Tame Jesus - Redeemer Episcopal Church (3 Pentecost)

You may read the sermon below of listen to it at this link.

Luke 9:51-62

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

A Samaritan Village Refuses to Receive Jesus

51 When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. 52 And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, 53 but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem. 54 When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” 55 But he turned and rebuked them. 56 Then they went on to another village.

Would-Be Followers of Jesus

57 As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” 58 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.” 59 To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” 60 And Jesus[c] said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” 61 Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” 62 And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

I’ll be completely and totally honest with you this morning— this is not the kind of Jesus story I really like. 

I like the stories of tame Jesus. I like the stories of Jesus feeding people. And the stories of Jesus healing people. I would even much rather the story of Jesus putting a legion of demons into a whole herd of pigs. 

Even give me the story of Jesus cursing a fig tree or clearing sinful people out of the temple. I’m okay with all of those kinds of stories of Jesus. They are tame… or if they aren’t tame, they seem to target the most powerful and sinful of the people Jesus encounters. And surely that’s not me, right? 

But this story… this story is convicting and makes me uncomfortable. Not because of my wealth or my status in society, but because of my faith life— because of the way I walk with Jesus. 

Perhaps I have been here at Redeemer too long, because when I read this story, I could hear Father Wiley say that he is not interested in ethical questions of good vs evil. It’s when we start to think about good vs good is when things start to get really interesting. 

That’s what we hear this morning. That’s why this story is so very convicting and makes me so very uncomfortable. 

First half is about Jesus’ mercy to people who really have no intention of following him in the first place. 

Jesus and his disciples are on their way to Jerusalem and are passing through a village of Samaria. The people there had maybe heard of Jesus, but knew he was on his way to Jerusalem, so they didn’t have any interest in even receiving him and his disciples into their village. 

The disciples are eager to teach the Samaritans a lesson and ask if Jesus wants them to bring down fire from heaven to consume the people there. The disciples lack faith in so many different ways, but as soon as they see someone snub Jesus, they think they can bring down fire from heaven to avenge him. The disciples are such an interesting bunch. 

But Jesus says no, and continues on his way. He extends mercy to the Samaritans, even though they wouldn’t welcome him into their village. 

But then Jesus talks to some other people along the road. These folks are different than the Samaritans because they are already there with Jesus, walking with him to Jerusalem. 

“I will follow you wherever you go.” One of them says. Jesus replies with a sort of coded message, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” He seems to be saying, “you say you’ll follow me wherever I’ll go, but you don’t know where I’m going. I don’t have a palace somewhere and I have nowhere to keep you safe once we get to Jerusalem.” 

“Are you sure?” Jesus seems to be saying to this follower. 

To another person, Jesus said, “Follow me.” 

But the man said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” 

And 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.” 

And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

This is why this story of Jesus makes me so uncomfortable. It makes me shift in my chair a bit as I read it. I don’t *like* this version of Jesus. I don’t want to follow someone who would say something that seems so callous and unloving. 

But then I remember again what Father Wiley says. The questions of good versus good are so much more interesting. I don’t think that Jesus is saying that it is a bad thing for people to want to go back and bury their loved ones. I don’t think Jesus is saying that it is a bad thing that this follower wants to go and say farewell to the people that he loves. 

But Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem and nothing is going to stop him from doing what he was sent to earth to do. He expects his followers to have the same kind of determination that he does. Perhaps that was unfair to some of his followers at the time— after all, they didn’t know how the story would turn out. They don’t have the same privilege that we do, knowing that the end of the story with Jesus’ death was only really the beginning of the story of the Kingdom of God. 

But we do. 

There will always be things that divert our attention away from the gospel. There will always be excuses that we come up with— even good, valid, and important excuses— as to why we cannot follow Christ right now. 

There will always be reasons why it would be easier to just catch up with him later, when it’s more convenient. 

There will always be times when we have to choose between what is good and what is the most important and pressing thing to God and the Kingdom RIGHT NOW. 

And I don’t think these choices are going to get any easier. Over this summer, we will spend time going all the way through Luke’s gospel and what I think we are going to find is that the longer people follow Jesus, the most difficult it is to choose between good and the gospel. I think we will find that as well. Things are not going to get easier. They may, in fact, get much more difficult for us as people of God. 

But we have the promise of the Holy Spirit in the baptismal waters. We have the promise of the feast to come in the Kingdom of God in this holy meal. We have a cloud of witnesses before us and a community of saints among us to help us understand and discern exactly what it means to follow Jesus in these times. Like I said, it’s not going to be easy. And there will be people who are bent on distracting you from resurrection and restoration. There will be so many reasons to choose the easier path, to make excuses why it is just too risky to do it right now. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God. Christ is with you. Amen. 

Radical Hospitality - Redeemer Episcopal Church (Holy Trinity Sunday)

You may listen to the sermon audio here or read it below. 

Lord, may the words of my mouth and the mediation of each heart here before you be acceptable in your sight. Amen. 

I have told you stories of our radical hospitality in campus ministry before, but I want to share another one because my students continue to surprise and delight me. 

We had one student graduate from UNF this past spring semester. She is one of our most outgoing and talented students, with lots of friends at the university and in the community. She was having a hard time finding a venue for her graduation party, so finally we just decided we would host her party on the final night of Food for Thought on the Tuesday before graduation. 

We rented out part of the ballroom, decorated it, and had some incredible lasagna along with traditional Egyptian food that our student’s mom brought in. Around 6:15pm a student hesitantly walked into the room and quietly asked if she was in the right place for Food for Thought. I began to explain that this is a different gathering than usual because we were celebrating Khalifa, our graduate. 

I looked over to Khalifa for a cue of some sort to see if she knew her and Khalifa swept her up in a hug, exclaimed “YOU ARE WELCOME HERE!”, and put a plate of food in front of her. No one had ever seen her before, but immediately, she was brought in to be a part of this weird and wonderful community. I don’t know if we will ever see her again, but that night she was fed and loved like she’d been with us for the whole year. 

“You are welcome here.” That can be a powerful invitation. In a time when we can find almost anything to divide ourselves up, we seem to insist that we are even more unique than the next person, and we aren’t as good about gathering socially as we once were… “You are welcome here” can be some of the most life giving words we can hear today. 

You see, we long to be in community. Despite what people might say about social media, it really is all about belonging. We want to be even more connected in a world that seems so distant and disconnected all the time. We crave a community that understands us and invites us into the real “stuff” of life. We long for people who say, “hey, I’m struggling with that too.” Or “I totally understand what that feels like.” We need that. It’s a part of what makes us human beings. In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, it’s right there in the middle— we need love and belonging in order to feel as if our lives have meaning and purpose. 

I substitute taught in the middle schools around Jacksonville before I started working here at Redeemer. And wow they taught me a lot about the need and innate desire for belonging. 

I remember watching as a group of students debated whether they would play basketball or volleyball. It all revolved around what everyone else wanted to do. No one wanted to be the one to make the decision because no one wanted to be the odd one out— to make the wrong choice. 

This doesn’t stop in middle school. The college students I work with are constantly weighing different opportunities on campus with who is attending, how they might be perceived, or if they will be welcomed. 

I recently heard a quote from Martin Luther and he’s supposed to have said that we are all mere beggars, going and telling other beggars where we found bread. That’s what campus ministry feels like to me— we are all craving connection and community, and we are all going and telling others where we found it. And that’s exactly how our ministry grows. It’s not me— it’s our students who understand our commitment to hospitality and invite more students to be a part of this relationship. 

…

Today is Trinity Sunday, and instead of trying to understand the theological implications of the Trinity, we simply need to understand the relational implications of it. And that’s it. Belonging. A belonging so deep and intricate and binding that nothing can separate it. A relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit— but also a relationship between God, humanity, and all of creation. The trinity is a relationship that we are invited into. 

That’s what makes the truth that we proclaim in this place so different. That’s what makes the gospel so different. When we choose to proclaim this truth— that we are invited into relationship with our God— it can be life changing. That’s what campus ministry does for college students and that’s what this congregation does for the community surrounding it. We open our doors and say, “you are welcome here, we want you here, and God wants you here” because that’s what the gospel says. 

And the really remarkable part is that there is no question of whether or not we belong in this community, there is no question about whether someone is in or someone is out. Paul tells us that we are all children of God because, as we heard just last week on Pentecost Sunday, the Spirit was poured out on everyone. Everyone— children, women, men, widows, young, old— there was no discrimination of the Spirit. She poured her power out on to everyone who was gathered, regardless of who they loved, what they looked like, or where they came from. 

That’s what makes this community, this relationship, different than anything else in this world. And we don’t quite understand it, do we? It’s almost impossible to wrap our heads around the promise that we are a part of this relationship, fellow dancers in the Trinity… God’s children— and there is truly and simply nothing we can do to change that. Do we believe that?

When we say, “come Holy Spirit,” whether in baptism or in prayers or before communion, we are asking that all of our other identities be washed away. We are asking to be adopted into God’s family. We are asking for a new reality, a new creation to overtake this one. 

As we invite the Spirit into our lives, into this community, into our colleges and universities, the Spirit is inviting us into the relationship of the Trinity— the relationship that turns the whole world inside out and upside down. The relationship that heals the sick, and comforts the crying, lifts up the poor, and casts down the rich. 

We are invited into this incredible relationship and we are called to go out into the world and tell them where we found it. We are all beggars, telling other beggars where we found bread. Amen. 

Take and go - Redeemer Episcopal Church

John 5 

Jesus Heals on the Sabbath

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many ill, blind, lame, and paralyzed people. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” 

The ill man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.

Now that day was a Sabbath.

If it feels like the gospel reading this morning started and ended in a weird place, that’s because it did. This story happens kind of in the midst of many of Jesus’ healing stories. He has spoken to the Samaritan woman, he has visited Cana in Galilee and turned water into wine, and then Jesus is approached by a royal official whose child is about to die. John tells us that through these miracles many people came to believe and word started getting around that Jesus was able to heal people and do miracles. 

That’s where our story from this morning starts. Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a Jewish festival and went to a place where many ill people were laying around a pool of water. We know from later writings that the reason people laid around this pool is because it was thought that an angel or spirit would stir up the waters and the first person to go into the waters would be healed. We aren’t told if that worked, but it seemed like enough people were gathered around that at least many of the most ill people believed that it did. 

So when Jesus approaches this pool and sees the man who has been ill for 38 years, he asks him, “do you want to be made well?” 

You would think that the man would exclaim YES and beg Jesus to heal him. 38 years is a long time to be ill and who knows how long he had stayed next to that pool day after day waiting to be healed by the waters. 

But unlike many of the other people Jesus has encountered so far— this man gives Jesus an excuse as to why he can’t be healed: “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.”

I actually love this story because it is so different from the other healing stories. 

Usually we see that people approach Jesus to be healed or have their loved-one healed— there is an element of faith and desperation for Jesus in these people. They go after him, sometimes risking quite a bit to make sure that Jesus notices them…

The women who pushes through the crowd just to touch the hem of his coat. 

The man who seeks him out to heal his daughter. 

Mary and Martha who send word to him that their brother has died and then admonish him that he didn’t come sooner. 

The man whose friends open up the roof of a house to send him down to be healed by Jesus. 

Even Jesus’ mother presses him to perform the miracle of turning water into wine at a wedding. 

But this man looks at Jesus and, instead of saying, “yes, please! I’d like to be healed!” Gives an excuse as to why he can’t. Perhaps it because this man didn’t know much about Jesus or hadn’t heard about the healing and miracles that had already happened across the land. Or perhaps the man didn’t bother to glance up at Jesus because he didn’t think he was worth of being healed. 38 years is a long time to be ill. Perhaps by then, he had been told by everyone around him, the systems and powers and even religious leaders that he was not worthy of healing. And maybe even believed this lie himself, that he would never be healed, that he wasn’t worth it. And he wasn’t necessarily wrong— he knew that the way things worked— that you had to be the first person down into the pool when the water was stirred up by the spirit… he would never be able to be healed by the systems of this world. It doesn’t matter if I want to be healed, the man says— it’s not an option for me. 

But Jesus, undeterred by this man’s attitude, heals him immediately and tells him to get up and go, leave this place that his been lying to you for all these years about your worthiness. And the man picks up his mat and walks. 

What is missing from this story is that this is not the end of the story. Our lectionary ends by saying that all of this happened on the sabbath, which implies that there are going to be some problems for Jesus. 

And there were. The healed man is approached by some officials who fuss at him for carrying his mat on the sabbath and immediately he says, “well, the man who healed me told me to!” But he doesn’t know who Jesus is and Jesus had slipped off into the crowd. Later Jesus sees the man again and tells the man to stop sinning and the man immediately leaves to tell the religious officials about Jesus. 

In so many other healing stories, we hear about how the person goes into town and tells everyone what Jesus has done for them and many come to believe in him. But in this story, Jesus heals this man, and then he goes and immediately tattle-tales on him to the religious officials!

That’s exactly why I really like this story. 

Because it doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man is ungrateful. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man cannot heal himself by dipping into the waters. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man doesn’t beg him for healing. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man doesn’t leave the portico believing in the goodness of God and proclaiming the good news of Jesus to the rest of his community. 

In this story, Jesus is concerned with healing for this man. Jesus is concerned with wholeness for this man. Not just in his body, but in his soul. 

That is the God incarnate I can believe in. That is the God incarnate I can be in relationship with and love to the depths of my bones— not one who expects much of anything from me, because I know I will fail over and over again— but a God who is concerned with my healing and wholeness and the healing and wholeness of the world. Simply because we are a part of God’s creation. 

That’s what I hear as the good news of this story— that God desires for us to be whole— regardless of whether or not our response is faithfulness or not. God desires for us to be whole because God desires for us goodness and abundance— not so that God might get something back from it, but simply because. 

Every time we come to this place, and we lay ourselves by the waters, waiting for the spirit to stir something up, Jesus approaches us and says, “do you want to be healed?”

And despite the world telling us that we are not worthy of healing and wholeness. Despite, perhaps, our own minds and hearts telling us that we are not worthy to come and be a part of the community. After such a long time, it is easy to believe the lie that we are just never going to be whole and healed again. But every time we dip our fingers into that font, every time we come to this table, Jesus says, “take and eat and go.” 

Thanks be to God. Amen.