See I Am Sending You Out Luke 10:1-12, 16-20 5 Pentecost, Proper 9 Year C, July 4, 2004 The Rev. William V. Livingston, Rector Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi In other seasons of the church calendar, our Sunday readings emphasize the identity and earthly life of Jesus. However, once Pentecost and Trinity Sundays pass, during the months until Advent, we explore concretely the effects of God's mighty acts of salvation in our lives together and our called response. Because the Season of Pentecost is about discipleship, it is about us. Unlike a good marketer, Jesus does not recruit offering polished glitz. Last week, as Diane emphasized in her sermon, he made perfectly clear that discipleship is dangerous business. Now, despite the dangers, we realize because we in the pews have seen during Holy Week just how far God is willing to go in order to love us and share our lives, it is time for us to be sent out. Wait a minute, by being "sent out", surely you don't mean that like the two young Mormon missionaries who appeared at my door back in May as I was dressing to celebrate at a wedding that we are to go door-to-door in pairs. We Episcopalians are above all that. After all, in the 1800s as our nation spread westward, and took their faith traditions with them, the saying was, "The Methodist came on horseback, the Baptist by Conestoga Wagons, and the Episcopalians by pull-man cars." No, the call may not be to go door-to-door as the Mormons or Jehovah Witness. But yes, we, all whom claim to be followers of Jesus, are all of us people who are sent. Jesus needs us. The church needs us. The world needs us to accept our role as those who are sent. And we would do well to partner up with at least one other person to do the work Jesus is sending us to do. We would also do well to note that we are being sent someplace else to do this work. Maybe not to Africa or South America, maybe not to some metropolitan inner-city, but we are sent someplace, anyplace, somewhere beyond our comfort zones. And so in this, the fifth Sunday of Pentecost, this season about discipleship, this season about us, on July 4, 2004, Jesus commissions us. He tells what, why, and how he send us. We are sent because the harvest is plentiful. Last Saturday, Diane and I picked blueberries at Reese's Orchard until the rain chased us in. The fruit is ripe and only limited time exists for the harvest. Gathering the harvest is to be filled with compassion for the crowds of people around us, regardless of our desire for it to meet our needs and desires, and is the church's mission. We, as God's people, are people who as we look at a hurting world around our hearts are moved. Our hearts are moved with compassion, and our hearts are moved with inner feelings. And if our hearts are not, there is something tragically wrong with our hearts. "Therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." You my friends have gifts and talents for bringing in the harvest. I'm not talking about tasks that you take on out of obligation and resent having done so. That leads only to burnout. I'm talking about gifts that the world needs and brings you joys when you offer them. I'm talking about understanding the words of the first Bishop Duncan Gray when he said, "These times are made for us, and we are made for these times." Our first task as we are sent is praying: pray to be guided to where there is need; pray to be shown the gifts we possess to address those needs; pray for those who will accompany us in the mission. The call comes to each of us - not just a few, not just the ordained - each of us. Today, we welcome Brian as our new Canterbury chaplain; two weeks ago some of us attended his ordination as a deacon. However, those are titles bestowed upon him by this Diocese. His call to be sent into the mission field occurred the same place as yours did, at his baptism. It is there we were all sent, not in isolation but in conjunction with the body of Christ, the Church. "I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves." That Jesus, he never pulls any punches, he never promises that it will be easy. Discipleship is dangerous business and often our wolves are sheep in wolves clothing we not only do not avoid but welcome with open arms. "Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road." Wait a minute! You mean no matched sets of luggage, no cell phone, no Palm Pilot, no SUV's crammed with "stuff?" You mean no stopping for chat with that person who influences our promotion or our pecking order in the local society? Yes, Jesus does mean we are not to be distracted by "things." We are to travel really, really light, with a singularity of purpose. Traveling light also means not being burdened by doctrines, religious rules, laws, traditions, hierarchies that weigh us down, turning us against God and each other, impeding our calling, rendering us unfit for duty. "Say, 'Peace to this house!' and 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.'" "Eat what is set before you; cure the sick." We are sent out to declare what God is doing and to bring God's peace and to share table fellowship with whomever receives us. We are to keep it simple and to free it of our cultural baggage. Edward Cohen in Peddler's Grandson, his autobiography of growing up Jewish in Jackson in the 1950s, describes his inability to differentiate Christianity from Christmas decorations, being denied membership in the Country Club, prayers at football games, and what he considered inedible food of the school cafeteria or served in gentile homes. Our mission is to proclaim God's peace, not to make white middle class Southerners or Americans of those we think need to be converted. "Whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you. . ." We are not guaranteed success. But still, we are to persevere - shake the dust off our feet. We do so not to condemn those who do not accept us, but so that we are not weighed down by our resentments, our anger, but remain focused on our mission. Life would be so simple if we could just say Jesus gave this task to the 70, that it was just about first century Palestine. However, an evening of TV news, a drive through our poorest neighborhoods, a conversation with someone who is hurting, tells us that the harvest is still plentiful. Sit in on one of our Vestry meetings or planning retreat, and it is still obvious the laborers are few. Our Diocese would not being embarking on a vision quest entitled, "Where have all the people gone?" if the harvest wasn't plentiful and the laborers few. I, and Diane also, often dismiss us saying, "Our worship is complete, it is now our service begins. Therefore go in peace to love and serve the Lord!" We do so because we haven't gathered here just so we can get our religious fix. No, we, too, are sent ahead to prepare the way. Faith serves actual people, but never as a stopping point. Faith uses words like "mansion," "kingdom," "city" and "highway," but as human approximations of divine realities, snapshots of something that is streaming by (already) and yet far ahead (not yet.) And, we are called to go out into the world with a message of love, justice, forgiveness, and peace. We are to work for the coming of the kingdom. Following Jesus isn't about attaining a specific, measurable goal, or grasping a finite, literal truth or winning doctrinal or ecclesiastical battles. Following Jesus isn't about arriving somewhere, a specific destination with a sign announcing, "Found it." Following Jesus is about following. It is about movement. It is about days that haven't happened, people one hasn't met, places one hasn't gone, and forgiveness one hasn't requested - not yet. God's peace is the crux of our lives, and the message for this the fifth Sunday of Pentecost, July 4, 2004, is that the time has come for us to shout it from the housetops.