Joel D. Kline
June 27, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
Janice and I have a cocker spaniel named Beau, now thirteen years old and becoming less and less active as he ages. Until a year or so ago, Beau would enthusiastically join us as we headed out the door for a walk of several miles. But in the last year, whenever Beau sees us putting on our walking shoes, he heads for his cage, making a clear statement, “Nothing doing!” Beau was originally our daughter Jill’s dog, but through the years he became much more our dog than hers. That wasn’t much of a problem, since I am a lover of dogs, but I’m telling you right now, Beau is definitely our last dog! Oh, I will be tempted when I see a new puppy, so full of love and energy and zest for living. And likely, as parents often say when confronted with a child’s longing request for a new dog, I will lament, “If only they’d stay puppies!” But puppies have a way of growing up, and almost before you realize it, you’re in it for the long haul. The added dynamics of another creature with needs and wants of its own, the extra responsibility and expense and time required—all this makes the bringing of a new dog into one’s family a major commitment.
You may be wondering why I’m talking about pets this morning. Truth is, we are sometimes tempted to approach our experience of faith in much the same way as we do puppies. To encounter the love of Jesus in a first-hand way can be an exhilarating experience, but as we begin to sense that faith is a journey, a life-long commitment, an adventure that demands over the long haul the giving of ourselves heart and soul, we do not find this matter of discipleship nearly so inviting.
Perhaps that’s why Jesus responds with words that seem rather harsh to several would-be disciples in this morning’s Gospel lesson. The old hymn affirms, Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me. It is a beautiful invitation to come home, to embrace the wondrous gift of God’s love for us that is made visible in the life and ministry, the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. So why is it that Jesus, encountering a number of potential disciples, seems to offer more discouragement than encouragement? Could it be that Jesus wants to remind those would-be disciples that the gospel story does not end with our initial coming to Jesus; indeed, to come home to Jesus is but the beginning. While the gospel message flows forth from the remarkable story of what God has done for us, it is not enough to say, “I’ve found Jesus,” and then act as if nothing has changed.
Much more, encounter with God’s gracious gift of love prods us to make a response. We soon discover that you and I are challenged to put on a whole new way of living—a life in which we seek to see as God sees. It’s a life of mercy and compassion in which we serve the broken, go the extra mile in relationships, pursue those things that make for peace, love even the enemy—all expressions of the call to walk in the footsteps of Christ Jesus. It’s a life that leads us out of our safety zones.
This past Saturday the Churches of the Brethren in the Chicago area sponsored a forum focusing on what it means to be peacemakers in the 21st century. Christian Peacemaker Team member Cliff Kindy, who has spent much of the past year and a half in Iraq seeking to be a reconciling presence, shared his perceptions of the troubling events in Iraq. And then, in the last hour of the forum, five of us pastors shared our own experiences with peacemaking and how we came to understand peacemaking as part of our Christian discipleship. One of the pastors, coming out of another tradition, acknowledged that prior to serving among the Brethren, he had little thought about peace. But he now finds himself reading the Scriptures with new eyes and ears, in the process discovering that the New Testament is filled with this challenge to be peacemakers and reconcilers in the world around us. His observation about the change in perspective is that it frequently leaves him in an uncomfortable place. The gospel calls us out of our safety zones.
Among the preachers at the Festival of Homiletics I attended a month or so ago was James Forbes, dynamic pastor of the Riverside Church in New York City. Forbes spoke of the need for courageous preaching, daring to proclaim the word of the Lord as it confronts the critical issues of our day. He laments that we are more likely to preach what he calls “hoop skirt” sermons—sermons that cover everything and touch nothing! Such sermons are safe—they do not offend anyone; they do not violate the sensibility of the homeland security act or patriot acts 1 and 2; they allow us to stand in the safety zone. And yet, is there not a hunger for a word from the Lord regarding the troubling situation in which we find ourselves as a post 9/11 people? How do we come to terms with the fact that a recent poll in Iraq shows that only 2% of Iraqis see the United States as a liberating force in their country, and our nation is seen across the globe as far more intent upon empire building than upon the pursuit of justice? In the midst of a time of moral confusion and bankruptcy, is not the church called to reflect an alternative perspective? When fear and suspicion are far more likely to gain the upper hand, when warfare and violence are seen as the only option, does the church have an alternative word from God?
I wonder if Jesus does not want his disciples to grapple with similar disturbing questions. James and John want to command ravishing fire down from heaven upon those villages unreceptive to Jesus, much as the prophet Elijah called down fire upon his opponents. But, says Jesus, that’s not what my journey is like. We are not on a triumphant march, sweeping all resistance aside; no, our march is of a different character. We are in the business of sowing seeds, proclaiming a new reality based upon the love and compassion, the peace and promise of God. We are confronting business as usual by announcing that there is indeed another way of living.
To several would-be disciples, Jesus offers equally confounding words. The first comes boldly and enthusiastically asserting, “I will follow you wherever you go.” One might expect Jesus to be gratified, and yet, in response, Jesus merely warns the potential disciples of the risks of following him. “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but I have nowhere to lay my head at the end of the day.” In effect Jesus is reminding the prospective disciple, “I was born in a stable not my own. As I journey through life and proclaim the message of God’s kingdom, I cannot assure you that life will be comfortable. And when I die, I shall be buried in a tomb that is not even my own. Are you ready for this kind of faith journey, a journey that may well take you to the fringes of life, that will lead you to question all that you have previously known, that will challenge you to abandon former ways of experiencing reality as you discover a greater reality—life in the very realm of God?”
As if to make that point even more vividly, a second potential disciple arrives on the scene, who asks if he might first go and bury his father, and then come and follow Jesus. It is an understandable request, for among ancient Jews, there was no greater obligation, no more holy and binding duty, than that of burying one’s father. There is some sense that the likely disciple’s parent has not yet died, that the would-be disciple, pledging to follow Jesus as soon as possible, places primary responsibility upon care for his parents for the rest of their lives. But Jesus will have none of it, asserting that nothing dare take priority to living and proclaiming the kingdom of God. There is an urgency to what Jesus is about, so this is no time to delay one’s commitment. Elsewhere, of course, Jesus celebrates the gift of families and urges us to express our love in concrete ways, but here he is announcing that we ought not allow anything to get in the way of our principal loyalty to God.
A third prospective disciple wants to first bid farewell to those at home. Again, Jesus minces few words, asserting, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” In our urban setting, we may miss the power of Jesus’ words. But when plowing, if you look back, even if what you see is a straight line behind you, the very act of looking back will mean that the next bit of plowing will become crooked. If you’re singing a song, it’s no good wondering whether you sang the previous line all right. You have to concentrate on the next line. If you’re on a journey, the map you need is the one that tells you where to go next, not for the road you’ve just traveled.
Any wonder that some are prone to lament, “If only Jesus would stay spiritual. If only Jesus would act as we expect Jesus to act.” Sojourners editor Jim Wallis once asserted that “we can find common ground only as we move to higher ground.” And at the heart of Jesus’ ministry, is he not pointing us to higher ground, to a new way of living that will not rest content with a spirituality that cares only for oneself, nor with a faith that does not lead us into deep and abiding relationship with our fellow human beings in God’s creation? Episcopal priest Kenneth Leech writes in his book True Prayer,
It is totally wrong to see spirituality as a way of opting out of the human struggle … . True spirituality is not a leisure-time activity, a diversion from life. It is essentially subversive, and the test of its genuineness is practical. Discipleship involves a real transformation of character.
My friends, Jesus does indeed call to us softly and tenderly. But clinging to “the hour we first believed” is never enough. Telling yesterday’s story and polishing yesterday’s truth is never enough. Rather, as we respond to holy love and divine grace, all of life is transformed. We dare not seek to relegate Jesus to one corner of our lives—that corner we label as “spiritual.” No, Jesus speaks to all of our living, and in relationship with Jesus we begin to see with new eyes—with the eyes of our God, who has created each one of us with the very seed of God within us. We embark upon a journey of life, a journey of compassion, a journey of hope, a journey of peace, a journey that leads to higher ground. It is life of ongoing movement, a commitment over the long haul, a life that stretches us beyond our safety zones.
Come, let us journey with the fearless one of Galilee whose life is still a summons to serve humanity. Amen.
Lord God, we come waiting upon you, eager to have our strength renewed, our faith deepened, our sense of community enlivened, our hope enriched, our hearts encouraged, and our spirits made new. Thanks be to you, O God, for the gift of your gracious Spirit in us and among us. In times of uncertainty, your Spirit encourages us and we find ourselves mounting up with wings as eagles; we find ourselves running, and not growing weary; walking, and not fainting.
O God, yours is a surprising power—the power that comes in a gentle touch, the power made visible in acts of service, the power of waiting. Yet we confess that we do not find it easy to be a patient people. We want what we want, when we want it. But in your kingdom, your realm of life, growth frequently comes through the sowing of seeds, tilling the soil, waiting and watching. The surrounding culture demands instant results, while you, O God, often work in quiet ways, as a still small voice, in a quiet smile or simple deed of compassion. Teach us, holy God, the art of waiting and watching, loving and serving.
Hear us now, gracious God, as we bring into your presence those concerns that weigh on our hearts. We pray for…
God of loving kindness, hear also our prayers for peace in our troubled world. We pray for our own nation and its leaders, that we might learn to live justly. And we pray for the peoples of Iraq, Afghanistan and other areas where unrest and violence are the order of the day. O God, may that day come when swords are beaten into plowshares and weapons of destruction transformed into instruments of healing. Fill us with courage and grace as we seek to be a reconciling, healing, peaceful presence in the world around us.
In the name and spirit of Christ Jesus, prince of peace, humble servant, living Lord, we pray. Amen.