July 19, 2015 Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 & Ephesians
2:11-22
I’m a big fan of the NBC Nightly News. And since it
comes on here when I am already in bed, I start my day by watching the previous
night’s news with my morning coffee or tea. Lately, I’ve been thinking about
skipping it (the news, not my coffee) altogether, because of the 6-8 stories
reported, most of them bring bad news. Stories of violence often lead off –
shootings, violence again women and children, terrorism warnings – it’s hard to
watch long enough to get to the “feel good” story that comes at the end. Again
and again, I find myself asking, “When did compassion become the exception,
rather than the rule?”
This week’s lessons, especially the Epistle and the
Gospel, speak to this question. The gospel lesson, two travel tales, are
bookends to two of Jesus’ most well-known miracles, the feeding of the 5000 and
Jesus walking on water to the boat full of frightened disciples.
The each travelogue begins in the same way. Jesus
realizes that his reputation is spreading throughout the region, and people are
coming from far and wide, not just to see him in person, or to hear him speak,
but because they want something from him. They want healing. They want
wholeness. They want to be touched by Jesus.
And at certain points, Jesus realizes that they need
to just get away – to rest, recover and do a little self-care. It’s a great
lesson for all of us, but one that it increasingly difficult to achieve in our
“do more with less” work and world. And I bet there will be many sermons
preached this morning on how important it is to take care of yourself. And it
is. So here me when I say, “Friends, take care of yourselves and your families
so that you can better serve the Kingdom of God.”
But I’m not content to stop there. Because in the
stories we have before us, Jesus and his disciples never really got the
opportunity to totally shut down. In the first story, the disciples have just
returned from their mission trip in Jesus’ name. They were sent out to spread
the good news of the Kingdom of God, and to heal sickness and cast out demons.
In addition, they have just received the news of the death of John, Jesus’
cousin and the one who initiated Jesus’ ministry with baptism in the Jordan
River. This was devastating news and between the two events, it is no wonder
that they would want to take some time out and regroup.
But when they got to the deserted place on the other
side of the lake, it wasn’t really deserted after all. The crowd had figured
out where they were going and beat them there. And in his compassion, Jesus
spoke to them, teaching them about the God’s kingdom. As the time grew late,
the disciples encouraged Jesus to send the people home to find themselves
something to eat. Instead, Jesus took a young boy’s offering, five loaves of
bread and two fish, and fed the multitude, with over 12 baskets of scraps left
over.
Afterward, they tried
again to get away, this time to Bethsaida, for a little R&R – rest and
recovery. Jesus sent the boat ahead while he went to the mountain to pray. When
he was done, he saw that the disciples straining against a strong storm that
had pop up on the lake. So he walked out to them, which apparently frightened
them beyond belief. Imagine their further surprise when the storm called
immediately upon his getting in the boat. What a confusing turn of events.
In the end, they landed
in a different place than for which they set out - Gennesaret, rather than
Bethsaida - where again the people pressed in to see and touch Jesus. Everywhere
they went, people came bringing their sick friends and relations, all in hopes
that Jesus could do for them when he had done for others – bring wholeness in
compassion and love.
Paul also addresses
this need for compassion and love – not in the realm of physical healing, but
in the mending of relationships between Jewish and Gentile Christians. He reminds
the church in Ephesus, which had a lot of Gentile Christians, that their
relationships are not defined by their differences, but by the One who unites
them, in love. From Eugene Peterson’s The Message:
The Messiah has made things up between us so that we’re now together on this, both non-Jewish outsiders and Jewish insiders. He tore down the wall we used to keep each other at a distance. He repealed the law code that had become so clogged with fine print and footnotes that it hindered more than it helped. Then he started over. Instead of continuing with two groups of people separated by centuries of animosity and suspicion, he created a new kind of human being, a fresh start for everybody. (Ephesians 2:14-15 The Message)
That’s the world I want
to live in. A world where the differences between us do not define how our
relationships will be lived out. Race, gender, sexuality, nationality,
religious orientation, politics... these are the arbitrary boundaries that help
us find people with whom we are comfortable... people who are more like us than
they are not… people who don't frighten us or make us feel good about ourselves. And we struggle daily, not just to open our
hands and hearts to others who are different from us, but to see that they even
need to be opened in the first place.
The reading from
Ephesians speaks of reconciliation with and access to God bought at a great
price. We are all strangers and aliens
to God, at the same time that we are citizens and members of the household of
God. Jesus’ wanderings among people of great need, often dragging his clueless
disciples along, should teach us that we are called to live a life of
availability, often going against the flow of public opinion and knowing that Christ
calls us to live lives worthy of the sacrifice made on our behalf.
I’ve read a lot of
really good commentaries and sermons in preparation for this week’s sermon, and
usually I pepper my sermon with quotes from the biblical scholars and preachers
I follow most closely. But this week I’m going to tell three short stories of
compassion, forgiveness and becoming one that make me think that it’s truly
possible for us to become the people that Christ called us to be.
Nine years ago, the
world stood still as word came of a shooting at an Amish schoolhouse in Nickel
Mines, PA. A distraught father and husband entered that one-room school and
shot 10 school-aged girls. Five died. Five were severely wounded. That could
have been the end of good relationships between the Amish and their English
neighbors. But it wasn’t. Lead by their intense Christian training, the Amish
modeled what it meant to be part of the family of God.
Within hours of the
shooting, they visited the family of the shooter, offering their condolences on
the death of their husband, father, & son. They attended the gunman’s
funeral, provided food for the family, and offered sincere words of
forgiveness. They received the gifts that were offered from the community and
the world – gifts of millions of dollars – not because they believed they
needed or deserved them, but because they did not want to take away someone
else’s need to be generous and make a difference. And they made sure that the
gunman’s family had access to these funds, because they believed it wasn’t fair
that they benefit any more that the other family because everyone was equally a
victim of violence.[i]
And the world asked,
“How do they do it?”
A month ago when I was
in South Carolina, a breaking news report came across the TV screen. There had
been a shooting at a historic black church in Charleston – Mother Emmanuel AME
Church – and nine people were reported dead, including the pastor who was also
a state senator. I admit that as I went to bed that night I wondered if we
would wake to more reports of violence between blacks and whites as we had seen
in Ferguson, Chicago, New York and Baltimore. But instead I woke to see a
peaceful arrest of the presumed shooter, his return to Charleston that day, and
a press conference by family members stating that they had already forgiven the
shooter of his deadly deed. I could quote many of them here, but their ultimate
message was this – if you intended to start a race war here, you have come to
the wrong place and the wrong people. We will only answer with love.
And the world asked,
“How do they do it?”
Within weeks the Nickel
Mines shooting, the Amish and English communities worked together to tear down
the old schoolhouse and built a new one closeby. Four days after the shooting
at Mother Emmanuel, a line of people packed the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge,
stretching more than two miles from the town of Mount Pleasant to the city of Charleston.
Observers on the bridge, and thousands more at the base, joined hands to create
a "unity chain," then held a moment of silence that lasted five
minutes in honor of the fallen.[ii]
We need to pay
attention to this question “How do they do it?” The Amish responded to that
question with this answer, “Refusing to forgive is not an option – it’s just a
normal part of our living.”[iii]
For them, forgiveness lives at the foundation of what it means to be a
Christian. It is the bedrock on which community grows.
In South Carolina, the
shooting sparked a larger conversation about race and community. It
accomplished something that religious and community leaders had been working
toward for decades. Yes, there has been some backlash from the events of the
last month – at least 3 SC black churches and 5 others in surrounding states
have been burned to the ground, but it looks like love will prevail, even
outside the Christian community.
Muslim friends through
a crowdsourced fundraising site have raised $92,000 in just 10 days to help
rebuild black churches as a part of their Ramadan observance, stating
We want for others what we want for ourselves: the right to worship without intimidation, the right to safety, and the right to property. We must always keep in mind that the Muslim community and the black community are not different communities. We are profoundly integrated in many ways, in our overlapping identities and in our relationship to this great and complicated country. We are connected to Black churches through our extended families, our friends and teachers, and our intertwined histories and convergent present. Too often cowards inflict us with a crippling fear, but with encouragement and support from likely and unlikely places fear cannot stop us.[iv]
I think that’s exactly
what Paul was talking about. And still we ask, “But how can I step outside my
comfort zone and do something like that?”
Two weeks ago, our teen-aged nieces came to spend 12 days with us. We toured together and cooked
together and swam together and just enjoyed being together. And just when I
thought that they would get tired of hanging out with their boring old aunt and
uncle, there was a knock on the door. Our neighbor’s 14-year old daughter came
to ask them to walk to the park with her and a friend. And we let them,
worrying all the time if we had done the right thing. And as teenagers will,
they exchanged What’s App and Facebook information, and messaged each other
throughout the week. On Friday night they went together to the town pool party,
and said fond goodbyes as the girls prepared to leave last week.
And when I thanked
Selina for including them in her activities, she responded by saying, “I just
thought about what I would like someone to do for me, and I did it.”
And if that’s not the
gospel in a nutshell, I don’t know what it is. So here’s my charge to you:
Let’s act as if we believe Paul’s words - “for we are no longer strangers and
aliens, but are members together of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19
NRSV).
And love will
come. It all begins with grace. Amen.
