TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST 2016 PSALM 37:1-9
When I finally received the phone call I was devastated, angry, desolate. They were very, very grateful. Exceedingly grateful, and incredibly impressed. I was an amazing candidate. It’s just that I was not the most amazing. The other guy was even more suitable than me. They were convinced that God had a wonderful call for me somewhere, just not there.

I’d been waiting a week for that call. Every time the phone rang my heart would jump into my head and bang on the inside of my eyeballs. But they were the nerves of the best actor at the Oscars, who knew deep down he would be going with home a 12-inch golden man symbolizing his brilliance, yet understanding he had to go through the formality of other actors being briefly mentioned. The fake suspense made for good TV. So confident was I, that I started the week mentally measuring for curtains in the parsonage I’d be living in. I had begun to think about a couple of modest goals for my first few weeks in the parish – like, identify the most dearly held traditions I should venerate and who were the really important parishioners I needed to suck up to. (You didn’t realize clergy were so cynical did you?) I researched that part of the country online, spotting places to visit, finding restaurants, learning about the local sports teams, and, very importantly, memorizing their nicknames. That way I could chat confidently at coffee hour on my first Sunday and nonchalantly drop into the conversation, “How about those mongooses?” I could even call out in my first sermon, “Go banana slugs”. Yes, God was good, my future was rosy, my ministry fruitful.

And then came that call. I tried to convince myself that.... (read the full Sermon here: http://s3.amazonaws.com/dfc_attachments/public/documents/3228252/20161002_Live_with_abandon.pdf )