Sep 23 | “Refugees for Christ,” (Sermon, September 23rd)

Then Jesus called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, 2and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. 3He said to them, ‘Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money—not even an extra tunic. 4Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. 5Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.’ 6They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere.

Luke 9:1-6

Janelle and I wash our tools

Janelle and I wash our tools

 

In the summer of 2014, I journeyed to El Salvador with ten or eleven other young people on what was called “an exposure trip.” They called it that so we would not think we were going to “save” people. We went to be immersed in a culture and shaped by a people.

How did this look? It looked like taking a drive to a somewhat remote community called San Antonio with a truckload of fruit trees, and wandering along their unpaved gravel roads with other community members – a lot of them children – to poke our heads into yards and ask anyone present if their garden would like a fruit tree. If they said yes, they could pick one of several different kinds and tell us where to plant. We did this not only to help out hungry families, but to contribute to much-needed reforestation in the area.

I had to confirm that that was what we were doing with someone who spoke better Spanish, because it delighted and astounded me. “Can you imagine doing this back home?” I said to her. “People would call the police!”

I should mention that we did this under armed police guard, because gang activity was very bad in that region. Abductions and violence were rampant. That – along with my regular use of a machete during that trip – was something I decided to keep from my mother until I was home and she could see for herself that I was still in one piece.

It was hard then to imagine living under the threat of such violence. Today, it is hard for me to comprehend the kind of danger that forces a family to leave everything behind and become refugees.

For Jesus and his disciples, this would have been familiar. Jesus himself had been a refugee as an infant; his family was forced to flee to Egypt to avoid a murderous Herod.

Jesus wouldn’t have needed an exposure trip…and yet I think he sent his disciples on one anyway.

Jesus has been telling parables, healing people, and performing wonders like stilling the storm. Finally, he bestows those gifts on his disciples. They are empowered, literally. But in the next breath, Jesus strips them of their ability to care for themselves. They are totally dependent on each other and on the very people they are going out to serve.

So no staff? You better help each other up that hill. No bag? Bring only what can fit in your pocket. No bread? Find someone to feed you. No money? You can’t buy your way out of trouble. No extra tunic? You’ll have to huddle together for warmth, and run the risk of being filthy and unpresentable.

They don’t even get to pick the house they want to stay in. They have to spend the whole time in the first house they see – whether they like it or not.

They are being called to be voluntary refugees.

Jesus warns them that not everyone will welcome them. When he instructs the disciples to shake the dust off their feet “as a testimony against” those who refuse to welcome them, it sounds like condemnation, but it’s actually more complicated than that.

See, Jesus says to do this “as you are leaving” the town that will not welcome, but are they supposed to leave as soon as they are rejected…or only once they have determined that no-one wants them there? And furthermore, are they to leave only after they have provided the services Jesus has called them to provide?

The text doesn’t say.

So what could this be about?

Maybe it’s about taking nothing in return when we leave. That way, we bring only gifts to a community, and if we are not accepted, we must not take anything, even the land itself, from them.

That’s pretty radical, when you think about it. That’s like pacifism cranked up to 11.

Now, this is not something that an involuntary refugee can do. Driven by need, they can’t afford to choose another community, and they often can’t afford to take nothing from that community.

But we refugees for Christ, empowered to go out into the world, can afford to share all of the gifts we have been given and take nothing in return.

So how do we become refugees for Christ? What is it that we are to leave behind as we begin our quest to proclaim the good news and heal? There may be physical things, but I don’t want to only focus on those, because they’re usually the easiest to get rid of.

Perhaps there are attitudes and fears that are best left behind. Imagine them as a thousand little lead weights hooked inside our tunic, weighing us down. Take them out. Look at them. What’s written on them?

Mine say, “Envy.” “Fear.” “Hidden prejudice.” “Self-disgust.” “Pride.” “Judgement.” “Greed.”

Take them out. Look at them. Don’t judge them – that just adds more!

Leave them at home: leave them with Jesus.

If we truly become refugees for Christ, those who welcome us will probably be very like us – and those who do not will be fearful or even angry at our presence, for a variety of reasons.

So let’s proclaim and heal among those who welcome, and for those who don’t, let us pass through their midst, take nothing from them, and leave a little space at the end of the line. Let’s shake the dust off our feet. Not even the crumbs of exclusion should touch our feet – our unshod, bleeding feet.

It’s certainly not allowed to be so for those who do not choose poverty and exile.

Just as God chose, so let us choose.

Amen.

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