Joel D. Kline
September 7, 2003
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost
My family moved a number of times during my growing-up years, but perhaps the time that felt the oddest to me was during the time that I was a college student. At that stage of my life, living fulltime at college, I only occasionally spent time at my parents’ house. And when I did, since I had so little connection with the new area, it felt peculiar. I no longer had a familiar place that had the “feel” of home. Because Janice and I made our move a year ago from Fort Wayne to Elgin, our children have faced a similar kind of experience as young adults.
Most of us find comfort in the familiar, and a particular place we consider home can evoke a host of significant feelings and memories. And yet, through the years, I’ve come to discover that a sense of home has far less to do with location and real estate than it does with relationships. It is our connection with family, with significant persons in our lives, that makes the difference.
Douglas Davidson, editor of The Other Side, in a recent article entitled “Welcome Home” cites a study that examined the effects of World War II bombings upon London children. Children who stayed in the city during the bombings, going into underground shelters with their parents, actually fared better, psychologically and socially, than did those children who were taken out of London to a safe place in the country, away from the bombs, but also away from their families. Even though the children who remained in London faced the very real possibility that their houses might be destroyed and that they might be physically harmed, they nevertheless found a higher level of peace, not in external security, but through significant relationships.
More and more, people who live in our mobile society are looking for a place to call home. In an impersonal world, they are looking for personal connections, for a sense of belonging. Without that sense of home, many feel at sea, lost and alone. Centuries ago Augustine captured our need for connectedness with One beyond ourselves, when asserting, “Our hearts are restless, O God, until they find their rest in you.” But that connection with God needs to have “flesh” upon it. We need a sense of community, a people with whom we are welcome to sit at God’s table, just as the first thing Jesus did after announcing the kingdom of God was to gather a community around him.
In the early days of the Church of the Brethren, with our Germanic roots, we Brethren referred to this deep sense of relationship as Gemeinschaft, a German term that speaks of an experience even deeper than that which we normally think of as community. Gemeinschaft speaks of the intimate sense of connectedness that comes from a group of people sharing deep commitments in common. In the church we understand ourselves to be a people closely interconnected by our commitment to live as a body of Christ’s people, a people who experience “something more” because we have relationship with one another, because we are able to share one another’s burdens, to rejoice with those who are rejoicing and suffer with those who weep.
If you were listening to the reading of this morning’s Gospel lesson, you may be wondering by now what bearing that rather unusual text might have upon these reflections about community and a sense of home. For today’s text shows Jesus withdrawing from the crowds for a time of solitude and rest. Jesus enters the region of Tyre, a land northwest of Galilee, largely Gentile and despised by the Jews of that day. One gets the sense that Jesus is doing his best to contain the news of his whereabouts and the results of his healings, perhaps even wanting to go into a brief period of “hiding.” Yet Jesus is soon discovered and pressed into service. As a result, we have an account of two healings, both rather bizarre stories in their own right.
The first relates the story of a Syrophoenecian woman approaching Jesus and seeking healing for her daughter. Jesus’ exchange with the Gentile woman seems at best a mediocre attempt at humor, and at worst, a cruel interaction. The woman simply asks Jesus to do what he has already done for many others, but Jesus responds, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
What are we to make of this story in which Jesus responds in a troubling way, seemingly displaying the prejudices of his day, referring to non-Jews as “dogs?” Could this be one of those stories in the Gospels that would suggest that Jesus’ understanding of his mission is not stagnant, but rather that it grows and evolves and expands? There are indications that when Jesus embarks upon ministry he believes he has come to minister exclusively to the people of Israel. And yet Jesus cannot remain unmoved in the face of human need, whether that need be expressed among Gentiles or Jews, and when the woman returns home, she finds that her daughter is healed. Jesus’ sense of compassion, so at the heart of his identity, leads him to a broader mission, and some surprising people begin to find their home with Jesus. The community of Christ’s followers begins to expand in astounding ways.
Indeed, the second healing story ends with the observation that the people “were astounded beyond measure” (v. 37). Christ’s compassion stands at the heart of this second story as well, as Jesus heals a deaf man with a speech impediment, one who has been brought to him by the crowds. Jesus takes the fellow aside, away from the crowds, apparently not wanting to draw too much attention to what will ensue. In what appears to modern readers as coarse or even vulgar, Jesus spits and then touches the man’s ears and tongue, saying, “Be opened.” The man’s ears are indeed opened and his tongue is released, but Jesus orders the people to tell no one what has happened. Yet, Mark tells us, “the more Jesus ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it” (v. 36).
Scholars tell us that one of the unique features of Mark’s Gospel is what has been labeled the “messianic secret.” With some frequency Jesus urges his listeners not to speak about him and the remarkable things he is doing. Jesus apparently wants the people to relate to him as more than a miracle-worker; he wants them to know the “secret” that Peter finally gives voice to in chapter eight, that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, the One who has come from God to restore humankind to abundant living.
Clayton Schmit, professor of preaching at Fuller Seminary, makes the intriguing observation that the church today is far better at obeying this strange command of Jesus to be silent than were its initial hearers. While those who first encountered Jesus could scarcely contain their excitement, and crowds thronged around Jesus, many present-day followers of Jesus are reluctant to speak of their faith and to live out their faith too boldly. The word “evangelism” has become a loaded term for many of us, conjuring up images of Bible thumping, door pounding religious pushiness. Too often faith sharing is equated with obnoxious, arrogant behavior, even though the word evangelism in its origins speaks of sharing good news, inviting and welcome others into the Gemeinschaft, creating a sense of home for all manner of people.
I remember, some years ago, as Janice and I were entering the grounds of a fall festival held annually in Fort Wayne, being handed a small leaflet by an elderly, rather ominous looking man. I made the assumption that I was being handed a religious tract, and I was not wrong; it was a copy of the gospel of John. When I thanked the man, I got no response; he continued to scowl at people as he thrust the “good news” into their hands.
Fearful lest we be identified with that kind of perspective, we often go to the other extreme, reluctant to speak of our faith and of the good things happening in our church and in our personal lives. But surely there are loving and creative ways to invite people to come and experience with us life in the community of faith.
In the aftermath of the fall of the deeply unjust system of racial apartheid in South Africa, Archbishop Desmond Tutu wrote a book entitled No Future Without Forgiveness. The archbishop reflects on his participation in the establishment of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the purpose of which was to help South Africans, black and white, come to terms with the past and to move forward in the creation of new relationships, new understandings, new ways of living and working together. Referring to the native African worldview of ubuntu, Archbishop Tutu writes,
Ubuntu is very difficult to translate into a Western language. It speaks of the very essence of being human. When we want to give high praise to someone we say, “so-and-so has ubuntu.” Then you are generous, you are hospitable, you are friendly and caring and compassionate. You share what you have. It is to say, “My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours.” We belong in a bundle of life. We say, “A person is a person through other persons.” It is not, “I think, therefore I am.” It says rather, “I am human because I belong. I participate. I share.” A person with ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good. For he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they were less than who they are.
That description of ubuntu comes remarkably close to the kind of community Christ opens for us, the kind of community we seek to share with one another here at Highland Avenue. But it is a sense of community that is somehow diminished if we hold it only for ourselves, if we are not willing to share it with others.
We have a great deal to offer to the world around us, to our neighborhood and city. In a world too often tempted to make easy peace with violence and with the very opposite of ubuntu, we are called to embrace community in which peace and nonviolence are the rule. In a world prone to accept divisive fear and suspicion of one another, we have a vision of community in which all are invited to God’s table. In a world that urges us to look out for “number one,” to take care of ourselves alone, we hear the gospel’s call to become servants one to another, even willingly washing the feet of our neighbor.
It is no coincidence that the earliest Christians came to be called people of the Way. Their faith had produced a discernible lifestyle, a way of life, a process of growth visible to all. In his book Call to Conversion Jim Wallis reminds us that you and I “are called not just to have a right spiritual attitude; we are called to live in the Spirit in concrete and specific ways that are an unmistakable alternative to the ways of the world.”
Some months after beginning ministry here at Highland Avenue I met an Elgin leader who said, “I think of the Church of the Brethren as the conscience of our community.” It was a marvelous compliment, and yet at the same time, a tremendous challenge. Are you and I living and speaking and acting in ways that provide an unmistakable alternative to the ways of the world? Are we modeling a life of peace and servanthood, of compassion and loving kindness? For those who are searching for “something more” in their lives, are we living and proclaiming the promise of life in the realm of God? Are we community that offers welcoming arms?
Brothers and sisters, may we embrace the calling before us with hope and with joy. Amen.
All praise and honor and thanksgiving be to you, O God, for the wondrous ways you enfold us in arms of love.
You come among us as gentle Shepherd, guiding and encouraging us; as divine Creator, sharing gifts of beauty and new life; as gracious Spirit, renewing and refining us.
You come among us as holy God, calling us to new levels of faith and faithfulness; as Prince of Peace, leading the way to reconciliation, breaking down barriers of distrust and fear; you come among us as fount of compassion, caring for all, loving each one of us with a love that will not let us go.
Loving God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer—come and lead us. Melt us and mold us. Fill us with your light and your hope, your grace and your forgiveness.
You alone are our Strength, our Shield, our Rock, our Hope, and so we turn to you, we who live in a world so prone to fear and brokenness, a world that continues to live in the shadow of terrorism and violence, a world divided and confused.
God, bring peace—peace to our hearts and peace to our world. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, to embrace the way of Christ as an unmistakable alternative to the ways of the world. Forgive us when our fears keep us silent in the face of injustice and deaf to the cries of the poor, the lonely, and the forgotten.
Bless, O God, the ministries of the church. As we embark upon a new season of learning, we are grateful for those who share their energy and their gifts as Sunday School teachers. Open our minds to new truth and new growth; open our spirits to the gospel’s call.
Hear us, O God, as we remember those in special need of your healing touch. We hold in your hands those who are grieving … those who were hospitalized this past week … those struggling to find direction and meaning for their lives … those who do not yet know the joy of walking with you in whom we can place our trust.
Gentle Shepherd, Almighty God, come and feed us. In the Spirit of Jesus the Christ we pray. Amen.