The Deacon’s Call, Part 2: Surprise and Permanence

In my last post, we looked at two aspects of the deacon’s call: servanthood and surrender. Both are a vital, biblical picture of the people God calls to this sacred office. But wait, there’s more.

A Call of Surprise
Servanthood and surrender both describe the call of the Old Testament prophet, Jeremiah. And so does another important element: surprise. Right in the middle of Jeremiah’s life, God broke through. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you” (Jer. 1:5a).

It was enough to take his breath away.

Walter Brueggemann puts it like this: “[The book of] Jeremiah is a stunning reflection on the power of God’s Word to order historical events.” In other words, God’s work in and through Jeremiah was, in fact, a sign to Israel that God was active in the world, both in judgment and blessing.

That’s you. Do you dare to believe that amidst the small words that you speak, a word from God might flow through?

That’s not hubris. It’s faith. Are you qualified? Of course not. I’m not either. Which is why Jeremiah protests. He has to play catch-up to what God has been doing all along, preparing him for this moment, this unveiling of God’s eternal purpose in his life.

So it is with you. God has broken into your life and placed his call upon and within you.

For many, the call of God catches us by surprise. We had other ideas, but God had it planned out all along.

And that’s not just how you got to the place of ordination as a deacon. That’s actually going to be the rhythm of your life as well as your call.

A Call of Permanence
And what is that call? It is “to demonstrate the love of Christ.” The call to the diaconate is not so much a call to believe in a certain body of doctrine—the ordination assumes you’re already working in that area—so much as it is to act in a certain way. The examination in the Book of Common Prayer is specific in its verbiage, using words like “serve,” “study,” “make Christ’s redemptive love known,” “carry out duties,” “show Christ’s people.”

So the call to the diaconate is a call to Christian activism, getting out in the world, not hiding out in one’s study. Mixing it up with people on the margins: the poor, the weak, the sick, the lonely.

And make no mistake—the call to the diaconate lasts a lifetime. One does not graduate from being a deacon to priest, where at that point one may rule instead of serve. No, “Once a deacon, always a deacon” is not just a cliché. It’s the Bible’s understanding of the very nature of leadership.

When priests and bishops forget that the call to servanthood is a constant, it’s always a prelude to trouble. Domineering leadership, power politics, emotional manipulation to get one’s way, seeing human relationships as a means to an end, making oneself the center of attention, self-promotion—these are what Paul describes as the “shameful” things he renounces.

When unbiblical behavior is used and approved in the church, it lays the groundwork for undermining the authoritative nature of Scripture and tragically supports the ethos of our post-Christian culture, where I do what I feel is right with little regard to the teaching of Scripture (except, of course, those passages with which I already agree).

I think this is exactly what Paul means when he talks about “falsifying God’s Word.” Servanthood is the foundation on which all Christian leadership is built, regardless of office, be it bishop, priest, deacon, or lay person. As Jesus puts it, “Servants are not greater than their master” (John 15:20b).

It’s not just that we are never above lowly tasks like cleaning toilets. Servanthood is a lens through which we view the entirety of the Christian life. Each day, servanthood compels me to say, “Lord, where and to whom and with whom would you have me serve?”

Martin Luther King in his sermon, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” puts it this way, speaking about the parable of the Good Samaritan. The first question the priest and the Levite asked was, “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?”

But the Good Samaritan reversed the question: “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?”

You are not being ordained into a temporary office. You are saying yes to a permanent and costly way of life. No wonder the call, by its very nature, prompts us, like Jeremiah, to see our shortcomings and all the ways we do not fit. But to object to God’s call is not humility. It’s a dodge, a way of changing the subject, from God’s call to my assessment of my own qualifications and shortcomings—as if God doesn’t really know all about me.

But the good news of the gospel is that God knows me better than I do. More often than not, God ignores our special pleadings and calls us to trust in him and not our own self-assessments. Just to follow him anyway.

The call will and always feels somewhat beyond us. We will always be more aware of the broken earthen vessel that houses the treasure that God has placed within us than the treasure itself. There will always be moments for which we repent when we choose not to serve, following our own selfish ways. It will ever be thus until we are taken into glory.

But the good news is that God will, from time to time, surprise us with his mercies, joyfully use us in ways that we cannot imagine, be vessels through which the light of God shines, touching lives—some of which you see, some of which we don’t—to our utter amazement.

What other aspects of the deacon’s call have you discovered? Share this blog and your response on Twitter and include my username, @revgregbrewer.

(This post is an adaption of Bishop Brewer’s sermon on January 31, 2017, at the Cathedral Church of St. Luke, Orlando, Florida.)

Unless otherwise noted, scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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