Proper 8C
June 27, 2010
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14* Ps. 77:1-2, 11-20* Galatians 5:1, 13-25* Luke 9: 51-62
The Rev. David M. McNair
On the morning of Martin Luther King’s famous “I Have a Dream Speech,” Joan Baez opened the day’s events by singing the song that became a classic of the Civil Rights Movement: “Oh Freedom.” This might push us a little out of our comfort zone but this song deserves to be sung. So I invite you to sing with me:
Oh, freedom, Oh, freedom,
Oh freedom over me.
And before I'd be a slave
I'd be buried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free.
No more moanin' etc.
There'll be singing etc.
This song sings truth. It’s a song for a mission. A song for a pilgrimage — sung by pilgrims with their eyes on the prize. I imagine it was hummed and sung by Freedom Riders as they rode south to Montgomery; by students at the lunch counter sit-ins in Greensboro and Nashville; by housecleaners walking the hot pavement home from work — refusing to ride on segregated buses; by marchers arm in arm crossing the Edmund Pettis Bridge in Selma; by children before they were hosed down and attached by vicious dogs in Birmingham; by protesters in patty wagons on their way to jail because they insisted on their right to vote; by black children jeered and spit on by angry mobs as they crossed lines to sit down at desks in newly integrated schools; by mourners at the funeral service for the four little girls killed by dynamite explosions at The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church.
I imagine Jesus moving and singing to a song like this in the story we read today from Luke’s gospel. He too is on the move. He’s on a mission. He’s a pilgrim, and his destination is Jerusalem. Today’s text says that Jesus has “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” And we know what happens in Jerusalem.
This music and mission provokes a variety of responses. Some find it alluring and magnetic; others find it annoying, offensive, or even repulsive. It’s a bit like the story of a bar outside of Stockton, California, that was having a problem with people loitering out on the sidewalk and selling drugs. This hurt the bar’s business and the police didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it. So the bar owners took matters into their own hands and started blaring classical music out onto the sidewalk. And almost immediately, the drug dealers disappeared. The mission and song sung by Jesus seems to have had the same effect on people– to disrupt them and even drive some of them away.
Luke sketches out the itinerary of Jesus’ pilgrimage. Think MapQuest: The top says, Start: Galilee. The bottom says, destination: Jerusalem. But Jesus isn’t going on a MapQuest ministry that seeks the quickest route to his destination. Jesus follows an itinerant’s itinerary. From today’s text in chapter 9 to chapter 19’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, Jesus’ mission takes what seems to be detours and odd rest stops.
Samaria is a curious place to stop. Samaritans and Jews were notorious enemies. They considered each other despicable heretics – but Jesus decides that is it here, among these social and religious outcasts, that he will kick off his “good news tour.” Messengers are sent ahead to make arrangements, but when the Samaritans learn that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem instead of Mt. Gerizim (which they considered the center of true worship), they reject him.
James and John show signs of understanding Jesus’ mission — except when they don’t. They ask Jesus if they can call down fire from heaven and blast the Samaritans to smithereens. Jesus will have no part in such violence — He rebukes them: “I have not come to destroy lives but to save them” — and they hit the road again.
As they continue on, someone comes to Jesus saying, “I will follow you wherever you go.” At last, this is the kind of person they need to join them – someone with a willing spirit and determination to make the journey with them. But Jesus issues her a stunning response: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Which is to say, “Think about this before you commit to following me: the animals of the wild have more shelter, more comfort than someone who becomes my disciple. There will be danger. There will be opposition. There will be rejection. The road I travel ends in Jerusalem and the cross.
Jesus doesn’t mince words about the pilgrimage he’s leading. Decide what’s important in life. If you like playing it safe or being comfortable; if you prefer having something to fall back on just in case or making sure that your financial future is secure first, then you’d better wait and try to catch the next prophet who comes to town. If you follow me, you aren’t promised these things. In fact, any who are committed to my road might even be assured those things won’t be there. That’s because my disciples aren’t permitted anything that will distract them from following me. I must mean everything to you. If you need more than me, you shouldn’t come along.
Jesus and disciples continue along the road, miffed with Jesus because of his “hard sell” approach to recruiting followers. They rehearse in their heads more tactful, “seeker friendly” ways of inviting people to join them. Their hopes rise a little when Jesus approaches another person in the same way he approached them — saying “Follow me.” The person Jesus greets is clearly grieving. He wears the clothes of a mourner and grief is written across his face. The disciples see in his eyes a deep need and his voice is pained when he says, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”
The disciples are encouraged. He addresses Jesus as “Lord.” He seems willing. It’s clear he needs the healing only Jesus can give. The disciples talk among themselves – making arrangements to stay in town until this man tends to family matters. Then, one of them turns to Jesus to make this suggestion, but his jaw drops when he hears Jesus’ words to the man: “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”
Essentially Jesus tells him, “If you put anything before following me, you’re living though you were dead. My way isn’t about death, but life. You’re not going to find life by putting off the kingdom of God. Today you say you can’t follow because you’ve got more important family obligations. Do you think there will be a time when you have no other obligations? Today it’s your father’s burial. Tomorrow it will be your daughter’s wedding. Then it will be a graduation, a big project at work, another degree to complete, paying off the mortgage, finishing that addition on the house, recovery from hip surgery, more time with the grandchildren, another round of radiation. It will never end.
The kingdom of God must mean everything to you because in themselves — funerals and weddings, jobs and graduations, pensions and home equity, surgeries and leisure time – they can’t give you life. Only I can give you life. If you’re not willing to set aside everything to follow, if your relationship with me doesn’t take precedence over every other responsibility or relationship – even your best ones – you’re as good as dead.
Now the disciples are troubled. A few are frustrated. Lately, Jesus has been getting in the way of their message. They believe Jesus has good news for a broken world. They’ve seen him heal, and inspire hope, and show mercy to the poor. Numbers aren’t everything but there’s something to be said for stating your message in a way that will encourage a positive response.
They secretly carried these concerns with them on the road as a person who had joined them for most of the day approached Jesus and said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me say goodbye to those at my home.”
As soon as the disciples hear the words “but — first let me,” they brace for what’s coming. Jesus says, “No one who puts a hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” For us 21st century city people, this is to say, “If you set out to plow a field and keep looking over your shoulder, you’ll end up with a crooked furrow. If you’re going to plow a field, you’ve got to plow a field. You can’t do anything else. You can’t multi-task behind a team of oxen. If you’re not going to put all your attention into plowing, don’t even start.”
Apparently, according to Jesus, this is how it is with the kingdom of God. To follow him on this pilgrimage requires our highest pledge of allegiance – a commitment higher than our allegiance to a flag, or our country, or our way of life, or our church, or even our family.
Jesus knows there’s no other life right now except the life of the pilgrim on the road to Jerusalem. He doesn’t use enticing words or savvy marketing in his invitation to come with him. This way will test us and try us – it’s not for the fainthearted or those concerned with personal safety and comfort. It will require us to leave it all behind — to lose it all.
Don’t worry about the dead or go back to get your home in order. Pack light. Leave the distractions, leave the fear, leave your opinions about who God does and does not love here. Come and follow. The Way of Jesus is the way to where there is life — life where we experience our true self, the Christ, our true call. Why would anyone stay back here? Don’t bother to say goodbye to your family – go and get them and tell them to join us. Follow him and discover that your life is lost but found.
The pilgrimage to Jerusalem is the road to life and freedom.
St. Paul tells us, “For freedom Christ has set us free . . .do not submit again to the yoke of slavery. For you were called to freedom.”
“And before I’ll be a slave
I’ll be buried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free.”