My friend Malcolm, a fellow Global Majority Heritage priest, bristles each time he receives compliments following a funeral service he has taken, ‘…brilliant service, vicar’. He is never quite sure if this is a true reflection of the service or indicative of his having exceeded the expectations the complimenter had of a ‘non-native’ English speaker.

To minister as a GMH person within the shores of England is to navigate a never-abating storm of micro-aggressions. The most pernicious of which often belies an unspoken query as to your competence while refracting a seemingly innocuous mindset incapable of conceiving of a world where a GMH person might possess the requisite hinterland to minster to a majority English congregation. Untangling causation and correlation is tricky; less so when your body is the site where theology is done.

This questioning impulse finds resonance in the question posed to Jesus in our Gospel reading, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else’? Unfazed, Jesus indulges his inquisitors by working through his curriculum vitae. ‘My deeds speak for me,’ he appears to say to them.

FIRST DOUBT, THEN QUERY
Are John and his disciples unable to make the mental leap required to conceive of a carpenter as the son of God? Never mind that creativity threads through both roles like a common DNA. Never mind that John, in owning his vocation and then his disciples in conceiving of him as a prophet, needed a similar mental leap. Given that John was of a similar cultural and biological heritage as Jesus. Never mind. It was simply too hard.

For Jesus, this is not new as he observes elsewhere - ‘a prophet is not without honour except in his own home’. Having to work out one’s welcome in God’s house is nothing new to a GMH minister; it is the waters in which you swim. Never mind having grown up with a perception of England as the mother ship. Never mind the effect of being second-guessed this way; itself a form of gaslighting, invites one to question God’s call. It is a burden that comes with the role. There is an injustice here begging resolution, yet the letter of James urges ‘… patience in the face of suffering’.

Ours has been labelled the age of reckoning in light of movements such as ‘me-too’ and ‘black lives matter’ which have rightly given voice (if not amends) to victims who have suffered unimaginable harm over decades. It is within this context that we must read our text from James and ask, ‘why?’ and ‘how?’ Why, should I continue to minister as a GMH person where my belonging is not a given? Why should my Advent waiting be shaped by a longing for justice?

The Holy Spirit never abides by our social norms, choosing to use vessels we would rather ignore as we will soon see at Christmas. How is the lukewarm welcome afforded women’s ministry reflective of the Church pointing to Jesus Christ: he who did not ‘abhor the virgin’s womb’?

FIRST IDENTITY, THEN VOCATION

Perhaps our answer lies in Isaiah’s text which hints at a missional imperative of ‘strengthening the feeble hands and steadying the knees that give way’?

Identity and vocation are woven into our texts. When Jesus, in the Gospel reading, asked the disciples who they were going to see when they sought out John in the desert, he was inviting them to engage with their perception of John. ‘What did you go into the wilderness to look at’ (Matthew 11:7)?

If the particularity of John’s calling located him in the barrenness of a desert, I wonder if the nature of my calling as a GMH minister situates me within a context where I am stripped of the luxury that speaks my name. Where who I am is subsumed by who I present as. Where being outside the norm, due to class, gender, sexuality or ability trumps Christ’s love and example seeking to draw us together.

THE REAL COST OF A CALLING

Clearly, this encounter had affected Jesus. He is keen to tease out every last bit of learning from it for his followers. When he describes the nature of the impulse impelling John to the desert as that of ‘…a reed shaken by the wind’ it ought to hold our attention. It points to the vulnerability inherent in our calling.

A reed in the wind while remaining a reed is open to the whims and caprices of the elements even as it calls attention to the glory of its creator. To be a disciple, whether white or from the global south is to be open to navigating life’s injustices while seeking the true north of one’s vocational compass.