When I was asked to do a reading last month at a special ordination ceremony for three new priests and a deacon, I had a rather unexpected experience. Beyond being moved by the beautiful ceremony, the golden chalice, the bishop’s crimson robe and the sincerity of the priests entering into a sacred responsibility, I had an epiphany of sorts about the meaning of vocation.
As I observed the ordination, I found myself wondering what the future of the priesthood would be. With numbers declining and churches facing financial challenges, would priests soon have to work two jobs? And as I repeated the traditional call and response with the congregation, offering to support and honour the newly ordained, I wondered about my own work in the world. In our own ways, aren’t we all called to express the sacred in our work, whatever that may be? And as Christians, was our “work” limited to a narrow definition of a “career” or was it more about allowing ourselves to be vessels for the Holy Spirit in whatever we do?
Now, I’m a writer by trade, and a researcher and PhD candidate. I’m also a trained singer. And I love to cook. Lately, I’ve been spending a bit too much time in front of a computer and not enough singing or cooking. But as it happened, I’d spent a few days before the ordination making sfeehah—a traditional Lebanese lamb meat pie with allspice, yoghurt and pine nuts—as a way of honouring my late mother, Susila Bryant, whose 1000 days of passing was a recent milestone I wanted to commemorate.
I felt great joy following the recipe from my grandmother’s cookbook. As I formed each lamb sfeehah into a shroud of dough and put it into the oven to bake, I said a prayer for the person who would eat it and for my late mother. Naturally, I brought a half dozen to the ordination and as luck would have it, I gave one to the Rev. Adam Dawkins, who had flown up from LA for the ordination.
Adam had given great pastoral care to my mum when she was dying of ALS, and they developed a special bond. It was such a pleasure to be able to give a sfeehah to him, as well as to other clergy attending. Each time I gave someone a sfeehah, it felt like sharing communion. It was as if by feeding people a favourite family recipe, I was feeding my mother, in a delicious circle of spiritual nourishment.
When I spoke to the Rev. Rob James (who told me he once worked as a civil servant in the UK while working as a priest on a voluntary basis) after the service, we had an interesting chat about the concept of the “priesthood of all believers.” This early Christian practice with Old Testament precedents, revived by Luther during the Reformation, essentially expresses the common priesthood of all Christians. Some say it was a particular tenet of the Montanists, an early second-century Christian movement. For St. Augustine, it was baptism that was a kind of ordination into Christ’s royal priesthood.
After the sixth century, this idea began to fade with the influence of more hierarchical values. Some point to the influence of the second-century neo-Platonic Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite and his book Celestial Hierarchy, which introduced a succession of intermediaries—including angels and priests—between humanity and God. But what really struck me was the concept that we are all called to a kind of priesthood in our own way. I soon learned that the newly ordained Claude St Denis was, in fact, a full-time producer at Radio-Canada.
The next morning, after reading from Isaiah 11:6, I gave away some more sfeehah and then ducked into a downstairs room to finish a story I was writing before a 2:45 p.m. rehearsal for the 4 p.m. musical service. It was an interesting experience going from my “work” as a parishioner and lay administrator to my actual paying work as a journalist, and it gave me a new insight into the cathedral as both a sacred space and a work space.
The 4 p.m. service, where I’d been invited by our musical director Neil Cockburn to sing the Cherry Tree Carol, featured Christmas songs from around the world. After the service ended, an elderly couple approached me to thank me for my song. Incredibly, they were old friends of my late mother.
They were dealing with some life challenges, and I immediately knew that I had to offer them the last two sfeehah in memory of my late great mummy. As I gave them the lamb pie wrapped in tinfoil, we spontaneously embraced and said a prayer for my mum.
As I went home to finish another writing deadline, I remembered the sincerity of the new priests as they prepared for their ordination. I prayed that as part of the priesthood of believers, my intention in my writing, my singing, my baking and my being would always be so open to such wonder and grace. Amen.
