Learning to be a Conduit: Returning Well Into Ministry

I’ll admit that my time as a curate has been rather abnormal to this point.  

In an ideal world, if you’re headed toward the priesthood, you’re first ordained to the diaconate, serve in a parish for perhaps a couple of years, and then you stand (kneel) before the bishop and are invited to the order of priests. In reality, I was ordained to the diaconate on June 4, 2023, and began my curacy at St. Paul’s Westdale on October 1—and swiftly went on medical leave as an acute case of pancreatitis morphed into non-Hodgkin lymphoma. 

When I returned from this medical leave, one parishioner remarked after concluding worship on my first Sunday back in action at St. Paul’s that they were still thinking about the only homily I had had the opportunity to preach. They didn’t mention anything about how yellow my skin had turned, or how gaunt my frame had become. I had somehow succeeded in preaching the Gospel that day. This is an enduring lesson for anyone in a curacy: as long as the Gospel is proclaimed, whether by Word, Table, or a combination of both, you’re doing what you’re meant to be doing. 

That sentiment has fuelled my ability to slowly hop back into the saddle. If you’ve ever been on a horse, however, or seen someone mount a horse, you know that unless you have designs of being a gunslinger or running in the Kentucky Derby, getting into a saddle is not something you want to rush. There really is no “hopping” happening with me. Rather, I am grateful for being able to slowly resume my duties as assistant curate at St. Paul’s. Since I was ordained to the priesthood this past summer, this means additionally that I can now celebrate the Eucharist, which was one of the things I looked forward to most in this new phase of ministry—and indeed this is something that called me toward ordination in the first place. 

I suppose it’s possible the image of sitting astride a horse in one saddle is actually inaccurate—I am more like a rider standing atop two horses, as in trick riding. One of the reasons I am attached to St. Paul’s in Westdale is because it is just down the street from my primary vocation: the ecumenical chaplaincy at McMaster University. My return here has necessarily been slow, as I am coming to terms with the ways my body still witnesses to the physical losses of my long-term illness. I don’t have quite the energy reserve as I did before, and I have had to carefully measure my commitments. But I am still grateful to be back on campus. The semester is in full swing, and the energy is contagious. The viruses are also quite contagious! With a weakened immune system, I must be vigilant in that area, too. 

And so, returning to ministry feeling weak and inadequate in many ways, there is a significant lesson learned in both spheres that has been difficult—and rewarding—to learn. The point of a curacy is not to learn how to do everything yourself; likewise, a chaplaincy does not succeed in creating a spiritual home for students with the work of just one person. 

When I was considering ministry again after various roles with the diocese and teaching, I believe I had latched onto the idea that ministry was going to be a terribly lonely affair, that I would be “the person” (in both roles), and success would be defined by numbers, by participants, by grant winnings. I have had to recalibrate this sort of thinking. Success in ministry is learning when to be a conduit for the Spirit in the delivery of the good news of the Gospel, and when to get out of the way. When to rely on a partner in ministry—whether lay or ordained—and when to use whatever authority you may have to make things happen. 

I look forward to the joys and challenges of this dual ministry, and I will continue to express my gratitude to the Lord that I get the privilege to continue in them!