Richard Bollman, S.J.

"Calling Stories"

SCRIPTURE COMMENT. 5 C

Isaiah 6:1-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Luke’s Gospel, still in the beginning chapters,

tells the story of the calling of the first apostles,

the familiar fishermen, Peter and James and John.

So the setting is familiar, but the story is told differently by Luke.

There’s a little more psychology in the event, a weighing of the implications.

Like the stories of great calling events in the Bible,

of Moses, for example, or Jeremiah or Mary Mother of Jesus,

there’s a moment of hesitation, questioning.

The parallel we hear today is the calling of Isaiah.

Like Peter, Isaiah hesitates because he feels unworthy.

Then in the Letter to the Corinthians, Paul talks about his own calling,

in the context of meeting the risen Jesus.

Paul too is aware of his sinfulness, a matter that does not get in the way

of his being fruitful and confident.

HOMILY. 5 C 2010

So we have three roughly parallel figures here,

Paul, Peter, and long before them, Isaiah,

who tell of having an encounter with God: something of great impact--

the risen Jesus stepping into your path, or a vision in the temple,

hearing a voice, seeing signs of great power: angel wings,

or this overflowing of fish in the boat.

What do we take from this? It’s the core of our faith, really.

God intervenes in human affairs, nudges us, speaks to the heart,

shows us that we can trust God, or Jesus,

to bring direction into our journey, life, involvement.

And to be sure, stories of this kind emerge

among the women of the Bible too: Ruth, Mary, Mary Magdalene,

callings and changes that affect the direction of the community:

messages from angels or from life itself, suddenly making a turn.

Indeed, these nudges and indications come

in the most ordinary flow of our life, our basic routines.

Paul was just following his routine, part of the collective regime,

political and religious prejudice was part of it;

Isaiah was doing his temple duty,

Peter was cleaning out the boat.

How do these things happen, that we get spoken to, launched in life.

Rilke, a German lyric poet, has said simply:

"God speaks to each of us as he makes us."

Our own make-up, our history, our talents as we find them,

this is sacred ground. Our being made, as we are made,

this is the word to us, the presence.

At any stage of life, really.

Skill is part of it. Good basketball players have a kind of agility,

a certain caginess about finding open spots, bodily flexibility,

strength and speed . . . . you stay with it. You’ll do well.

Or you might say of a young woman, she really speaks to the point,

and she has a mind that can handle lots of facts without losing her way.

She is able to see the importance of tradition and custom,

and yet she has a passion for the rights of people who are held down.

Maybe she would make a great defense lawyer.

God speaks to each of us as he makes us.

And along with our talent, a felt sense of passion.

You weigh these things in the crucible of your own enthusiasm.

Vision comes when you’re fully alive, with your eyes open.

It’s all miracle, all gift. And I’m sure

all of you are thinking of these things as I speak,

how your found them,

and how you still find them, nudges, invitations.

Now look at this part of it. No stage of life is necessarily final.

You plan your life along certain lines, then something happens

to pull you down to the heart of something you were missing.

You feel a new kind of experience:

Paul thought he’d be a great Pharisee, observant and faithful to the Torah, and that all changed;

Peter set out as a fisherman, Isaiah was an aristocrat and courtier.

Those things were set aside.

Something mysterious happened to prompt a change.

Have you ever set aside your ordinary journey, your first love:

for me it was teaching English, being in a classroom.

I loved it. To this day I remember opening up the possibility

of conducting romance, of flirting, by conversation,

as they do it in Pride and Prejudice. Undergraduate fiction class.

And then there comes a nudge toward something different.

A phone call, a job at Milford, the spirituality center.

Hmmm. Has this been what I have been trying to do anyway,

expand the potential of people’s basic experience of life and feeling.

This is accompanied by a kind of lift of the heart,

that place where you look for God.

And I certainly know among this congregation

how taking up something new creates a new sense of ones self:

passing up a business venture to become a teacher;

setting aside a few weeks of summer vacation or job or sports

to set out to Harlan Kentucky.

You know when you are moved to try something.

It’s more than skills assessment. It’s a hunch, maybe even with reluctance.

And it leads you to something else,

maybe a year of volunteer work after college.

And then your life is kind of ruined, isn’t it.

A new and deeper and mysterious purpose starts to claim you.

And further, and finally, notice this.

These stories of Paul, Isaiah, Peter, the men and women

who were called and invited and sent out in the early days,

these stories of spiritual purpose, when they break open,

we start to see that our prerequisites for this are not cleverness or talent,

but our weakness, our broken hearts and troubles, our vulnerable points.

We recognize our unclean lips, we start to feel the pain of our wrong choices,

we are amazed at how self-centered, and how sinful we can be.

And more amazing, God steps right into that mess with us,

and says: "now you see who you are. How wonderful,

and how I love you in this honesty and this mixed mess you’ve made."

This is how our lives become ministry, something beyond careers.

Our own redemption is a source of good news and benefit for others.

So, when Peter or Isaiah stress their sinfulness and inexperience,

God doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to make them feel better.

God takes it as true: and then works with it anyway.

"It’s time for you to trust me," the word of God insists.

"Time to trust my love and grace, and to let your life expand.

Your youth or your pain or doubt are no obstacle for me.

From now on you will gather people,

you will touch the core of life itself.

You will understand your limits and sinful condition and not regret it

or look back with sadness.

And in everything that is in front of you now, your hand is in mine."

That’s what the poem is about, the Rilke lines I quoted.

the one that begins:

"God speaks to each of us as he makes us."

And then, Rilke says, we are sent out "beyond recall."

"Go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand."