Leaving Church - Barbara Brown Taylor [15]
CHAPTER
4
Like all other priests in the Episcopal Church, I was ordained not once but twice. The first ordination, to the diaconate, has biblical roots in the New Testament book called the Acts of the Apostles. When the first apostles became so frazzled by everything they had to do after Jesus was gone, they laid hands on seven good men, setting them in charge of looking after people’s physical needs so that the apostles could concentrate on preaching and prayer. In later tradition, these seven became known as deacons, or servants, whose leadership duties included everything from waiting tables to distributing alms among the sometimes scrappy widows of the early Christian community. A few of them, like Stephen and Philip, were also preachers.
The second ordination, to the priesthood, does not show up in the New Testament at all. While the letters of Paul mention deacons, bishops, elders, pastors, teachers, evangelists, and prophets in the early church, there is not a single priest in the whole crowd. In those days, priests were Jewish. Their jobs were tied to the Temple in Jerusalem, where they alone were authorized to perform rituals and conduct services. Because Christianity began as a Jewish movement, however, the language of priesthood carried over. The New Testament letter to the Hebrews calls Jesus a high priest, and by the fourth century the presbyters, or ordained elders, of the church were also called priests. Like their Jewish namesakes, they presided at services where they performed rituals, including the sacrificial feast of Holy Communion with God in Christ.
In the Episcopal Church today, bishops, priests, and deacons are all ordained to embody the gospel, but their job descriptions differ. Bishops oversee the Church, priests tend particular congregations, and deacons help those who cannot help themselves, in what is generally seen as a descending order of ministry. Although there is no question in my mind that bishops really do get to wear the best clothes, those I know well do not regard themselves as having reached any kind of pinnacle.
“Think hard before you do this,” one said to me when I told him I wanted to be ordained. “Right now, you have the broadest ministry imaginable. As a layperson, you can serve God no matter what you do for a living, and you can reach out to people who will never set foot inside a church. Once you are ordained, that is going to change. Every layer of responsibility you add is going to narrow your ministry, so think hard before you choose a smaller box.”
As surprising as it was, this advice did nothing to dissuade me from wanting to be ordained. The smaller box was, in fact, part of the appeal. After years of working in restaurants, stables, schools, and hospitals, I wanted to work in a church. After years of visiting the sick in street clothes, I wanted to wear a collar. After years of receiving communion from other hands, I wanted the hands to be mine. While I believed everything I had been taught about the priesthood of all believers, which included the assurance that my ministry in the world was as vital to God’s purpose as any ministry in the church, this lay priesthood struck me as something less than full immersion.
I wanted everything I did, all day long, to signal my full commitment to God and God’s people. I wanted the uniform, the office, the title, the regular schedule of services, the life of prayer, and the care of souls. I wanted to move in with God on a full-time basis, and ordination looked like my best bet. So I was ordained twice—once as a deacon in Christ’s Church and once again as a priest. What I remember best about the first ordination was the opulence of the ceremony. What I remember best about the second was the weight of the hands.
When I was ordained deacon, only the bishop laid his hands on my head. “Therefore, Father,” he prayed, pressing down so that I could feel his heavy amethyst ring