A Sermon Unspoken

He said to them, “Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money—not even an extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.”                      Luke 9:3-5 NRSV

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”                            Luke 9:51 ff NRSV

It is the middle of the night. Except for the light from the screen, darkness envelops me.  The words of Luke’s gospel shine from the page and beckon my spirit to engage the Word and Spirit contained within, between, and behind them. 

“I will follow you where ever you go.”  The words of this unnamed companion to Jesus, spoken on the road to Jerusalem and death, echo those of Ruth to Naomi on a road away from the comfort and familiarity of her native land and into the unknown region of her mother-in-law’s home.

These are words not spoken easily in our time.  Relationships are temporary; commitments are fleeting.  “Where ever” is so open-ended and uncertain.  What about my needs and my desires – why commit to the unknown and to that which is out of my control?

Those were my thoughts about ministry some 30-something years ago.  I was struggling to understand whether I was in an accounting degree track for my own purposes or to appease the expectations of others.  The young associate pastor of the Congregational church in town had taken me under her wing.  We’d joined her friend from seminary at a concert at a church in another Boston suburb when she asked me in her off-the-cuff way if I had ever considered going into ministry.  I laughed; and looking them both in the eye I told them that I wanted a job that pays enough to pay the bills and would stay in the office after I’d left for the day. 

I’d seen the incredibly meager salary my small-town pastor was paid.  Even my father – who never finished fourth grade -- made twice what the Congregational church paid the pastor who had a master’s degree.  I’d seen the stress in his thirty-something year old face as he dealt with the strong opinions of the church members; I’d watched him defend the young people’s new ideas and idealistic dreams.  Those crazy church members were mean and nasty when they wanted their way.  I wanted no part of such a thankless job.

It is the middle of the night. Except for the light from the screen, darkness envelops me.  We live and breathe in a time of much darkness.  News of self-serving greed and malice screams from the television, radio, and internet pages.  Politics and society are divided by cold chasms of immeasurable depth.  Ego and greed have replaced grace and faith as the fuel and motivation of actions.  And yet, the Word shines forth from corners; slivers of light mark the path of this journey called life.

He sent his messengers ahead of him into a village of partisan believers.  Because his journey led him toward Jerusalem instead of Shiloh, they turned him away. 

“Be the bigger man,” someone used to tell me.  I didn’t understand how I could be a “man” let alone a “bigger man.”  With time and experience I’ve come to appreciate the phrase despite its gender issues.  Jesus understood the concept; he rebukes the idea that they treat fire with fire and simply moves on.  In Matthew’s Gospel he instructs them with more detail:

As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town.     Matthew 10:12-15  NRSV

Shake the dust from your feet as a testimony against them…. this is a strong image that would embarrass the hospitality code of the middle east where a host is expected to welcome the stranger and sooth the tired feet of the traveler.  The metaphor of leaving behind the dust of that inhospitable place is not lost in translation.  Rather than work the divide, rather than expend energy and resources upon those whose faces are set against civility, whose minds are set in their own agendas and egos, take nothing from them and journey on toward the goal.  Leave even their means and methods behind.  Be the bigger man; don’t stoop to the level of those who dwell in darkness.  Leave them to die in their darkness.  Move on toward the light.

It is the middle of the night. Except for the light from the screen, darkness envelops me.  Outside my window, light reflected from the waning moon leaves shadows in the grass and a

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neighbor’s cat crouches in the shade of the magnolia tree.  That waning moon, the remains of the super moon of two nights ago, still shines even if less than in its full glory. 

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Turned down by one village, Jesus sends his followers to yet another village in the same foreign land.  Ours is the journey of faith walking upon a road of grace.  There are no guarantees of welcome or rest; but the promise of light in the darkness remains.  Even the reflected light of a waning moon gives light; even in the night the blade of grass is illumined.  The scent of the magnolia cannot be hidden in the night.  The Word shines with grace that gladdens the sojourner even in the middle of the night. 

“Be the bigger man.”  “Shake the dust from your shoes.”  Journey beyond the reign of darkness in the faith that the dark with fade with the morning star.