2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
Psalm 48
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13
O God, you have
taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor:
Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you
with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection;
through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the
Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Packing lists! What parent among us
hasn't cringed at opening up that long list of things to bring to summer camp? I
remember it well: You have to find just the right sized footlocker; you have to
sew nametags in countless socks and underwear; you have to scour the stores for
just the right shade of gray shorts--not too long, not too short, not too baggy
… And then there are the list of things not to bring: no designer
shirts, no electronics, no hidden candy or cookies, no cash--nothing to
distract your child from the glorious simplicity of the camp experience.[1]
Sometimes the packing lists are
self-imposed. I'm heading out on vacation tomorrow, and I've spent the last few
days making packing lists in my head, and then on paper: enough outfits, but
not too many; comfortable shoes, but not too many; and of course, the bane of
packing for us baby-boomers—all of the vitamins, and medicines, and creams and
potions that keep us going in our old age. Here, too, there are the things not
to bring: no liquids or nail files in my carry-on, and most importantly, no
Swiss army knife buried accidentally in the bottom of my backpack. I'm not
going to lose one more good gadget to the TSA. A list will help me keep that
resolution.
It's good to know what to bring. It's
good to feel prepared for any eventuality. A list helps us to think through the
goals for our time away. Left to our own devices, we're likely to load
ourselves down with the burden of too much stuff. Who hasn't smiled to watch
that fellow-traveler lugging a set of ridiculously giant suitcases through the
airport? Who hasn't shuddered at the little car wobbling down the expressway
underneath a huge pile of bags and gear? Jesus knows our common human weakness
to protect ourselves with piles of "stuff." That's why he gives his
disciples a pared-down packing list before they set out to make God's Kingdom
come. All they need is a walking stick, one outfit, and some sandals. Food, money,
and bags all need to be left at home. Most importantly, they need to bring a
partner, a second witness. They need someone to stand with them, someone to corroborate
the Good News of their story and the divine origin of their healing deeds.[2]
Christians over the centuries have taken
Jesus' packing list to heart. Monks have wandered into lives of prayer in the
desert with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Franciscans have donned a
simple brown tunic and renounced even touching money, begging instead for their
food as they cared for the poor. Countless missionaries have gone out two by
two to share the Gospel. It made me wonder: How can we, here at St. Andrew's,
take Jesus' packing list to heart in our lives? Surely, Jesus doesn't expect us
to wander two by two down Bardstown Road, penniless, walking sticks in hand?
Surely he's not telling us to shake the dust off of our sandaled feet when we
get kicked out of Jack Fry's for praying over the customers?
Jesus might be asking us to lay aside more
than our literal bags before we can follow his healing Way. Suitcases full of
material gain won’t fit in a life where it is the poor, the meek, and the
merciful who are blessed. But neither will bags of rigid piety allow us the
agility to dodge the dangers of our journey. Heavy sacks of judgment will certainly
weigh us down. A precious life wrapped in layers of cotton and self-preserving
plastic won’t fit through the turnstile that leads to life in Jesus' name. Even
Jesus himself can become extra baggage, if we stick him in a heavy box of our
own design. That's what Jesus' friends and family do in today's Gospel. They
lock Jesus up inside of their own presuppositions about who he is. "Oh,
he's just that carpenter from down the street," they reason. "He's
just that snotty-nosed kid who used to run around barefoot with his brothers
and sisters. Why should we listen to him?" Stuck inside their rigid box,
Jesus is powerless to help them.
The Church, too, sometimes carries extra
baggage around. In the late seventeenth century, some Anglican clergymen heard
the call from Jesus to bring Christianity to the native peoples of this
country. Young priests and lay catechists did give up comfortable homes to set
off for the wilds of New England, carrying only bibles and prayer books in
their bags. Most of the early apostles to this continent, however, were not
successful in their missionary efforts. Native Americans showed little interest
in their strange new prayers and ways. The trouble was that our Anglican missionaries
were laden down not with wealth and clothing, but with bags and boatloads of
British culture. Jesus' life-giving message, for our ancestors, was only icing
on the cake of Britishness. One missionary writes, "It is to be found to
be to no Purpose, to talk to [Native Americans] about our Holy Religion in
their wild native state … they must be made Men, that is rational considerate
Creatures, before they will become good Christians."[3] I wonder what assumptions
about Christianity we lug around with us into the world today--assumptions that
slow us down in our call to live into God's Kingdom? Do we have ideas about
who can be a good Episcopalian? Ideas about what standards we have to maintain?
Here's the thing about Jesus' packing
list: Whether it's a list of unneeded belts and tunics or a list of unhelpful
judgments and presuppositions, Jesus' packing list leads straight to
vulnerability. If we follow its instructions to strip away all that is
unnecessary, we are left open to others. We are made dependent upon God and upon
our neighbor. We are free to be transformed ourselves, just as we are free to
transform. These days, the refugees who come to our country seeking a new life
seem to be those who follow Jesus' instructions most closely. They are the ones
wearing only one tunic, carrying no bags, and venturing forth to seek
transformation. As we turn them away, instead of listening to what they might share with us, they shake the border-dust from their
feet in judgment.
Perhaps some of you have read David
Brook's recent column on the new film about Fred Rogers, of Mr. Roger's
Neighborhood. Brooks laments the lack of kindness in our country today. It is a
lack that comes from a turn away from courageous vulnerability. Brooks writes
that, unlike us, Mr. Rogers creates a world in which, "the child is closer
to God than the adult; … the sick are closer than the healthy; … the poor are closer than the rich and the
marginalized closer than the celebrated."[4] St. Paul would agree with
Brooks. Paul confesses in today's Epistle that God has given him a thorn to
take on his journey—a painful thorn that will remind him constantly of his
vulnerability. God gives Paul quite a packing list. God asks him to pack
"weakness, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake
of Christ." This is the vulnerable dress that Jesus asks us to carry out
into the world with us, as well.
While remembering all those years of
packing camp trunks, I winced to recall one of my biggest mom failures. One
summer, I was just too harried to follow the exacting camp list. Throwing items
together at the last minute for my younger son, I couldn't find the required
white cot sheets. Desperate, I grabbed an old set of sheets from the cupboard.
They happened to have little yellow and pink flowers on them. The day after
camp started, I got a call from his counselor. The young man's voice dripped
with disdain: Could I please send a new set of sheets for my son ASAP …. The
flowered ones had made him the laughing stock of the whole camp. I was
mortified, and I paid for overnight shipping. But now I wonder: Perhaps my son
learned a valuable lesson in vulnerability? Perhaps what Jesus is asking of us
is to wrap ourselves in flowered sheets in a white-sheet world? Perhaps what
Jesus desires for us is that we follow him, standing out like sore thumbs: kind
and vulnerable, yet unstoppable, bearing witness, two by two, to our crucified
and risen Lord.
[1]
Many thanks to Jill Duffield for the camp packing list idea! See Jill Duffield,
"Seventh Sunday after Pentecost," The
Presbyterian Outlook, http://campaign.r20.constantcontact.com/render?m=1102135377571&ca=2eb76c3a-834e-4fc4-9c07-2514c5843ed9
[2]
Morna Hooker, The Gospel According to
Mark, Black's New Testament Commentaries (London: A & C Black, 1991),
155.
[3]
Travis Glasson, Mastering Christianity:
Missionary Anglicanism and Slavery in the Atlantic World, (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2012), 69.
[4]
David Brooks, "Fred Rogers and the Loveliness of the Little Good," New York Times, July 5, 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/05/opinion/mister-fred-rogers-wont-you-be-my-neighbor.html
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