Link to the recorded Sermon from Sunday, July 4th, 2010: http://www.box.net/shared/f8ol3n0uk4
The Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time; July 04, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 2 Kings 5: 1-14
Psalm 30: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 6: (1-6) 7-16
Luke 10: 1-20 *
“Eat. Cure. Say.”
--} We’ve got a GREAT Fourth of July bible story for today, don’t we? Could it possibly get any better? We’ve got “fireworks” with “harvest laborers” sent to proclaim “the kingdom of God has come near,” demonstrating power over scorpions and snakes, and even without purse, bag, or sandals can cure sick people. And if you want REAL fireworks, it doesn’t get any better than Jesus “seeing Satan falling from heaven like a flash of lightening!”—does it?
But I want to begin today with a different image—one that’s ancient in its scope, but yet familiar to us all. The Psalmist and good ole King James take us where “The Lord is my Shepherd… who prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”
This morning, here’s that table—the Lord’s Table.
“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…” and when you get past lying in the green pastures and being beside the still waters and your soul is restored, you can walk through the valley of the shadow of death and not be afraid—then comes the table, “in the presence of mine enemies.”
I know now as an adult [and the beneficiary of biblical scholarship] that the shepherd “I shall not want,” is actually a statement about the Lord being our shepherd and that WE SHALL NOT BE IN NEED. But I always grew up thinking and feeling and even believing the Lord was my shepherd that I wouldn’t want—because he makes me to do things I’d rather not. And even with the green pastures and the still waters and the restored soul—the valley of the shadow of death and the table in the presence of my enemies was just too much. The Lord MIGHT be my shepherd, but it didn’t have to be a shepherd I’d want. I’m glad times have changed.
I begin here because today’s gospel reading is one of those places that I think if we’re honest, there are tasks of discipleship with the Good Shepherd that we’d rather not have to take up. Going out, as Luke’s Jesus describes, “like lambs into the midst of wolves, without a purse, bags, or sandals sounds tough; and even then, to have to rely on the hospitality of strangers, to eat whatever is provided (whether you like it or not), and to CURE THE SICK—doesn’t sound like a gig any of us are going to sign up for anytime soon. And even as we’re taught it’s this great evangelistic call to go out into the harvest reaping the Lord’s fruit of believers… we’re quick to presume (or at least hope) that such a calling isn’t for people like us. And if that’s what we think, maybe we’ve misread the gospel.
Instead, hear a word of hope:
[There is a story told about] a missionary who was lost at sea in a fierce storm; his boat capsized and he washed up on the edge of a remote village in a strange land. Half-dead from starvation, thirst, and exposure to the elements, he was found by the people of the village and nursed back to health. He learned their language and lived among these people for twenty years. During that whole time, however, this missionary confessed no faith. He sang no hymns. He preached no sermons. He didn’t even recite a single word of scripture to the people of this village.
But during those twenty years, whenever someone was sick he would take care of them, often sitting up with them late into the night. When people were hungry, he gave them food. When people were lonely, he was a source of companionship. He always took the side of those who had been wronged. In short, there was not a single human condition with which he did not identify.
After twenty years had passed some other missionaries arrived at this village and began talking to the people about a man named Jesus and about the love of God who was the Creator of all things. After hearing about this “Jesus” the missionaries were telling them about, the villagers were confused. This “Jesus” had already arrived and was in fact living among them, that he’d been with them for the last twenty years. “Come,” they said, “we will introduce you to the man about whom you have been speaking.” The missionaries were led to a hut where they found their long-lost fellow missionary whom they assumed to have been dead.
Now I don’t know in fact whether this story is true, or not. But if it were true, it would seem to come right out of the pages of Luke’s gospel. Where the point Jesus is seen to make is that the work of the Kingdom of God is not so much about what is “said” about faith, but what is essentially exhibited in/by the life of the believer. That very ordinary things can bear an extraordinary witness to God’s power. Where it’s not just about our sacrifice but how we demonstrate God’s intention to shepherd God’s creation through the lifestyle of Jesus.
Luke’s gospel was written later in the first century. Though we like the idea of Luke being a first-hand account or an eye-witness to what Jesus says and does, that’s really not the case. Most scholars date the gospel of Luke being written between 80 and 85 C.E.—a generation or more after Jesus was crucified. Luke’s primary audience would have been a community of believers worshipping together, praying together, and probably asking themselves, “what are we supposed to do now?” Sound familiar? Don’t we ask that same kind of question about our church, our community, our denomination?
But Luke’s period of middle eastern history read a bit differently than our own, being marked significantly by the Romans crush of the Jewish Rebellion. Unlike America’s bid for freedom, where the foreign powers got booted out, the Romans left Jerusalem in ruins, the Jewish Temple wrecked, and God’s historic peoples dispersed far and wide across the region and in the world. Christians lagged around in the background, not yet arriving as a forceful collection of Jesus-followers on the world stage. And the point of the gospel stories seems to be not only to recount the stories of what Jesus said and did, but to offer some real direction for the people who would be “believers,” who wanted to “follow” in the ways Jesus taught and proclaimed. It’s a good application for folks living in the first century; but it remains a palpable message to instruct even us today, too.
It’s hard to figure out what we should call these 70 Jesus instructs—volunteers?, they’re not disciples; are they proclaimers of God’s kingdom?; believers?; followers?; or should we stick with Luke’s “laborers in Lord’s harvest”? But no matter what title we fashion, what’s really “telling” is what Luke’s Jesus actually says to them. Forget for a moment that bit about carrying no purse or bag or sandals—as if there were some airline luggage fee back then, too—but concentrate instead on what Jesus identifies as the behavior that has the most consequence: “Eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.” Because when these so-called “laborers in the Lord’s harvest” return, they tell Jesus joyfully, “in your name the demons submit to us.” Eating, curing, saying. And it’s then that Jesus says to them, I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning.”
In Luke’s story these 70 go out, they eat, they cure, they say. And the result—Satan falls from heaven. Luke even makes it sound like these two things are directly related—as if the 70 doing this job makes heaven safe. And maybe, it can make it sound like things are well and good for us, that—oh by the way—it’s no longer necessary for you and I have to have to go out “and be lambs in the midst of wolves” with “no purse no bag, no sandals, not greeting anyone on the road;” that it’s no longer necessary for us to go out with the threat of being rejected. Ah, we’re almost safe—green pastures and still waters just ahead, right?
But more than Satan falling from heaven like a flash of lightening—[remember that image tonight at your fireworks show]—Jesus adds, “See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you.” This isn’t an advertisement for all the snake-handling and scorpion showing faiths out there; but instead seems to promise “laborers” that there’s nothing that can hurt us along the way. They seventy have gone out, their work establishes new boundaries—as wide now as the cosmos—with Satan falling from heaven. We don’t have to fear “rejection” or “suffering” or getting killed. But it isn’t all green pastures and still water, just yet. There remains that bit about “the table in the presence of mine enemies”—and Jesus may promise that we don’t get hurt, but the enemies are still real.
Now I started with that image of the table and our enemies because at least for me, while being the bearer and bringer of “comforts” galore, Jesus is also the kind of shepherd that “I’ll not always want.” He makes me to do things that I ordinarily won’t want to do. Give up my purse, my bag, my sandals, having to eat what’s provided, cure the sick, and to say to receiver and non-receiver alike, “the Kingdom of God has come near.” But here’s the part of today’s reading that I find exciting. Rather than getting hung up on the things Jesus says “NOT” to take, consider the human things. Caring for the sick. Eating with people and sharing food together. Being a community where there’s true companionship, visits for the lonely, and someone to take up with those who are wronged. Think of that missionary sent to establish faith, but doing it by never talking about it, only living it.
These are things that are—in fact—cosmic in scope. And whether it’s one of the original 70 dispersed by Jesus or believers to whom Luke is writing, or 21st century American Christians in Des Moines, it’s not an impossible task. It’s not filled with fear or fright; and the world—the whole cosmos—is made better, made safe. A little friendliness and tender-loving care and kindness, and Jesus reminds us something else is very much at stake.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.” It’s the Lord’s table where we believe Christ comes among us, to be resident in us, to remind us. And it’s at THIS table where enemies can become our friends. In the same manner Christ is joined to us, somehow, we can be joined—even to our fiercest rivals. Think about the missionary going off to live the gospel amongst strangers; and forging friendships not with the tip of a sword, but the love of Jesus. And not where we have to convince people to believe, so that they can be assured they will wind up in heaven—no! Where we witness to people through simple acts of kindness that we learn from THIS table.
Brothers and sisters, this is not just a day to remember freedom’s fight and how we won and how much God has blessed America. This is not a day for nationalistic bravado alone, about building walls and security fences and “keeping people out,” like when we repulsed the British by which we won our freedom. This is also a day to remember the gospel’s promise that the power of Christ is with us and among us—the power to eat, cure, and say—“the Kingdom of God has come near.” For us to remember that as Christians we have the power of Christ among us and with us and the question is not about heaven or hell, but instead, what we will do with Christ’s power and with the sharing of ourselves? Do we turn it into a sword, or turn or swords into plowshares?
What Jesus said: Laborers, pray that the Lord of the harvest will send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. Eat. Cure. Say.
--+ Friends, God sent his son, the Christ, who died and was raised; the Holy Spirit has come; and we are called to the sound, the touch, the sight, of the Kingdom of God being near—even in America. The Lord has appointed. Let us eat. Let us cure. Let us say… so that all the world might know. AMEN.
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