Hanging on a wall in my office is a piece of paper that today is 32 years old. It is weathered a bit from three decades or so of sunshine and the signatures on it are faded. For that matter, some of those who signed it have faded from this world and entered the next.

This paper, kept in a cheap frame, is my ordination certificate. Thirty-two years ago First Baptist Church of Eatonton, Georgia publicly affirmed, blessed and commissioned my calling in ministry. I wore an ill-fitting mix-matched suit and knelt in the aisle as men and women placed hands upon my head, whispering prayers of hope and encouragement. The pastor who baptized me just a few years earlier, now handed me a Bible and piece of paper noting my ordination, signed by those serving on my ordination council. After church my daddy, grandmother, Amy and me, along with a few friends from college, ate lunch at the Davis Brothers Motel Cafeteria. Soon afterwards it was back to college and classes and adventures that I am still living into.

Over the last few decades I have picked up along the way other pieces of paper and plaques and other meritorious detritus noting accomplishments or milestones. Outside of my marriage license though, my ordination certificate is the most important document hanging on the wall. It reminds me of the community that loved me and believed in me. With incomplete theologies and even misguided and misunderstood perspectives, we agreed – made a covenant – that we need each other as we learn to love God and neighbor as self.

Not everyone is privileged to be ordained, set apart as a “Minister of the Gospel.” But everyone needs to be reminded they are loved, called, and commissioned by God. We all have a call to answer. A few of us are blessed to have a certificate commemorating that call.

All of us, however, have a call to love others, self and God, and by doing so we preach the Gospel.

Grace, peace and mercy,

“Rev.”