Matthew 10:24-39 "Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It...."

         It all started off so simply.  Perhaps you remember:  Jesus walking by the docks on the shore of the Sea of Galilee early in the morning.  The fishermen, just returned with their nighttime catch, mending their nets in preparation for the next evening’s haul. 

         He called out to a couple of them – Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John who were the sons of Zebedee.  “Come, come with me, and I will make you fish for people.”  He did the same in the market place later in the day when the shops and bazaar had opened for business.  He strode into the offices of Matthew the tax collector and Judas Iscariot the accountant.  “Come.  Come and follow me.”

         Each one of the men dropped everything.  Maybe it was the sense of adventure that all-of-a-sudden permeated the air around them.  Perhaps it was only the gnawing need to be doing something new. 

         It could have been his tone of voice or the words he spoke or just the look in his eye that drew them away from their wives and fathers and their childhood friends to form something new – a community with a different family and different friends and, best of all, a family that they were absolutely certain had God at its head. 

         Hanging out with Jesus turned out to be a fun and adventurous experience too.  They did a lot of walking, but they also attended weddings, one in particular with the best wine any of them had ever tasted.  They watched Jesus heal the sick and the lame and offer hope to the homeless and the indigent.  They parted the crowds when too many people were milling around, so he could pass by more easily, and they tried to keep the lepers at bay (though often unsuccessfully). 

         They listened to him preach and shouted out a hearty “Amen” every once in a while from the back pew to help him emphasize a particular point.  They cheered when he performed something akin to a miracle.  Once they distributed a young boy’s lunch to a crowd of at least 5000 people on a hillside, and, lo and behold, they ended up with 12 baskets of leftovers to drop off at the local food pantry. 

         They made sure he had a roof over his head at night.  Andrew did most of the shopping, and Judas kept the books.  That Judas!  He could be a bit stingy, but they always had fresh, local, organically grown food. Evenings were particularly special when they sat around a campfire, poking sticks into the coals and listening as he told them stories about the Kingdom of God, which was, they learned quickly, the way life should be. 

         With Jesus, they imagined the incongruity of tiny mustard seeds growing into trees large enough for the birds to make nests in.  They pictured in their mind’s eye pearls of great value.  They thought what it would be like to be a lost sheep found or a ne’er-do-well son welcomed home.  They imagined themselves to be grapevines, connected to one another and to God in strong and nourishing ways. 

         All in all, it was a good life – until that day when everything changed.  It happened after breakfast when they were enjoying a second cup of coffee and talking quietly amongst themselves. Jesus cleared his throat.  That was a sign that he had something important to say.  All twelve of them stopped chatting and listened intently, waiting for Jesus to outline the day’s activities. 

         However, Jesus did not present the daily calendar.  Instead he told them flat out that their training time was over.  Now the work of ministry needed to begin because there was no time to lose. 

         The poor were getting poorer, and the rich continued to make millions off their golf courses, hotels, and other global investments. The inequities were getting worse and not better, and with the rising cost of healthcare, well, healing – and even raising the dead - was an important task.

         “So I am sending you out into the world because I cannot do it all alone,” he proclaimed.  “I need you to be my hands and feet out there.  Change will come much more quickly if we all are ministering, and everyone is not just depending on me – or figuring that God will work it all out somehow.” 

         He continued by telling them, “This is your mission - should you choose to accept it.  Go to the lost and the confused. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons.”

         The twelve of them were shocked by this unlikely spur-of-the-moment declaration.  They had not been expecting this at all – actually having to work rather than just being a “hail fellow, well met” glad hander and cheerleader for Jesus.

        But they were not nearly as shocked as when they heard all his instructions.  In a nutshell, he declared in no uncertain terms that their ministry (if you wanted to call it that), their ministry would not be a bed of roses.

         First off, he expected them to share their beliefs in public no less.  How did he put it?  “Stand up for me against world opinion…What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.”  Well, that was a lot to ask, don’t you think?

         Moreover, he told them outright that the world needed to hear their voices.  Just a single voice could make a difference. How did he put it?  “Don’t be bluffed into silence by the threats of bullies…..don’t be intimidated by all this bully talk.”  He expected them to put themselves out there.  Well, they had not bargained for that!

         And then he talked about their relationship with their own flesh and blood. “I’ve come to cut—make a sharp knife-cut between son and father, daughter and mother, bride and mother-in-law—cut through these cozy domestic arrangements and free you for God.

Well-meaning family members (not to mention neighbors and co-workers) can be your worst enemies.”  Mom?  Dad?  Cousin Ed?  Great-Aunt Martha?  Free them from God? What was he implying?

         Jesus summed up his disturbing instructions this way:  “Don’t think I’ve come to make life cozy.”  That was the gist of it. 

         Well, none of the twelve had signed up for any of this.  This ministry business – done right – would be downright hard work – much more than sitting in the back of the synagogue every week, singing in the choir, or even dishing up gravy in a supper line. 

         So that was it!  Making s’mores over an open fire and listening to stories was nice, but feeding the hungry was more important.  Intellectually understanding about the kingdom of God through those wonderful tales he told was a start, but actively seeking and working for this dream God had for the world was what really being his follower meant.

         They were all pretty stunned by the expectations.  No doubt about that!  Needless to say there was a fair amount of hemming and hawing and avoiding eye contact with him and becoming particularly fascinated by the small stones on ground and the ants crawling about.

         And just when the first of them was about to say, “Forget it!  This ministry business is not for me”, Jesus spoke up one more time. 

         “Don’t be afraid,” he said.  “Trust that not only have I prepared you well, but trust that you will never minister alone.  God will always be with you, giving you the strength you need to speak out and the courage you require to stand up to all who bully you or just laugh and tell you that you are out of touch with the times.”

         The twelve reflected on that profound final message for a moment or two.  It had such a ring of truth to it.  As they pondered its meaning for them, they gazed at a couple of small brown birds hunting for seeds on the ground just over there.

         “See those sparrows?”  Jesus continued.  “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside of God’s care.  God’s eye is on the sparrow, and you should trust that God watches over you too.”

         Peter sighed just then and ran his grubby fingers with the bitten off fingernails (a bad habit since childhood), ran them through his jet-black hair.  Jesus smiled and gently finished up.  “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more in God’s sight than many sparrows – and a million hairs.” 

         And all twelve of them – Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, the other James, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas – made a decision right then and there.  Knowing now that they would never walk alone and knowing that God loved them, they took the plunge and decided to continue on this always new and always adventurous, albeit bound to be difficult, journey of faith.

         The Gospel writer of Matthew sure makes this ministry business sound like a dangerous mission.  And much of the language he uses is quite apocalyptic.  However, such language is merely a reflection of the era in which he wrote and the audience he addressed.  You see, it was a time of serious Christian persecution, unlike today when we have gone to great extremes to acculturate the Gospel message. 

         However, though we are unlikely to face martyrdom and in spite of our efforts at domesticating the Gospel, every day each one of us is thrown into situations where we must make a hard choice about whether we truly can claim the name of Christian.  On a hot day, do you give the woman on the street corner with the homeless sign a bottle of Gatorade that you carry in your car?  Do you carry Gatorade for just this purpose? 

Do you even make eye contact with her, thereby acknowledging her existence?  Do you smile before the light turns green?

         As religion professor Richard Swanson noted: "Just for the moment, imagine that the Bible is more substantial and interesting than a greeting card. Imagine that biblical stories are more challenging than uplifting, that they give life by provoking their audiences out of their dogmatic slumbers.  Surely this troublesome passage (he goes on to say) means much more than simply, "Love God a lot" (and go to church every Sunday unless something better is going on).  That is asking a lot.  Are we ready for it?

         This passage – like so many others in our four Gospels – calls us to action by inviting us to embrace the same mission that the Twelve took on.  These verses call us to speak out on behalf of those the world has chewed up and spat out.  They call us to challenge our politicians in Augusta and in Washington to represent the needs of the down-and out. Have you been in touch with Susan Collins about how you think she should vote on the Senate healthcare bill or your state legislature about the current budget crisis? This passage calls us to intentionally decide each day whether we will strive to live out that day as a Christian, as a follower, as a disciple. 

         These verses invite us to come along on a faith journey – not alone but with this congregation at our side and with God in our midst.  It will be a journey that will lead us deeper into embracing the meaning of this morning’s passage that Episcopal priest Michael Marsh summarized in his blog:

• Whoever loves friend more than me…
• Whoever loves work more than me…
• Whoever loves power, reputation, or wealth more than me…
• Whoever loves country and flag more than me…
• Whoever loves politics, agendas, or ideology more than me…
• Whoever loves church, denomination, beliefs and practices more than me…
• Whoever loves self more than me…
• Whoever loves anyone or anything more than me…is not worthy of me.

         It will be a journey that will have us talking about and acting like the real Jesus, and it will be no Sunday School picnic.  Rather, it will be downright dangerous.

        Christian writer Annie Dillard put it well: “Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.”

         Our training time is over.  We are ready, and the work of Christian ministry desperately needs us to begin.  As followers of Jesus, that is your mission – should you choose to accept it….

Genesis18:1-15, 21:1-7 "Is Anything Too Hard for God?"

Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7

         “He who laughs last, laughs longest.”  “Laugh and the world laughs with you; cry and you cry alone.”  “Laughter is the best medicine.”  “Laugh to keep from crying.”  “A good laugh and a good sleep are the best cures for anything.”

         We live in a world that embraces laughter.  After all, we have birthed the likes of comedians Charlie Chaplin, Robin Williams, Steve Martin, John Belushi, Lily Tomlin, Phyllis Diller, and Carol Burnett.  We laughed our way though films such as “City Lights”, “Mrs. Doubtfire”, “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” and “Animal House.”  We nurtured our laughter (canned and real) on Saturday Night Live, I Love Lucy, Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In, and The Gong Show.

         Yes, we live in a world that embraces laughter – except when it comes to church and religion.  Then we seem to turn our backs on it and tumble into stiff-necked seriousness and endless frowns.  A good number of the folks “out there” beyond these four walls think that we “in here” are all about appeasing a God who is just itching to find an excuse to smack us down and smite the world.  And, besides, who wants to spend a summer Sunday morning being reminded of one’s folly, shortcomings, and endless sins?  No wonder our churches are so empty!

         Seriously, how are pastors usually portrayed in literature and films?  The ones who are not pushovers and doormats are characterized by their grave solemnity and distasteful disdain for and impatience with the human race. 

         People “out there” often presume that a pastor’s favorite sermon topic is like that of the Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards who told his fear-filled and quaking Massachusetts congregation in 1741:  “The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked.  His wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire.”  That sermon is appropriately entitled “Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God” and, I suspect, involved a lot of agitated hand gestures and pulpit whacking.

         And yet, the Bible is full of laughter.  The Psalmist sings of it.  “Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy.”  The author of Ecclesiastes reminds us that laughter is part of the rhythm of life itself.  “For everything there is a season:  A time to laugh…” The Apostle Paul refers to joy/laughter as one of the gifts of the spirit, and Jesus speaks of it in some translations of the Beatitudes as the reward for those who weep. 

         And then, of course, there is the story of Sarah laughing her head off in the family tent when she eavesdrops on those strangers come to call who share the news with her husband, Abraham, that she will bear a son. 

         It all began under the oak trees of Mamre on a sultry afternoon when the desert sun shone down mercilessly.  The only thing to do on a day like that was to take a nap until the evening breezes came.  And that was exactly what Abraham was doing when God appeared to him. 

         Even though Abraham was known to have had conversations with the Almighty previously - on the topic of land (how God/Yahweh would give him some) and descendants (how God promised a son to carry on the family line – a promise that had thus far gone unfulfilled), Abraham did not recognize his God before him now. He saw only three strangers, one of whom had apparently nudged his outstretched foot, disturbing his pattern of gentle snoring.  Abraham lazily opened one eye, and then sat bolt upright. 

         Travelers in the heat of the day like this? Folks walking in the blazing desert with no shade to speak of?  Now that was laughable, if not downright foolhardy. 

         Abraham struggled to his feet – his ancient knees creaking and popping - as quickly as one could expect a 99 year old man to get upright.  He rocked side to side to stretch his back – the old lumbar region was acting up again.  Once up, however, it took only a fraction of a second for all of Abraham’s Bedouin upbringing to kick in, and hospitality to become the instant norm. 

         “Come. come closer.  The shade of the oak trees is cool, and here you are traveling in the heat of the day. Take a load off. Let me get you something to drink. You must be thirsty. Can you stay for dinner?”

        Barely waiting for an answer, Abraham hustled them under the spreading oak trees out of the sun.  He then moved as quickly as his old body would allow him to the cattle pen where he oversaw the slaughter of a calf for dinner – but not before he had stuck his head in the kitchen where Sarah already busied herself. 

         “Psst!  Sarah!  Hurry. Get three cups of our best flour; knead it and make bread.  We have guests.”

         Sarah finished up the hummus she had started earlier in the day, sighed as she put olives in a cut glass dish for the strangers, and then dutifully baked her bread. 

         A few hours later, the makeshift feast was ready.   All in all, it was a pretty good spur-of-the-moment dinner.  There was the fat and tender roasted calf steaks, milk, curds, and Sarah’s offerings of bread, hummus, and olives.  Abraham and the three strangers enjoyed it under the oaks, picnic-style, while Sarah did the dishes inside the tent.

         She was not really eavesdropping, but she could not help but listen when she heard her name spoken.  I mean, who would not be a wee bit curious?  You see, one of the men asked Abraham, “By the way, where is Sarah?”

         “Oh,” Abraham replied, a bit surprised that anyone should wonder about Sarah in the first place.  It was not that Abraham did not think of his wife fondly.  It was just that he did not think that much about her at all.  She was always around – his best friend really.  Maybe he did take her for granted sometimes, but, well, if a woman’s place was in the home, where did these strangers think she would be? 

         “She’s there in the tent doing the dishes,” he replied a bit testily.

         It was at that precise moment that one of the strangers, presumably speaking on behalf of all of them, made his outrageous declaration out-of-the-blue.  “I’m coming back about this time next year. When I arrive, your wife Sarah will have a son.”

(LAUGHTER)

         Now, Sarah just so happened to have been standing inside the tent behind the man who had spoken, so she heard every word.   Menopausal Sarah snorted with disbelief and whispered to herself. 

         “An old woman like me? 90 years old?  Get pregnant? With this old man of a husband?”         

         Or – as another translation paraphrases it, “Now that I am old and worn out, can I still enjoy sex?  Will I now – after all these years - be gushing with pleasure?  And besides, my husband is older than I am.  Can he even still have sex?” 

         Sarah thought of her show white hair, her wrinkled skin, and the arthritis forever creeping deeper into her joints.  And then she thought of Abraham’s shock of gray hair, his wrinkled skin, and bad back, and arthritic knees.  She shook her head and could not help but again snort with laughter – the laughter of cynicism, of promises unfulfilled, of dreams long gone, of disbelief. 

         The stranger who had spoken heard her muffled guffaw – and maybe sensed a bit of the pain that lay nestled within it.  He called her bluff and asked to whomever might be listening, “Why did Sarah laugh saying, ‘Me? Have a baby? An old woman like me?’  

         The stranger paused for a moment, and the silence deepened as silence does just before something important is revealed.  “But I say,” he went on. “Is anything too hard for God?”

         Called out of her hiding, Sarah denied the whole thing.  She lied and said, “Who?  Me?  I did not laugh.”

         The stranger smiled and gently replied, “Yes, you did. You laughed.  But that is OK.  God is about laughter.  God is about joy.  God is about promises fulfilled and dreams come true.  Is anything too hard for God?  You watch.  You will be laughing again in a year’s time.  You will look into a baby’s eyes, and you will laugh.”

         And Sarah did – but that second time she laughed with joy.  She laughed until the tears rolled down her face.  She laughed in faith this time - faith in a God who is so good, in a God who keeps promises, in a God who dreams dreams that one day, when we least expect it and in ways we might never expect, come true.  And Sarah insisted that the baby be named Isaac, which means “laughter” in Hebrew – because, well, because:  Is anything too hard for God?

  Be careful how you answer that question, of course!  As Mennonite Ben Patterson blogged:  “Answer yes (God can not do everything) and the world is shut down, the universe is closed, and God is no longer God: benevolent, maybe; kindly and concerned, perhaps; but as powerless as we.

Answer “No, there is nothing that is too hard for God,” and you and the world are in (God’s) hands and the possibilities are endless. (God) is radically free to keep (God’s) promises, despite the odds against it.”

         Personally, I think God loves a good laugh, a good joke.  I think God loves putting something over on humanity, tossing something into the mix that is so outlandish, so incongruous that we almost can hear God snorting with mirth in the background. 

         The best example, of course, is as Episcopal priest Jonathan Currier reminds us:  “Frederico Felini could not have come up with a stranger cast than the oddball crew God chooses to star in the story of salvation…Think of Peter, the bumbling, big-talking, backwater fisherman who became first among apostles and bishop of the church at Rome.  (And, of course,) any God who chooses a carpenter from the one-horse town of Nazareth as the redeemer of the universe certainly has a sense of (laughter).”  And let’s not forget Sarah – and the magical night she must have had with Abraham – two old codgers once bound for the old age home now choosing the color (it’s gotta be blue, right?) for a nursery.

        “Is there anything too hard for God?”  No – I do not think so – with one proviso.  You see, I think God calls on us to play a substantial part in realizing our hopes and dreams – and the hopes and dreams of the world.  After all, Abraham and Sarah had to disappear into their tent for a night of bliss in order for Isaac to be born.  It did not just happen. 

         It is like the story of a very religious man once caught in rising floodwaters. He climbed onto the roof of his house and trusted God to rescue him. A neighbor came by in a canoe and said, “The waters will soon be above your house. Hop in and we’ll paddle to safety.”

         “No thanks” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me”

         A short time later the police came by in a boat. “The waters will soon be above your house. Hop in and we’ll take you to safety.”

         “No thanks” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me”

         A little time later a rescue services helicopter hovered overhead, let down a rope ladder and said. “The waters will soon be above your house. Climb the ladder and we’ll fly you to safety.”

         “No thanks” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me”

         All this time the floodwaters continued to rise, until soon they reached above the roof and the religious man drowned. When he arrived at heaven he demanded an audience with God. Ushered into God’s throne room he said, “God, why am I here in heaven? I prayed for you to save me, I trusted you to save me from that flood.”

         “Yes, you did, my child,” replied God. “And I sent you a canoe, a boat, and a helicopter. But you never got in.”

         Our God is a God of laughter.  Our God is a God of the improbable and the impossible.  Our God is a God of promises fulfilled and dreams come true.  But our God is also a God who expects us to participate in the creation of our blessings.

         Like Sarah, we have all suffered crushing disappointments. Like Sarah, we have waited for dreams that seem to have long since faded. Like Sarah, we easily resort to cynicism. 

        But, like Sarah, may we still find it in us to laugh – at the enormity of it all and the incongruity of life.  May we be like Sarah and find it in us to laugh at that niggling hope and tiny bit of endless faith deep within us that maybe, just maybe, our hopes and dreams will one day, with the help of the God of laughter coupled with our own faithful action, be made real. 

         And then we, like Sarah, will have our answer to that ancient question:  “Is anything too hard for God?”