"Heading Out"
Scripture reading: Matthew 10:1, 5-14
Rev. Karen O'Connell
Sermon on Sunday, June 12, 2005
The passage we have heard from Matthew this morning is one of my very favorite in the whole of scripture. It is exciting. It sounds like the beginning of the disciples’ great camping adventures. It has also given me the most comfort in my adulthood of almost any passage.
In this passage, I hear Jesus unburdening his disciples. Though, ironically, the passage is often treated as quite the opposite. It has been approached as a great and weighty assignment. You might call it the “Minister’s Nightmare” when heard in this way. It has been interpreted to mean, “Go, work hard – do the impossible: cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers and cast out demons. And by the way, do this with no support and not even the most basic of necessities.” Then Jesus pats them (us) on the head and says, “Enjoy!”
But, knowing Jesus, I don’t think this was his goal. I think he was trying to teach the disciples how to “do” a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage. Much more romantic than the Minister’s Nightmare. Instead of Jesus asking the impossible, Jesus is giving us permission to let go and allow God to do the work.
See if this interpretation and paraphrase holds up: “So he sent them out saying, “As you go on your journey, know that you have the same gifts and skills for healing and helping people that I do. Trust God. Don’t go to places where you’ll feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. Travel among your own people. If the opportunity arises, remind people God’s spirit is in their midst. Share the Spirit with those who are sick, let it give people life, let those considered unclean know that God loves them, free people from the things that torment them. As you pack, don’t stress out over taking the right gear and having the right equipment – that’s not what this is about. Travel light. Take yourself, a couple t-shirts, your sandals, a walking stick, maybe a water bottle. That’s it. And don’t worry about expenses – let those you visit put you up. You’ll be helping them out and they’ll be glad to have you.” This, to me is the “great vacation” passage.
And then comes the part that has helped me most. Jesus concludes by saying to those he loves, like a parent sending off her children, “Ask around and find out who is generous and kind – and seek them out. Tell them what you are doing and they’ll take you in. When you get to their home, let your peace come upon it, be yourself. And if they receive your peace, if you connect, then share your story with them. If they don’t get it, don’t receive your peace, don’t worry. And don’t take it personally, you’ve done all you need to do. Move along and brush the dust off your sandals, wash your face and hands and let it go. God and I love you fiercely and that is what you must remember.”
Don’t you think it’s all in how you read it? You can see how we might make this into a whole lot of work. But really it is the most wonderful piece of permission. “Go out into the world and carry my message: God releases you from your burdens. God is near. And don’t feel like you’re a failure if people don’t understand. That’s not your concern.”
We Minnesotans are known for being good at relaxing. Going “up north” is our summer mantra. But we carry with us a nagging sense of guilt. We’re going up north, but we’ll be back in time to meet our endless list of obligations. Or, we’re going up north, but know we’re blowing off what we really should be doing.
In The Barn at the End of the World, Mary Rose O’Reilley writes, “’A week at the lake’: this is a Minnesota phrase denoting a retreat into mystery, indisposition, vacation, or retreat. It’s our all-purpose excuse and explanation. We have no missing persons in this state, they’re presumed to be ‘at the Lake.’ People from outside may puzzle about it: ‘what lake? Where?’ We don’t even know how to process these questions….’[1]
So we do know how to relax at least one week a year, how to fade into the mist, but perhaps we don’t fully understand that going “up north” is a spiritual undertaking. Jesus wanted to teach his disciples how to take in the wonders of creation all the time – how to really see and meet God’s creation and God’s people. He wanted them to learn how to meet people along the way without the wall of possessions, ambition and status between them – just your true self, your “peace” and spiritual connectedness.
In her book, entitled, “Teaching a Stone to Talk,” Annie Dillard tells the story of a day in which, I believe, she took Jesus’ advice and the world was transformed. She walked in silence, alone on a hot country afternoon, and the air above an empty field became thick with movement. She writes:
The roosters across the road started…interrupting…the cicadas…I shifted along the fence to see if either of the [farm] owners was coming or going…
When I was turned away in this manner, the silence gathered and struck me. It bashed me broadside from the heavens above me like yard goods; ten acres of fallen, invisible sky choked the fields. The pastures on either side of the road turned green in a surrealistic fashion, monstrous, impeccable, as if they were holding their breaths. The roosters stopped. All the things of the world – the field and the fencing, the road, a parked orange truck – were stricken and self-conscious….
There was only silence… I could see the shape of the land, how it lay holding silence. It’s poise and its stillness were unendurable…
There were flies buzzing over the dirt…the silent fields were the real world, eternity’s outpost in time, whose look I remembered but never like this…
I turned away, willful, and the whole show vanished. The realness of things disassembled…
Several months later, walking past the farm on the way to a volleyball game, I remarked to a friend, by way of information, “There are angels in those fields.” Angels! That silence so grave and so stricken, that choked and unbearable green! I have rarely been so surprised at something I’ve said. Angels![2]
Strange…but somehow we know what she’s talking about. The moment in the woods or gazing out over Lake Superior. Or paddling on a calm lake. The moment when time is suspended and creation shouts at you, “Pay attention!” The world sort of holding its breath and shouting, “All is sacred! All is holy!”
I watched a movie last week with my daughter. One of her favorites, “Motorcycle Diaries.” It is the true story of two Latin American young men, medical students – years ago. One of the young men is Ernesto Che Guevara who goes on to play a significant role in They decide before they take the plunge into professional life, they are going to travel the length of South America on a single motorcycle.
In many ways, the movie is Jesus’ commission re-enacted. They have no money, little gear. Their tent blows away on a windy mountainside. Not everyone welcomes them – and they are not perfect saints. But I encourage you to watch this story if you get the chance. As you watch, you’ll remember Jesus’ charge to “cleanse the lepers” from our passage today when these two cross over the great river to a leper colony. What they find in the people they meet - the oppressed, the poor, the outcast, the sick – is connection, unity, beauty.
When we have no defenses, no gear, no status, no career goals approaches, people often drop their mistrust and open up mysteriously. What is revealed is their glory, the same way that the glory of a beautiful field is revealed to Annie Dillard. In careworn faces, in awkward moments and helplessness, defenses drop, the curtain is pulled back and our intimate connection to one another is revealed. God’s spirit in our midst, making us one. There are angels out there and in here. All over. Down south. Up north. So head out. Don’t take a lot of stuff. Dress down. Just take with you your relationship to God. You may be surprised at what you discover on the way.
Amen.
[1] The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd, Milkweed Editions, Minneapolis, MN, 2000, page 258.
[2] Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters, Harper Collins, New York, 1988, pp. 136-37