Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

The little village of Northam, Vermont where I first taught school, is only about 10 miles from Rutland, the second largest city in Vermont. But it lies considerably higher up on the slopes of the Green Mountains.  It is not quite the kind of place of which a local would say, “You can’t get there from here,” but it is off the beaten track.  It is the kind of village that you come to because that is where you are headed – it’s not on the way to anywhere else.

And so it was a little surprising one day at the school to have a young woman in her late 20’s show up on foot, a complete stranger who knew nothing of the town and really had no idea where she was.  But the story she told, which she shared over lunch, was intriguing.  She was a graduate student at the School for International Training, located about 65 miles to the southeast in Brattleboro. And as part of a course she was taking, she and other students were being dropped off in various places around the state, where they were expected to fend for themselves for 24 hours. They knew no one, and while my guess is that they were given an emergency phone number to call, the only other thing they were given was all of $2 with which to sustain them for that time.

My guess is that the course instructors knew something about what they were doing, because they dropped her off in front of Pierce’s General Store, which was the hub of this little village. As it turned out Marjorie Pierce knew that one of the teachers at our school had travelled to Afghanistan, a country to which this graduate student had been and was returning. And so it was that Marjorie suggested that she walk down to our school. After telling us her story, she was quickly recruited to do some sharing and teaching that afternoon, and was assured of dinner and overnight accommodations at her new acquaintance’s home.

That was 30 years ago, and I wonder if the School for International Training still sends its students out for that kind of learning experience. The liability issues alone must make one wonder. Perhaps they no longer do it. But that story doe makes me wonder – is this worthwhile exercise for the church to engage in if we are teaching persons about what it means to be disciples of Jesus Christ?

For the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead in pairs, to every town and place where he himself intended to go.” “Go on your way. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet one on the road.”

Don’t even carry two dollars in your pocket. Be dependent only on these words whenever you enter a house: “Peace to this house.”

Now we all know that not everyone may be called to undertake such journeys of faith. This story from Luke’s gospel is not the one definitive model for the life of discipleship. Nonetheless, one can hear resonating in this story aspects of faith that characterize every Christian life, aspects of faith that may at once be frightening and fruitful.

This week we have celebrated our nation’s declaration of independence. But however independent we may like to think we can be, we know that we are utterly dependent. At times we can become so dependent on things that the words of Jesus come as a real shock: Carry nothing on our journeys?

Yesterday I was a guest at the joyful wedding of two young persons in their mid twenties. I learned at the wedding that although they knew each other in high school, their relationship flourished as they began to communicate with each other once each was off to attend a different college. And how did they communicate with each other? Through letters – yes handwritten letters and postcards – all of which they saved and some of which were shared at the reception. These were not initially love letters so much as life letters, sharing the news of the week, then more and more of themselves, life letters which led to love.

Go on your way. Carry no smartphone, no ipad, no computer, no screen, which has come to seem essential in your life. In a time when more and more of our communication with others occurs through some kind of social media, might the words of Jesus have something to say not only about how we relate to the stranger we greet, but even to those with whom we are most intimate?

Still, when was the last time you went on a journey and chose purposefully not to plan for it, pack for it, and ensure that you had everything you needed to make that journey safe and successful? Such an approach to journeys can challenge us because it means giving up the notion that we are in control, that we can determine the outcome, that if we put everything in place and do all the preparation required, that a journey, a visit, a life, will unfold in precisely the way we would like it.  Much as we like to do that, we do know the truth: we are not in control, and to enter into the life that Jesus offers us is a continual exercise in letting go; of recognizing that companionship on the way, even the companionship of Jesus, does not always mean protection and safety.

The truth is, despite our best efforts, there are circumstances that are beyond our control. A week ago today, nineteen firefighters lost their lives while combatting the fires and trying to save the community of Yarnell, Arizona. They were members of a Hotshots Team – elite firefighters who are trained to combat the worst of wildfire blazes. Everything that we have read or heard about them indicates that they were highly trained, not only to fight fires, but trained to ensure their own safety. They were always planning escape routes, for example, always having a lookout watching weather conditions and the progress of a fire. And we know that they did not go into these areas unprotected. They carried all kinds of gear to protect themselves, including heat resistant blankets, shelters that they employed as a last effort to protect themselves when the fire overran them.  And that these firefighters died is not an indication that they did not adhere to their training, or that their heat blankets were ineffective. No, it was an indication of this: that no matter how well prepared we can be, we commit ourselves to the things that are most important to us because we feel some call to do so, and not because we have a guarantee that we will have what we need to protect us. In one profound sense, they carried nothing with them. Except their sense of call. And does anyone doubt that they were doing what they loved, and that even knowing they could not ensure their safety or success, that they nonetheless went into that work each day with determination and perhaps even joy?

Jesus is utterly realistic about life: if you enter a dwelling and say, “Peace to this house,” sometimes that peace will be welcomed; you will be received, you will be given shelter. And sometimes that peace will be rejected. Not only is your protection not guaranteed; neither is your success. But neither is your success your responsibility. Offer yourself. Offer what you have.  Even more importantly, offer the peace of the Kingdom. Offer what you cannot you yourself create. Receive what you are given and trust that the work of the Kingdom will emerge.

Here in our life at St. John’s the vestry and others have been aware that we have made significant strides in strengthening our common life  – in worship, in education and formation for our children, in seeking to be welcoming to new persons as they join us here in this place. But we are also aware that the call of Jesus Christ is one that calls us to engagement in the world beyond our doors. How do we truly relate to the neighbor down the street, on the other side of town, or on the other side of the world?  Do we have enough resources – be they persons or finances – to engage more widely in the world? Those are important questions to ask. But then we hear this:

Carry nothing with you.

And those words might mean for us is that the most important question to answer, to discern, is not whether we are capable or have the resources, not whether we have two dollars or two thousand dollars, but simply this:  To whom is Jesus calling us to offer the gift of peace? With whom will we sit at table, to eat what is set before us? And how will we be changed and blessed by the hospitality of those we meet? For if we leave our purses and our plans behind, we may discover that our encounters with others will change us, and we just might find that some of what we have believed is essential to life can be left by the side of the road as well – old ways of seeing the world, old ways of seeing ourselves, and old needs, be they needs for recognition, success, perfection, or control, that are no longer useful for the journey.

When the seventy returned, they did so with joy. Clearly this experiment in discipleship exceeded their expectations of what was possible. Ours is a community in which blessings have abounded. We have seen and rejoiced in significant growth in our numbers, in our financial giving, and in our sense of how God’s Holy Spirit is guiding our life.  We rejoice by looking around and seeing how much more we have received. But how exciting it will be to know the joy of discovering just how little we may need for the Kingdom to flourish, as we carry nothing on the journey, save our faith in Christ and the conviction that we too have been called to go into the world with the words, “Peace, to this house.”

Amen.

A Sermon for St. John’s Episcopal Church
Charlestown, Massachusetts
Preached on the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
By the Rev. Thomas N. Mousin
July 7, 2013