II Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
Luke 9:51-62

We gather here each Sunday to hear the gospel. And the gospel means, “Good News,” the promises that God makes to us through the gift of Jesus Christ.  But as is so often is the case, we also hear the demands of the gospel. Today it seems like we hear some particularly harsh demands from Jesus. We know that Jesus could exaggerate to make a point. Yes, he could be provocative to highlight what the gospel really means for us. But I must say that in this passage from Luke, his responses to those he has called to follow him sound particularly demanding and unsympathetic.

To one Jesus said, “Follow me.”  But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

So much for the observance of the fifth commandment. One would think that at the very least, honoring one’s father and mother would mean seeing to their burials at the time of their death.  But no. As for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.

Dietrich Bonheoffer, the 20th century German theologian famously wrote in his book on the cost of discipleship that, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
But does that mean we are to die to the very commitments and relationships that have given our life meaning?

Jesus is saying these words right at the time in his own life when he is setting his face toward Jerusalem, when he is recognizing that he must pursue his particular vision of proclaiming God’s kingdom without any kind of distraction, anything that would keep him from the vision before him.  And for him, that would mean leaving family behind. But does that mean the same for us?

Beyond the commandment to honor one’s father and mother, the scriptural witness abounds with exhortations and stories of the importance of honoring one’s parents, and all those ancestors who came before us – of always recognizing where one has come from so that one knows where one will be going to. How does God first identify the divine presence to Moses in the burning bush on Mt. Sinai? With these words: “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And yes, the God of Sarah, and of Hagar, of Rebecca, and Rachel.

And then, of course, there is the story we heard in today’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures: Elisha is not the son of Elijah, but he is his disciple. Protégé and mentor, they have travelled together. And it is clear that Elijah’s life is coming to an end. Elisha is faithful: “As the Lord lives, and you yourself live, I will not leave you.”

And Elisha pleads with him. “Please, let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.”  So it is that as Elijah ascends into heaven on a fiery chariot in the midst of a whirlwind, Elisha picks up the mantle, the cloak of Elijah, and becomes the prophet’s heir. Hardly a story of letting the dead bury the dead. Instead, a story of a child honoring a spiritual father, and then carrying on his legacy.

To honor those who have come before us: a bedrock truth of scripture. And yet. And yet.

In the first parish that I served in northern Vermont, there came a Sunday in August when one of the prominent families in the parish and in town was having a family reunion. The church was going to be full that Sunday and the family matriarch specifically asked me if I would please preach a sermon on “family.”  I think I knew what she meant and what she hoped for. But oh, what dangerous territory! For to preach about family, to reach into scripture and look at how families functioned, or did not – is to see human life in all of its complexity and messiness. Yes, it is to see the patriarchs and matriarchs of faith. And it is also to see brother murdering brother. It is to see jealousy, deception, and adultery, and resentments piling up from generation to generation.

Oh, to have a father or mother, or a mentor, whose mantle you eagerly seek to take up and whose legacy you seek to carry on. But of course, it does not always work out that way. Henry Ford, who transformed American industry with his development of the assembly line, had one son, Edsel. Having built an enormously successful car company with the production of the Model T, Henry Ford handed the mantle of leadership for the company over to his son.  But Henry Ford never really let go of that mantle. Time and again, as Edsel tried to make decisions for the future of the company, he was contradicted by his father, and more than once publicly humiliated. Edsel Ford died at the age of 49 four years before his father’s death, having never fully received the mantle.

We may have legacies from our parents and grandparents that have blessed us and helped to make us who we are. And we may have burdens that we continue to carry, unmet expectations, or unredeemed resentments that keep us from being fully alive.

And I wonder if that is what Jesus saw in the particular person who agreed to follow him. Some burden, some connection, some holding on, or being held onto, that would prevent him from fully entering into the life that Jesus offered. For of course, the words that Jesus spoke to that particular person were the words directed to him. And not those that he spoke to everyone.

Do you remember some other words from last week? We heard of a person who was healed of possession by a legion of demons. And having been so miraculously healed and brought to wholeness, he was ready to go with this Jesus, to follow him wherever he will go. He was ready to leave all behind for Jesus’ sake. But Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.”

“Let the dead bury the dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.”

Or: “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.”

Which is it – leaving all behind to follow Jesus? Or returning to all that we know best to declare how much God has done for us?

We hear the particular words that we need to hear.   We hear the words that will free us to be fully alive.

“For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery. “ So said Paul to the church in Galatia.

For what is it that will enable you and me to live truly free lives, the lives that God intends, living without fear, anxiety, without resentment or guilt, without anything that hinders us from giving ourselves fully to God and to others?

It may be parts of our past that we need to leave behind, to let go of, burdens placed upon us by earthly parents that have little to do with any expectation of our heavenly parent, that keep us from entering into the new territories that Jesus sets before us. And if that is the case, then let the dead bury the dead.

Or, it may be a healing in ourselves or in our relationship with our families, our parents, or our past, that may bring us to that place where restoration and reconciliation with those we love will lead to fullness of life. And if that is the case, then return to your home, and declare all that God has done for you.

And finally this: it may not be an either/or scenario. There may also be those times when the life of discipleship will mean at the very same time embracing all that is new in what God is doing, while ensuring that all that has been is healed and made whole. Given the Supreme Court decisions this week, I can just imagine a gay couple announcing to their families that they are going to married. And in that one announcement, I can see them leaving so much behind: past notions about what is just, what is fair, and what is loving, and what is faithful – all letting those things be buried by those who must bury them, and in their commitment creating a new outpost of the Kingdom of God. In that same announcement, I can also see them returning home with a new kind of freedom and a new kind of witness, declaring all that God has done for them.

And I can see that same experience for each of us: discovering again and again, that at one and the same time we are invited to let go of the past, setting our faces toward the future, even as we return again and again to home to proclaim all that God has done: to see the myriad ways in which God has been present in our past, working through all the wonders and woes that have shaped us, the relationships that have helped us and those that have hindered us, so that we may have a future.

This Jesus Christ comes to us, constantly redeeming our past and constantly inviting us to see the future that is set before us.  In so doing, he shows us how we may live in this moment, in this present, with the good news of salvation.

Amen.

A Sermon for St. John’s Episcopal Church
Charlestown, Massachusetts
Preached on the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
By the Rev. Thomas N. Mousin
June 30, 2013