Make Me An Instrument

As we begin this message, let's elevate these first moments to ones of intentional awareness. I offer an image of an elegant majestic eagle, wings fully spread, gracefully riding an invisible current of air. I use my imagination to become the eagle for a moment and I sink into my body as I watch the sensations I experience – deeper freedom, expansion, spaciousness, openheartedness, exhilaration curiosity. I feel at ease. I am peaceful like the eagle. I am carried, held, lifted always by some indescribable power within which I exist. I honor the unity and the interconnection of all people.

Our affirmation is “I trust the unseen path. Faith and hope rise within me. I trust the unseen path.” In the New Testament book of Hebrews it says "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Isn't it sort of a paradox that we know we are faith-filled people and yet there are times when we're not. We want to know what's happening next. It's, "I'm faith-filled." But actually most of the time there's an uncharted territory ahead.

If you’re a parent, when your first child comes along, you're thinking, “Where is the manual on how to do this?” The same is true for any profession. I know that's true for ministry—you can go through years of ministerial school, but until you get in the field, you don't really know what's going on, as in anything—so we're never quite sure what we're saying “yes” to. That's true, but we know that we've been called; we know that we're here to do something magnificent through this one Presence and one Power. That might change every day, it might change every month, it might change every year—but we continue to say, "Here I am Lord, use me; make me an instrument of your peace, where there is doubt let me sow faith, where there is despair hope."

So we are speaking honestly about uncertainty, about doubt, about those times when the way ahead is foggy or fragile. This is not just philosophical—it’s personal for most of us, and it's real. We face financial questions that might even stir anxiety of not enough. We see shifts that leave us wondering, who are we now? What’s happening? And yet here we are—we still pray, we still believe. We're not collapsing—we're becoming who we've come here to be, which is brilliant and wise and courageous and humorous and compassionate and strong. So in times of change, sometimes there's chaos, sometimes there's a sense of peace, sometimes there's uncertainty, sometimes we're yearning for what was—but we’re evolving into what Spirit has in store. There are great things in store for all of us—but we have to stay present to win—present to this moment—even when we're not sure what's next.

St. Francis prayed, not to eliminate doubt, but to sow faith within the doubt. Faith is not the opposite of doubt—it's what emerges when we meet doubt with love. We all are human—we are here to first and foremost embrace our humanity, so we can express more of our divinity. But we cannot deny the human aspect of self; we just don't want to identify as it—it’s not all we are. So doubt can be holy; doubt can stretch us, it refines us, and it asks us—will you trust the path even when it's not lit? "I don't know, I'd like it to be clearer, please, I want someone else to go first." But we have to trust that that light is within us. It matters not to God what you do, but just that you say "Yes, use me." Jesus in Gethsemane had doubt. St. Francis had doubt. Mother Teresa had doubt—and yet they chose to walk anyway into the next experience, even the unknown.

My story: many years ago, when I was a young girl, I was sort of a tomboy. I wanted to play with my little neighbor across the street who was slightly younger than me and who loved dolls. I didn't care for dolls, but I wanted to play with her. She said, "Let's play Barbie." I said, "How do you do that?" So I sat down and she began to tell me how we play Barbies—“Well, we pretend, we do this and that, and here's a little car…” In the middle of her talking, this voice in me said, "Do not be anyone other than who you really are. Do not pretend to be anyone other than who you are." And in that moment I got a vision of me standing in front of a large group of people speaking and I threw that doll down and ran outside: "No thank you!" I didn’t know what it meant, but it was a sign.

At the time I had no idea what it meant. I knew I didn't want to speak in front of a group of adults, that was for sure. But it wasn't until I began to go to ministerial school that I began to remember that vision, and I began to move into that possibility that maybe I'm being called to do that.

When my husband and I got to ministerial school, the first thing I said was "Well, I know that a minister does know how to pray, so I think I'll take a class on prayer." And I said, "I'd like to learn how to pray out loud." And I remembered—as soon as you speak the word it happens. So I had just started this prayer class when I got a call from someone in administration saying, "Denese, you're one of our newest students here and I'd love for you to come and do the opening prayer for the next graduation ceremony." I'm thinking, "What are you talking about? I'm only two weeks into this prayer class right now." Of course, I didn't say those words because I'm was trying to be poised and obedient to God—and if somebody asks you to do something, you have to say “Yes.” Only the inside of me was screaming “No.” So I said, "How lovely, how just lovely that would be."

The human aspect of myself began to go into doubt, to worry, and it wrapped around my vocal cords and I couldn't speak. So I called the woman who invited me to tell her I couldn’t do it. When she answered the phone, I said quietly, "This is Denese.” And before I could say another word she responded, Denese, I'm so glad you called. It's happening tomorrow. I want you to know everything's arranged." And she just went on and on about how grateful she was—and all I could say was, "Okay, I'll be there." I had called to say I couldn't do this—that my voice was gone. But something in that conversation reminded me, “You've been called.” So I got up there the next day and I said, "In Unity we see everything as an opportunity, so today I'm giving you the opportunity to listen to my still small voice." And I just did the prayer—and it was the most awakening experience for me to step beyond this human body and this mind that doesn't believe we're enough and to say “Yes, I'm going to do it.” I’m shaking, without a voice, but I'm here to do it. Susan Jeffers wrote a book Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. I thought that once I said “Yes” to God, all the fear would be removed, but that’s not what happened. It's still not gone—I still get butterflies. I just asked them to fly in formation!

So there's something in you and me about answering the call: “Here I am.” We're remembering a soul moment from before we got in this body that said, "Yes, I'm ready, God. I've got what it takes." We have forgotten that memory—and that's on purpose, because we need to start fresh. This soul is here to evolve and grow, and we bring with it sometimes some past stuff—but we are definitely here to evolve. The soul is here—and it's not always going to be easy or comfortable. It's not always going to be rainbows and leprechauns. There are going to be challenges. There will be trials and tribulations. Jesus said, "But be of good cheer—I have overcome the world. Remember to be in the world, but not of the world." But what I want us to all remember is that we're not in this alone—that the Spirit of love is always with us: “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

So let me ask you this: where are you being called to sow faith in the middle of your own doubt? Where do you sense despair? Or how might you hold space for hope to rise up? Can you say “Here I am,” even if you don't know the full assignment? I didn't when I got into ministry. You don't need to have it all figured out—you just need to be willing. You just need to be willing to take that first step. And remember the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? Indie took that first step over the abyss—and then all of a sudden the bridge appeared under his feet, getting him to the other side?

That's how God shows up, metaphorically speaking. But you and I have to first trust. You and I have to move past that sense of doubt. And I believe if Francis of Assisi were here today, he might not be wearing robes. He might be wearing jeans or maybe a sparkly sweater. He might be in a circle of activists, you know, marching for peace. He might have a chaplain stole tucked into his backpack. But he'd be doing what he always did, which was sowing faith where there was doubt and hope where there was despair. I believe he would look at us and say, "Yes—you are becoming an instrument of peace."