In the summer of 2000, I went on a seventeen day trip to the Holy Land, led by Dr. Ellen Davis, my Old Testament professor in seminary. Four months before the trip, Ellen sent a lengthy e-mail which covered flight schedule, costs and passport reminders. Additionally, Ellen told us how to pack. Now I already knew about norms for dress, because I had been to Israel and Egypt two years earlier. I knew that dress norms there are more modest than in the States—one cannot enter Moslem religious sites or Jewish religious neighborhoods with bare knees or shoulders. Nights in Jerusalem can be cool, so one needs a shawl or wrap of some kind. A good sun hat and sun glasses are critical in desert climates. And of course one needs a sturdy pair of hiking boots. However, Ellen’s e-mail included more than basic packing tips: “I would urge you to pack lightly. We will be staying several nights in a row at most hotels or guest houses, so you can do hand laundry, or even send things out (although this will not be an option everywhere.)”
I didn’t give too much thought to Ellen’s advice to pack lightly. No. I was already planning to buy the biggest suitcase on wheels I could find. The following week, Ellen sent another e-mail: “During the last part of our trip, we will be staying at Notre Dame de Sion, a convent in a western suburb of Jerusalem. The streets are very narrow, so the bus will have to let us out at the bottom of a hill. We will have to walk up a rather steep hill about a quarter of a mile with our suitcases in order to get to the convent. Keep this in mind as you are packing.”
Wait a minute! I knew we would be hiking on this trip. I knew we would have to take our own bags into the guesthouses. But hiking with our luggage? This was not part of my plan. I decided to re-think the suitcase thing. Perhaps less was more, after all. If you are forced to travel lightly and take only what you need—not what you want—what would you take?
This morning’s gospel addresses the same issue. Jesus asks the disciples to pack lightly and take only what they need. Jesus has come back home to Nazareth, but his visit goes badly. He begins to teach in the synagogue and folks are astounded. “When Jesus preaches with wisdom and performs deeds of power, the people of Nazareth cannot see beyond their own limited view of him.”[1] The hometown folks do not host a festive coffee hour in Jesus’ honor. Instead, they taunt him. “Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” Their deliberate omission of Joseph’s name is a barbed reminder that they knew that Jesus’ mama was pregnant before she married Joseph. Jesus responds in kind: “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” Obviously some of the scornful are family members. So Jesus and the disciples go to other villages.
The disciples have been traveling with Jesus for a little while. They have learned much already—probably more than they think they’ve learned. Now, Jesus sends the disciples out in what you and I would call an internship. Jesus tells the disciples to pack lightly and take only what they need: one tunic, one pair of sandals and a staff—to protect themselves from wild animals or to negotiate the rough desert terrain. They are to take nothing extra: no cloak for a cool, windy evening. No bread. No bag. No money. Jesus does not send them out alone, but in pairs. This is critical, as the long, dusty roads between villages wind through harsh desert terrain full of wild animals and robbers.
Jesus is not the only rabbi sending disciples out. In the ancient world, cynic philosophers travel around the country. In addition to a staff, these philosophers always carry a bag with extra provisions. In contrast, Jesus says, “No bag.” Others—religious pretenders—make their rounds throughout villages, taking money from people. Jesus says “No money.” For if they had taken money for preaching and healing, they could have been accused of being religious charlatans or magicians.[2] Unlike other teachers or healers, Jesus’ disciples must depend completely on God’s provision. God will provide shelter every night—through the kindness and hospitality of strangers. Further, Jesus says they cannot choose between the Hilton and a Bedouin tent. They must stay in the first home that offers hospitality and shelter. And what if they are rejected—a distinct possibility, given Jesus’ recent rejection by home town folks?
Jesus says, “If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” This response is an ancient “gesture of cursing a place. . .[and] clearing out even the dust under one’s sandals suggests an ever more thorough rejection than shaking out [one’s] garments or washing one’s hands. . .[This dramatic gesture serves as a] testimony before God that the town has refused to hear God’s word.”[3]
The gospel writer does not tell us the disciples’ reaction to Jesus’ traveling orders. No doubt at least one of them said, “But we’re not ready yet, teacher.” Or, “I can’t preach or teach or heal. Who does he think I am? God?” All we know is that they obey. They pack lightly. They trust God to provide what they need when they need it. Like John the Baptist, the disciples preach repentance. Like Jesus, they cast out demons and anoint the sick with oil. In pairs, they venture out to do ministry with the authority Jesus has invested them. They become, in some sense, extensions of Jesus. With their own personalities and talents, and with God’s power, they change the world with God’s love.
Today, in the Church, we talk a lot about the ministry of all the baptized—both lay and ordained people. Yet deep down, we still have a hard time believing that someone other than an ordained person can do ministry. Perhaps it is because we have bought a big bag with wheels and filled it with our own expectations—and fears—about ministry. I can’t teach Sunday School—I don’t know enough about the Bible ,and besides, I have to be out of town too much. I might say the wrong thing to a visitor, so I just sit with my friends at coffee hour. I can’t invite my colleague at work to come to church with me—that’s too embarrassing. And of course if none of those excuses fit, there is always this one: “That’s the rector’s job.” No, it is not. It’s your job—to represent Christ out in your world.
Many years ago, I did spiritual direction with a little Irish Catholic nun. One day, we were talking about the challenges of living out my Christian faith in the business world. Sister Maura said this: “Sheila, do you realize that you are the only gospel some people will ever read? You are a laywoman in the business world. You get to walk through doors I will never have a chance of walking through. So, my dear, because of that, you are the fifth gospel.”
Jesus’ disciples were the fifth gospel. None of those disciples had academic or corporate credentials. Not one of them was ordained. Not one. They were just ordinary hard-working people with an extraordinary message that God loves us, no matter what. Two things qualified them for ministry: their love for God and their willingness to be the fifth gospel out in the world. When Jesus says to pack lightly and take only what they need, they do that. So can you.
Every one of us has a gift that is uniquely ours. You may not know exactly what that gift is, but if you are willing to take the first step in offering yourself, you will be amazed at what God does with you and through you. Just try this out: Shut your eyes and imagine yourself talking to Jennifer Toole about helping out next year with Sunday School. Or telling Betsy Welsh that you’ll help with Camp St. Philip’s the week of July 13-17. Maybe you could offer your gifts of compassion or a listening ear by being part of the Pastoral Care team. Or you could stand at the door on Sunday morning and help welcome the stranger into our midst—just as people welcomed Jesus and his disciples. God’s love is proclaimed in simple, concrete ways by ordinary human beings. At home. At work. At play. Just remember, each one of you is the fifth gospel. Remember that this week, and live into that reality, to the glory of God. Amen.
© Text & Picture of hiking boots & backpack by The Rev. Sheila N. McJilton
Pic of Jesus & Disciples accessed through Google images at http://www.nickpage.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/1.jpg.
[1] David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 215.
[2] The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. VIII, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 595.
[3] Ibid., 595.
“The fifth gospel.” What an image of what our life should be.
Thank you for this encouragement! Too many times we are tempted to drag our baggage along for the ride when we witness.