they may not be able to see themselves.  We do so by the grace of God, knowing that God’s power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. 

So thanks be to God for Elizabeth of Hungary, who cared for the least of these.  Thanks be to God for Fran McCoy, who nurtured a curious little boy and brought him to the full stature of the priesthood.  Thanks be to God for all of you who tend and care for both the sheep and the goats. 

P.S.  The answer to 5 year old Joe’s question:  the same thing that’s wrong with the sheep—absolutely nothing!!