Renewal of Ordination Vows

"Oh, the things we do for Jesus"

It happens every Tuesday in Holy Week, whether we need to or not.

Clergy at the more “catholic” end of the religious spectrum – Roman Catholics, Anglo-Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, and even some Methodists (typically and only at Annual Conference), but generally not Presbyterians (a clever lot) – will gather at their Diocesan Centers and Cathedrals.

We will listen to the lessons, hear the gospel proclaimed, and hopefully, be inspired by the preaching of our bishop – or her/his invited guest, which could be a priest in the diocese who is retiring (or has recently retired), or someone who is a theologian or author.

We'll then renew our ordination vows - the deacons, the priests, and then the bishop. He'll bless the oils for baptism and healing from which we'll be able to replenish our parochial supplies, and then together, we'll celebrate Eucharist.

Lunch is usually served, which will provide a time for socialization and “fellowship.” The Bishop sometimes provides a summary report of the last House of Bishops’ meeting. And then, just like that, it will be time to take our leave, some no better, others no worse for wear. Although some of us skip out right after the service and meet in a small cluster at a nearby restaurant.

However, Greek Orthodox began to bless their oils on Monday which will then culminate in a Chrism Mass on Holy Thursday when clergy will wash each other’s feet and the Holy Oil is carried in procession and placed upon the altar where it will be used during Baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter and during the rest of the year.

I've been ordained since 1986 and never missed one of these days until I started working in Hospice. Actually, I did attend. Once. Come to think of it, twice. It became difficult to justify the loss of a full day of work for one of these mornings.

I retired from Hospice work last June, so I have no excuse this year.

I’m headed off with some colleagues who convinced me that I should go. I love them. Very much. Honestly? As I’ve thought about it, I think the only reason I said yes to going with them this year is so that next year I can say, “Thanks, but I went last year.”

Of course, I could be wrong. I’m right about this, however: I am ambivalent.

See? I don't believe in "renewal" of vows - well, not every year. Perhaps on a major celebration - like, say, the 25th or 50th or something. But, every year? Pretty silly, if you ask me. But, in my heart, I’ll always be a “good catholic girl.”

Yes, in The Episcopal Church, we renew our baptismal vows whenever there’s a baptism. Baptism is a sacrament. Ordination is one of the five sacramental acts, which include Confirmation, Holy Matrimony, Reconciliation of a Penitent (AKA Confession – yes, we have “private” confession), and Unction (AKA “Last Rites”).

Some folks like to renew their Marriage Vows for a major anniversary or sometimes, after a difficult, rocky period in their marriage.

But, Ordination vows? Every year? Honest to Ethel!

Perhaps I am ‘nudgy’ because it sometimes feels like a last vestige of the way 'the old boy network' used to work. Even with all the progress we’ve made in the past 50 years, sexism is undeniably part of the DNA of the institutional church. The fault line that runs through the serious gap in clergy compensation packages has Y chromosomes all over it.

Maybe it’s because it always makes me itch just a little under my stiff, plastic clergy collar to be in a room filled with middle-aged and elderly clergy who call each other “Father” or “Mother”. I practically break out in hives when clergy in their 30s do it. It takes enormous energy for me to smile when what I really want to do is yell, “Stop it!” It’s exhausting.

Or, perhaps because there's this queasy, suspicious feeling that this is a manifestation of clericalism, fueled by the low self-esteem or narcissism which often runs rampant in the ranks of the ordained. Okay, some of it is fueled by good intentions (“Really, Elizabeth, what harm does it do?”). We all know what is paved on the road to hell. Some of us have even walked a few miles on it. We should know better.

I understand that in some dioceses, some bishops have made the event “mandatory”. Well, that tells you something right there, doesn’t it?

I have to admit, in my 39 years of experience, there have been some really stellar sermons preached - and more than a few clunkers. The music is usually good. There's nothing like a cathedral or church full of clergy singing at full tilt. Except, perhaps, a church full of LGBTQ+ people singing praise to the God of our salvation at the old Triennial Integrity Eucharists.

To be truthful, my most serious vocational crisis always comes when I'm in a room filled with other clergy, decked out in full clerical regalia. At some point, the following thought usually crosses my mind: "Dear Lord, what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?"

It's all "hail fellow, well met" when you know damn well that some of these priests are hanging on by threads. Six months from now, someone will have had a heart attack or their spouse will have left them, or their church will have suffered a major financial loss that they knew (and many others suspected) was coming. But today it will be, "Fine. Fine. Doin' just fine. Great to see you. Call me, we'll have to have coffee or lunch and catch up."

And, we never will, of course.

I think that's the saddest part of the day.

My wish for this day? To have some of the experiences I’ve had in previous dioceses. Like the one diocese where we all washed each other’s feet and then, one year, we washed the feet of the homeless men who were nightly guests in the Parish Hall. And, they washed ours. I think I sobbed for the rest of Holy Week after that.

Like the one where we gathered in the Cathedral kitchen to make sandwiches and then packed them up with cups of coffee and went out to the Town Square to sit on park benches and have lunch with those who had no homes or food.

Like the one diocese where we were enthralled by guest speakers like Marcus Borg and Dominic Crosson from The Jesus Seminar, or Sarah Miles who talked about the feeding ministry she started at St. Gregory of Nyssa as the ministry of her “unordained priesthood,” or Becca Stevens, an Episcopal priest who has a ministry with prostitutes who gave a powerful, unforgettable sermon about “The Thin Line Between Prostitute and Priest.” (Wow!)

So, why am I going back? Truth is, I'm really not sure. Like I said, I’m ambivalent. Can you tell?

Perhaps I'm simply a creature of habit. Perhaps I have more loyalty than intellect. Perhaps I'm still "the best little girl in the whole world," I was brought up to be and simply do what's expected of me. (Hey, stop laughing!)

Perhaps enough of all that is true, and maybe, just maybe, enough grace happens, once a year, to make me go back again.

Perhaps it is because the liturgy and ritual are powerful enough, in and of themselves, to be compelling. Something happens when we gather together to break bread. Something more powerful than our most passionately held assumptions and biases. Something transformative - even if only subtly, gently - that renews the spirit despite our resistance.

Besides, it's only once a year.

Every Tuesday in Holy Week, whether we need it or not.

Le sigh!

As my sainted grandmother - she whom I accompanied on our daily morning walk to Eucharist - would say, "Oh, the things we do for Jesus!"

Whether He needs it or not.

Off I go, then.