Tomorrow afternoon, I will be "ordained into the ministry." This afternoon, I sit on a makeshift bed on the second floor of Leigh's grandparents' house, my head wrapped in ice packs and my mouth feeling as if the tooth fairy made an unauthorized pillage of the back half of my molars. So, given the fact that I would still like to, at this time, explore the meaning of ordination, I ask my readers to remember that I am also hopped up on hydrocodone among other delightful medications; if I happen to write something offensive, obnoxious, or borderline heretical, I would appreciate it if you would chalk it up to the drugs. Who know? Perhaps the worst heretics simply wrote their rebellious statements right after having their wisdom teeth extracted. Maybe some of our best wisdom is extracted with them...

In the Catholic church, ordination is one of the seven sacraments. As Frederick Buechner writes, "a sacrament is when something holy happens." To be more specific, the word sacrament comes from the Latin root, sacra, which refers to pledging one's allegiance to something. To think of the other six sacraments - confirmation, baptism, marriage, unction, confession, and the Eucharist - as well as ordination, we can see that each carry the theme of allegiance. In my opinion, it is a disappointing thing that Protestants no longer hold five of the seven in the same level of worshipful respect, and that the majority of us have done away with the word, "sacrament," presumably because we think it sounds "too Catholic." Disappointing, because the less we begin to see these things (not simply baptism and the Eucharist) as an experience of worship and an opportunity to offer our allegiance to God, the more likely we will find our worship becomes stale and free of genuineness. That is if we step back and carefully observe it, which few of us these days have the courage to do.

So what does it mean to be ordained into the ministry? After all, is not every Christian a person ordained by God to carry the message of redemption to the world? Is there really a need for something more? Why was there envisioned this thing called ordination, and how is it different? I have a cumulative answer to all of these questions, and it is an honest one (as opposed to one affected by the drugs): I don't know.

I acknowledge the sad reality that, these days, the Church does not operate ideally. We are a poor reflection of the community so dynamically described in the Acts of the Apostles. Sitting here on this makeshift bed with my head wrapped in ice packs, only two weeks away from when I am supposed to be leaving for Germany to begin my missions assignment, I still recognize that Leigh and I are quite short of our fundraising goal (which renders void the possibility of actually leaving in two weeks). And I am saddened by this, because while Leigh and I are doing everything we can to raise the necessary funds, we still feel as if some people in our church - as well as some close friends and family - have turned their backs on supporting us (even some who had once expressed an intention to do so). And the words of Acts 4 plague me: "There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands and houses sold them, brought the proceeds and laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to any as had need." Granted, we are blessed all the more by those friends, family and church members who have chosen to partner with us, but if I strive to look at things ideally, I cannot help but notice the shortcomings. And, of course, our fundraising is but one small example of this; there are certainly more dire circumstances to which the Church is not attending, but I will not even go into at this time.

Has ordination been made something special because less and less Christians are living as ordained ministers, no matter where they are or what their lot is in life? Is it about making an example of a particular person - an ambassador for the Kingdom? Certainly this was not the only reason such people as Paul and Barnabas were "ordained" and sent off. The story itself seems like the host of people involved in their commissioning were living out their allegiance to the life-altering message of the Gospel.

Perhaps ordination is not solely about the person being ordained. Perhaps it is as much for the community that is doing the ordaining. Perhaps we are all unique, intricate pieces in this mystifying puzzle of God's Kingdom, and what is happening to me tomorrow night is indeed a holy moment - a significant opportunity for me to offer my allegiance to God's kingdom in a new way, However, at the same time my church community is also entering into something extraordinary. It is a sacramental moment for all of us.

Of course, this weekend the majority of my church's members are out-of-town. I do not expect very many people to attend the service tomorrow afternoon. Only a few of the deacons who have accepted my candidacy for ordination will even be there. Most of the people in the church that I have gotten to know the best will be enjoying their July vacations. I cannot shake the image of a sparsely-seated chapel. And though I will find a deep joy and blessing in tomorrow's service, and see the support and love shining in many of my friends' and family's eyes, I know that I will not be able to shake the feeling that more people could have been involved. More people could have been blessed - could have shared in this holy moment.

A few years ago, my former pastor, Burt Burleson, explained to me when I first began asking questions about ordination that while he would support me in my desire to become ordained, he did not feel right in pursuing it through the church I was a part of at that time, simply because I had not attended there long, and because I was already preparing to move to Houston in search of a job. He did not feel that DaySpring, our church, had connected with me well enough to come together for an ordination service, and to Burt and me, this was of ultimate importance. It had to be a community activity.

Tomorrow night I will be ordained. The community will be small, but I will take joy in the fact that allegiance will be paid, by those gathered and those absent, to a great God - a God of all grace, mercy, and less than ideal circumstances.

The life of a Christian is marked by simplicity of purpose. The writer of Philippians equates everything beyond knowing Christ as a rubbish heap ready to be burned away. It is a bold statement, but not a stupid one. Back in what I call my "Christian bookstore days," I wore many a "Christian T-shirt," and some of these shirts purported the Philippians statement in slogans like, "I WANT TO KNOW CHRIST... the rest is just details," and, "EVERYTHING IS INSIGNIFICANT... compared to knowing Christ" (that last one was a play on the bleak outlook found on many "Emo" shirts of the time that carried no second half of the statement).

Yes, compared to knowing Christ, the importance we place on everyday things, the little anecdotes, equations, and happenings that make up our lives, does melt away into insignificance. However, there are a lot of Christians who stop there. They hold to that statement as proof of simplicity. They feel there is nothing more to say - nothing more they need. In essence, their Christianity revolves around a slogan, not transformation.

To know Christ... This is to realize that there is unfathomable depth within the simplicity of the relationship. A life marked by Jesus Christ becomes, in many ways, vastly more complicated than a life disconnected from Him. While the transforming truth and reality of the relationship will always be quite simple - Christ died for thee - a person's outlook and behavior must be completely renovated, with allegiance to new, often counter-cultural responsibilities becoming necessary.

Today, if you were to walk into the majority of churches on any given Sunday morning and ask a random sampling of parishioners what societal issues should Christians be concerned about, there is a very good chance that most people would list abortion, gay marriage, and stem-cell research right at the top. Some might list only these three. This is because many Christians have become victimized by an ever narrowing Christian sub-culture that continually frets and chews their nails over these three issues because they seem to hold the most apparent and immediate danger to what we are and how we do things. So, like a pitcher with only three good pitches, those in positions of influence continue to hurl these same ol' problems our way. And we have become rather adept at fouling them off.

The other night, some of us were discussing the case of Joe Horn, the man from Pasadena, TX who, last November, shot and killed two illegal immigrants he spied robbing his neighbor's house. Recently, a grand jury decided Horn was not to be prosecuted and was acting in self-defense according to the "Castle Doctrine." However, no matter what the grand jury says, our country is in uproar on both sides of the situation. The issues being debated include gun control, the use of violence, immigration, and even civil rights. It is as if a dam has burst and suddenly we are flooded, if only for the moment, with unresolved issues that allow for a variety of interpretations.

And, just as it did in our discussion the other night, the question invariably drops, "What is a Christian to do in such a situation?" And even upon answering, there comes the subsequent question of how one justifies his or her position. Indeed, in the Gospels alone there are statements that seem to condone pacifism ("If anyone strikes you on the right cheek...") and those that condone self-defense ("And now, whoever has no sword is to sell his cloak and buy one..."), and even those that speak of blatant violence ("And he made of scourge of cords and drove them out of the temple area...").

What is a Christian to do?

Certainly, it is not to ignore the fact that there are many, many, many issues that demand our thoughts. True, nine times out of ten, I will never experience a specific situation that calls for my "Christian" interpretation of an issue. But what happens the tenth time when, in the sweltering, rabid heat of the moment, I find myself facing a decision for which I have not prepared.

So ... What is a Christian to do?

Immigration. Poverty. World hunger. Genocide. AIDS. Totalitarian injustice. Health-care. Abortion. The definition of marriage. The death penalty. Stem-cell research. Gun control. Civil rights. Gay rights. Religious freedom. The list goes on and on, and how valuable am I really if I have not stopped to think about where I stand and why I have decided to stand there. Indeed, when it comes to "Well, this is what the Bible says," if we really dig in, cross reference and investigate, we will find that just about all of these topics are not as black and white as we think they are. To begin to consider where I stand on even one of these issues often causes me to bow my head and humbly ask for God's mercy to be upon me abundantly in my interpretation.

The life of a Christian is marked by simplicity of purpose. But "knowing Christ" does not mean shutting off our God-given brains. It means learning to live as one who is transformed in body, soul, and mind. It means taking captive every thought and making it obedient to our Savior; often times this is more of a wrestling match than a stamp approval.

So may you truly come to understand that, compared to knowing Christ, everything is insignificant. But it's still important. It is your life, and He is the God of all of it.