Sunday, 18 June 2017

on being sent out

Matthew 9.35-10.8

Jesus is in his element. His ministry now well-established, he has hit his stride journeying around Judaea and further afield with his message of the good news of the kingdom of God. We've been faithfully following along, us disciples, trekking under hot skies, the dust of the road trapped in our sandals, rubbing the hard skin of our feet.

We're tired but exhilarated. Our master communicates with power and with ease, his voice a blend of authority and compassion. He understands the plight so many find themselves in, caught up in a life of hardship, trapped between the oppressive rule of our Roman occupiers and the impossible-to-please demands of our religious leaders. These twin forces seek to control and manipulate us for their own ends. They tell us it is for our own good. They tell us they are keeping us safe, giving us security. They tell us that if we do as we're told we will be righteous before God. They are so sure of themselves, and yet so contemptuous of those who have not achieved the status they have.

Our master is different. He comes alongside the very least of us, and speaks of hope and possibility. He sees the wonderful potential of people who have been blinded by soulless religion, or struck dumb by those who use power to silence.

Jesus brings ease to those who are dis-eased, drawing out of those who hear him their true self. Everything in life that has crushed them he lifts away, so that backs lengthen, limbs straighten and faces brighten. He is remarkable, and from the first day he called us to follow him we have been on an extraordinary journey.

But now he gives us a real challenge. Jesus is entrusting his message and his mission to us, his followers. He wants us to go out and touch people's lives with the same transforming power that he does.

I can't do that. We all feel that way. Not good enough. Not eloquent enough. Not hopeful, or convincing or charismatic or careful enough. How can he possibly think that we can come anywhere close to being like him?

And yet he insists. Go to those who have lost their way. Seek out those whose lives have become detached from all that is good and just and compassionate, and draw them back to the heart of God.

Tell them what I have been saying to you all along: The kingdom of God is at hand. It is not remote or separate from us, nor is it the preserve of the self-righteous — like an exclusive club. It is for everyone. So, for those who wish they were dead, give them a reason to live. To those for whom illness has been draining, give the energy of hope. For those who are consumed by obsessions, show a wider horizon. To those who are deemed untouchable, reach out your hands.

Give them my love, just as you have known my love.

Jesus’ eyes shine with conviction as he tells us this. There is no hesitation on his part that we can do as he asks. Nor does he doubt that he has called the right people to help bring into the fold of his Father's love all those who have been separated from it.

He wants us to go now, and to do this for others just as he has done it for us. The kingdom of God come near. And so we look around at each other, this rag tag band of disciples — hot-headed, slow to catch on, still simmering from the grudges and squabbles between us — we look at each other and, taking with us nothing but the clothes we stand up in, set off to take our master's life-giving message to those who yearn to hear it.

Loving Lord Jesus,
in a world that seems lost
and riven by poverty, greed, and fear,
remind us of your call
to proclaim the good news
of the kingdom of God,
and tenderly bring wholeness
to your beloved children.
May we turn your compassionate heart for us
inside out,
and give as freely to others
as we have received from you;
willing workers in your harvest field.
Amen.



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