Video of the whole service can be found here. Gospel reading begins at 26 min.
2nd Sunday after Pentecost
2nd Sunday after Pentecost
June 14, 2020
Matthew 9:35--10:23
INTRODUCTION
This week we enter into the time in our liturgical church year called the season of Pentecost, or “ordinary time.” (Doesn’t seem right, does it, in these incredibly extraordinary times in which we live!) Basically, it means we’ve made it through all the big festivals and special seasons – Lent, Easter, Pentecost and Holy Trinity – and now we have a long stretch of not having any festival days. It is marked by having green paraments – all the way until October.
Perhaps more importantly, ordinary time is when the assigned lectionary texts instruct us regarding how to be the Church. From Christmas through the Easter season, we talk a lot about Jesus and his life. Then on Pentecost the Holy Spirit comes and enlivens the Church, and for the season of Pentecost, our focus turns to how that Spirit continues to enliven the church. What a time for our attention to turn this way!
We don’t get to ease into this season of the Church: this first Sunday we hear a very difficult and even scary instruction from Jesus, about being “sent like sheep into the midst of wolves.” This story will strike fear in the heart of the careful listener, as we imagine the difficult task placed before the disciples, and so also us. Romans offers us some consolation, in one of Paul’s most well-known passages about how even in the midst of suffering, hope does not disappoint us. The first reading sets up the enduring devotion to God that has been the intention of God’s faithful people even since Moses on Mount Sinai.
It’s a lot to carry during this time, but also useful and timely, as many of us are wondering as individuals and as a Church, “What is my role in all that is going on in the world? What is a Christian to do?” So as you listen, seek to find in this Word an answer to that question. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
This week I participated in a conversation with some other white moms. The conversation came out of a Facebook group called, “White moms, we need to talk.” It was designed to be a place where those of us hoping to raise our kids to be anti-racist could sort out our own experiences that have shaped how we understand race (whether that means dealing with our guilt, confessing our mistakes, or brainstorming next steps), without burdening people of color with our processing. In smaller, breakout rooms, we were all asked to answer the question, “What is the biggest challenge for you in confronting racism?” Answers varied, but I heard some common themes: discomfort with not knowing what to say or how, worrying about saying or doing it wrong, concern about our close relationships with people whose opinions differ, fatigue from just how much work is to be done, and feeling inadequate for the task due to any number of factors, including simply a lack of understanding of what it is like to live as a non-white person in this country. I’ll be honest: it felt comforting to hear other intelligent, thoughtful, accomplished women and mothers, the sorts of people I admire and look up to, name some of the very same fears I am feeling myself during these days when I am almost constantly thinking about how I can be a better ally, how I can be not only passively “not racist,” but also actively “anti-racist” – that is, working to bring about change.
Most of the answers I heard, and felt myself, boiled down to some sense of fear: fear of doing it wrong, of hurting people, and of the sheer magnitude of the task and the time and energy it will take to accomplish. They are pretty common fears, really, in the face of hard work and potential conflict. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice echoes of those same fears in Jesus’ commission to his disciples in today’s reading. Today’s text is the only time Matthew uses not only the word “disciple,” one who follows, but also, “apostle,” one who is sent. These guys are sent out to do what Jesus knows will be a terrifying, even dangerous task. I suspect being tasked with something so big and important was a thrill for these guys! But excitement and fear are often two sides of the same coin, right? So even as they felt honored and excited to do this work, I suspect they were also a little (or even a lot) fearful… just like I, and perhaps some of you are feeling a mix of excitement and fear about the possibility of facing down systemic racism in our country. I feel hope and excitement that something feels different this time, like, we might actually see some meaningful change, but also all those fears I mentioned before: of saying or doing the wrong thing, of offending someone, of putting ourselves or our loved ones in danger, of the fatigue that is inevitable with this sort of heart-work that requires confrontation with a lot of things we’d rather ignore, in ourselves and the world.
Jesus anticipates and names aloud some of these fears that are probably racing through their hearts and ours: You won’t know what to say (don’t worry, the Spirit’s got your back on this). You will upset people you love – that’s a part of the challenge of following the difficult life of faith he’s placing before us. No one promised following Jesus would be to take the path of least resistance (in fact, it is often the opposite, just as it was for Jesus!). You will get attacked, verbally or even physically for standing up for the sort of peace that comes from justice. Just this week, in a conversation about one aspect of racism in our country, I was told that I am what is wrong with this country, and should be ashamed of myself. Another example: the song we will hear for our offertory today was sung at a peaceful protest in New Orleans… right before the peaceful gathering was dispersed with teargas. A third: the 75-year-old Buffalo man who made the news this week when he was shoved to the ground by police and cracked his head open was involved with the Catholic Worker Movement, a movement whose aim is to seek peace and justice for the poor and marginalized, following Jesus’ teachings. Yup, people get attacked for standing up for peace all the time.
But to all of that, Jesus says, you mustn’t let it cling to your heart as you go along your way. Don’t let it discourage you from the work of proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom: a place where those on the margins, those in the slums, those in prison, those who are black, brown, indigenous, are provided all that they need, whether that is respect, safety, opportunity, and a sense of worth, or basic food, water, shelter, and healthcare. If you receive push-back, Jesus says, “shake the dust off your feet”; don’t carry that discouragement with you to the next place, but forge ahead doing the work you know you have been called and sent by Christ to do.
I’m grateful that Jesus decides to address and confront these fears head on. Though seeing them all laid out like that instills some dread in my heart, there is also something so powerful about naming our fears. Like was the case in the conversation I had this week with some like-minded white moms, sometimes naming fears is the first step in moving past them, because naming them takes away some of their power, and knowing to expect them allows us to prepare ourselves for them.
Naming is important, but even more important is the word of hope and comfort that Jesus offers them in the midst of it: “Have no fear,” he says, three times, in the same conversation but just a few verses after today’s reading ends. Jesus has lived through what he is asking them, and us, to face – the persecution, the rejection, even the violence eventually – and so he speaks from experience. “Have no fear,” he assures them. “Instead, have faith, because God is going to win in the end. Even the hairs on your head are counted. If God knows you and cares for you enough to know that, then you have no reason to fear!”
So have no fear, brothers and sisters. Know that pain and conflict and failure will inevitably happen along the journey on which we are sent – whether that is working toward racial justice, or another kind of justice, or seeking forgiveness for yourself or another, or standing up for what you know is right. But that pain and trepidation is not the end. The end – and the beginning and all the way through – is God’s promise that no amount of brokenness can ever be stronger than the love and power of our Lord Jesus Christ to overcome fear and death.
Let us pray… Gracious and loving God, our fears threaten to keep us from the important mission on which you send us. Help us to trust that you are with us along the way, equipping us with all that we need for what is before us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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