“What’s wrong with goats?!”
-5 year old Joe
Today
we celebrated the Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, the 13th
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!!
