Luke 9: 51-62. June 2022
Today’s Gospel is a real challenge! What on earth does Jesus mean? What does he call his followers to do? Is he really saying, it’s OK – it’s more than OK, it’s the right thing to do – to take off suddenly into the blue, leaving family, responsibilities, friends, work, and everything that makes up a life in community. And don’t even stop for a few moments to tell them where you’re going or why? We’ve all heard stories about missing persons in our society, and the heartache they leave behind. We wouldn’t dream of calling this responsible behaviour, if one of our friends or relations just took off. We’d be calling in the police and putting advertisements in papers and on line and going out and looking ourselves. What are we to make of this gospel reading?
Can the context help us come to terms with the text? This little story comes into that part of Luke’s gospel where Jesus set his face towards Jerusalem, and would not let himself be turned back for anything. Here he behaves rather differently from the compassionate Jesus of the healing stories, and the Jesus who went out of his way to hold out a hand to strangers and outcasts and aliens. He could have gone into the Samaritan village and worked wonders of reconciliation – he’d done it before. We know from many other stories that Jesus didn’t judge others because they belonged to different races, or tribes, or even because they held different beliefs about the Law of Moses. Jesus could have gone into that village and revealed something of the good news of God’s love for all. But this time he chose not to. Moreover, he wasn’t going to let the disciples loose on the Samaritans either – he knew the disciples better than they knew themselves, and he knew they still hadn’t got the message about his true ministry.
There’s something here that’s especially important to us in today’s world. The rejection of violence against a different religious group was not only incompatible with Jesus’ vision, but also with his – God’s – mission. God’s love is all-encompassing – and this love is contrary to all our human conceptions of love.
So Jesus passed by the Samaritan village – he was in a hurry to get to Jerusalem. He didn’t have the time to spend in discussion or wonder-working or healing miracles. Nor was he in the mood to have others delay. The journey to Jerusalem and the task ahead of him there, were of primary importance.
And then we have those brief accounts of a few people who came after him and made tentative offers of discipleship. Why, in this story, does he seem to repulse their advances? Usually he was tender towards those who approached him, but here, he’s almost brusque. He tells one person that he’s got nothing to offer but hardship. You won’t be able to call any place home if you follow me, he said. There’s nothing here about any rewards of God’s kingdom. He tells another person to turn his back on law and tradition. Honouring your parents includes burying them with all the proper rites. But no, says Jesus, if you want to take my path you can’t take time to obey the command of the Law and bury your father with all the respect you owe him. And the third person who offers discipleship is told to forget all ties of love and responsibility and life in community. Jesus says: no, you can’t stop off to tell your family that you love them, – you have something much more important to do for now if you want to follow me.
Even that very image of looking back over the ploughed furrow holds a jarring note. We’re close enough to our farming heritage here to know that farmers check the furrows to make sure they’re going the right way! It’s not good husbandry to have wavering lines in all directions over the field! It doesn’t matter whether you’re using a tractor, or pushing the plough yourself, you still need to check how you’re going.
It all seems much too hard for mortals to cope with. It seems to shift discipleship out of the reach of ordinary, fallible people, so that it belongs to those rare and single-minded saints, not to us. And yet, throughout his years of ministry, it was the ordinary, fallible people whom Jesus called out and empowered – people like Peter, and Mary of Magdala.
This short reading from Luke has sometimes been given an editorial subtitle: ‘would-be followers of Jesus.’ It’s asking us to look hard at what following a call might mean – so let’s not give up on it yet.
Our culture has to grapple with the tension between past and present. This isn’t a new tension – but it does seem a little more urgent for us, than it was perhaps for our parents and grandparents. Change is so much faster now – driven by technological changes. We can get breathless trying to keep up – we find it difficult enough trying to keep up with the younger generations of our own families without the additional breathless pace of change in the world around us. And in all of this we keep asking ourselves the questions: What do we keep of the past? What do we replace? What is our path through today’s world? What is God’s vision and mission here and now?
These aren’t easy or comfortable questions. They were brought into focus for us after the big quake. Do we knock down the ‘old dungers’, or preserve our heritage? Put it all back as it was or build something entirely new? Honour our roots and our history, make the buildings safe and focus on the public spaces. Or, focus on the neighbourhoods and on people’s homes. And, of course, where’s the money coming from? And even where buildings survived, there’s still uproar when someone wants to tamper with the layout and the cherished icons of the past. Then there’s the uproar generated by suggestions of shifting boundaries. There were endless post-quake discussions about re-grouping parishes, and shared ministries? Inside and outside all the churches there were and are the questions – what will the future be – of this parish, of this school, of this land?
This whole process of grappling with the significance of the past asks us that most important question: what is the mission of the church? Is it maintaining our heritage and handing it on unchanged to future generations? If we’re talking buildings and monuments, then what exactly are we handing on? And who are we handing it on to? The days when several generations of one family belong to one particular congregation and are linked with one particular building have. I was once asked to dedicate a plaque in a city church commemorating two deceased members who represented a 4th generation of one family worshipping in the one building. But the current generations of that family no longer sat in that building on Sundays. The little congregation was about to close down, and ownership of the building was transferred from the parish to the school. How many times around our country is this story replicated?
Yes, it’s true that something of beauty has a value of itself, and shouldn’t be lightly passed over – or changed, or destroyed. Yes, it’s true that we need to know and understand and value our history in order to move forward. But are we, the people of the twenty-first century, called to put most of our energy and resources in maintaining the visible structures of our past? Without having a clear vision of how those visible structures will help to fulfil our mission..
It goes much deeper than buildings of course. We’re a people who affirm that we love and worship God. But as our understanding of the world around us changes and deepens, the way we worship will also change and deepen. It must, if it’s to keep on nourishing us, and moving us forward on our journey as a people in relationship with the living God. Quite seriously, we can’t afford to stagnate. What was right and appropriate for us in the Sunday School, or for congregations of past generations, will only hold us back today. It won’t challenge us to move forward on Jesus’ path.
Change is always alarming. Once you’ve made a shift, you can’t ever go back to the way things were before. There’s no going back to the days before a crisis. After every life-changing event there are gains and losses. Every new relationship changes us for ever. Every encounter with a serious health problem changes the way we see the world around us. Every death or parting changes us, both individually and as community. Every time we move house even, it changes our world.
When Jesus called people to follow him, he saw very clearly that they would never be the same people again. Whether they answered the call and set their faces towards their own Jerusalem, or whether they turned back, nothing could ever be quite the same. It’s one thing to affirm our past as a gift that’s brought us where we are. It’s quite another to go on re-living it over and over, and wanting everything to be the same as before. To refuse the challenge to change is to let the past become a dead weight, holding us back.
This affects us on a very personal level. We can’t afford to let our own past failures and disasters hold us back. We can’t afford to be forever playing the old tapes, and playing the game of ‘if only.’ The past is the past – we can’t go back and change it. It’s very hard to let go of old hurts. You know that as well as I do.
Nor can we go back to being the people we once were. Everything that’s happened in our past has changed us. What Jesus asks of us as his followers, is that we say yes to the infinite possibilities of transformation and renewal, and move forward from there. If we’re serious about our Christian calling to spread the good news, that means that we see the call to live in God’s kingdom as a call to live our own lives here and now in a way that reflects our understanding of the kingdom, and to spread the good news by the way we live. We have to rearrange our values.
It’s not an easy calling – it’s not a comfortable way forward.
Step off your world
A sermon on Luke 9: 51-62. June 2022
Today’s Gospel is a real challenge! What on earth does Jesus mean? What does he call his followers to do? Is he really saying, it’s OK – it’s more than OK, it’s the right thing to do – to take off suddenly into the blue, leaving family, responsibilities, friends, work, and everything that makes up a life in community. And don’t even stop for a few moments to tell them where you’re going or why? We’ve all heard stories about missing persons in our society, and the heartache they leave behind. We wouldn’t dream of calling this responsible behaviour, if one of our friends or relations just took off. We’d be calling in the police and putting advertisements in papers and on line and going out and looking ourselves. What are we to make of this gospel reading?
Can the context help us come to terms with the text? This little story comes into that part of Luke’s gospel where Jesus set his face towards Jerusalem, and would not let himself be turned back for anything. Here he behaves rather differently from the compassionate Jesus of the healing stories, and the Jesus who went out of his way to hold out a hand to strangers and outcasts and aliens. He could have gone into the Samaritan village and worked wonders of reconciliation – he’d done it before. We know from many other stories that Jesus didn’t judge others because they belonged to different races, or tribes, or even because they held different beliefs about the Law of Moses. Jesus could have gone into that village and revealed something of the good news of God’s love for all. But this time he chose not to. Moreover, he wasn’t going to let the disciples loose on the Samaritans either – he knew the disciples better than they knew themselves, and he knew they still hadn’t got the message about his true ministry.
There’s something here that’s especially important to us in today’s world. The rejection of violence against a different religious group was not only incompatible with Jesus’ vision, but also with his – God’s – mission. God’s love is all-encompassing – and this love is contrary to all our human conceptions of love.
So Jesus passed by the Samaritan village – he was in a hurry to get to Jerusalem. He didn’t have the time to spend in discussion or wonder-working or healing miracles. Nor was he in the mood to have others delay. The journey to Jerusalem and the task ahead of him there, were of primary importance.
And then we have those brief accounts of a few people who came after him and made tentative offers of discipleship. Why, in this story, does he seem to repulse their advances? Usually he was tender towards those who approached him, but here, he’s almost brusque. He tells one person that he’s got nothing to offer but hardship. You won’t be able to call any place home if you follow me, he said. There’s nothing here about any rewards of God’s kingdom. He tells another person to turn his back on law and tradition. Honouring your parents includes burying them with all the proper rites. But no, says Jesus, if you want to take my path you can’t take time to obey the command of the Law and bury your father with all the respect you owe him. And the third person who offers discipleship is told to forget all ties of love and responsibility and life in community. Jesus says: no, you can’t stop off to tell your family that you love them, – you have something much more important to do for now if you want to follow me.
Even that very image of looking back over the ploughed furrow holds a jarring note. We’re close enough to our farming heritage here to know that farmers check the furrows to make sure they’re going the right way! It’s not good husbandry to have wavering lines in all directions over the field! It doesn’t matter whether you’re using a tractor, or pushing the plough yourself, you still need to check how you’re going.
It all seems much too hard for mortals to cope with. It seems to shift discipleship out of the reach of ordinary, fallible people, so that it belongs to those rare and single-minded saints, not to us. And yet, throughout his years of ministry, it was the ordinary, fallible people whom Jesus called out and empowered – people like Peter, and Mary of Magdala.
This short reading from Luke has sometimes been given an editorial subtitle: ‘would-be followers of Jesus.’ It’s asking us to look hard at what following a call might mean – so let’s not give up on it yet.
Our culture has to grapple with the tension between past and present. This isn’t a new tension – but it does seem a little more urgent for us, than it was perhaps for our parents and grandparents. Change is so much faster now – driven by technological changes. We can get breathless trying to keep up – we find it difficult enough trying to keep up with the younger generations of our own families without the additional breathless pace of change in the world around us. And in all of this we keep asking ourselves the questions: What do we keep of the past? What do we replace? What is our path through today’s world? What is God’s vision and mission here and now?
These aren’t easy or comfortable questions. They were brought into focus for us after the big quake. Do we knock down the ‘old dungers’, or preserve our heritage? Put it all back as it was or build something entirely new? Honour our roots and our history, make the buildings safe and focus on the public spaces. Or, focus on the neighbourhoods and on people’s homes. And, of course, where’s the money coming from? And even where buildings survived, there’s still uproar when someone wants to tamper with the layout and the cherished icons of the past. Then there’s the uproar generated by suggestions of shifting boundaries. There were endless post-quake discussions about re-grouping parishes, and shared ministries? Inside and outside all the churches there were and are the questions – what will the future be – of this parish, of this school, of this land?
This whole process of grappling with the significance of the past asks us that most important question: what is the mission of the church? Is it maintaining our heritage and handing it on unchanged to future generations? If we’re talking buildings and monuments, then what exactly are we handing on? And who are we handing it on to? The days when several generations of one family belong to one particular congregation and are linked with one particular building have. I was once asked to dedicate a plaque in a city church commemorating two deceased members who represented a 4th generation of one family worshipping in the one building. But the current generations of that family no longer sat in that building on Sundays. The little congregation was about to close down, and ownership of the building was transferred from the parish to the school. How many times around our country is this story replicated?
Yes, it’s true that something of beauty has a value of itself, and shouldn’t be lightly passed over – or changed, or destroyed. Yes, it’s true that we need to know and understand and value our history in order to move forward. But are we, the people of the twenty-first century, called to put most of our energy and resources in maintaining the visible structures of our past? Without having a clear vision of how those visible structures will help to fulfil our mission..
It goes much deeper than buildings of course. We’re a people who affirm that we love and worship God. But as our understanding of the world around us changes and deepens, the way we worship will also change and deepen. It must, if it’s to keep on nourishing us, and moving us forward on our journey as a people in relationship with the living God. Quite seriously, we can’t afford to stagnate. What was right and appropriate for us in the Sunday School, or for congregations of past generations, will only hold us back today. It won’t challenge us to move forward on Jesus’ path.
Change is always alarming. Once you’ve made a shift, you can’t ever go back to the way things were before. There’s no going back to the days before a crisis. After every life-changing event there are gains and losses. Every new relationship changes us for ever. Every encounter with a serious health problem changes the way we see the world around us. Every death or parting changes us, both individually and as community. Every time we move house even, it changes our world.
When Jesus called people to follow him, he saw very clearly that they would never be the same people again. Whether they answered the call and set their faces towards their own Jerusalem, or whether they turned back, nothing could ever be quite the same. It’s one thing to affirm our past as a gift that’s brought us where we are. It’s quite another to go on re-living it over and over, and wanting everything to be the same as before. To refuse the challenge to change is to let the past become a dead weight, holding us back.
This affects us on a very personal level. We can’t afford to let our own past failures and disasters hold us back. We can’t afford to be forever playing the old tapes, and playing the game of ‘if only.’ The past is the past – we can’t go back and change it. It’s very hard to let go of old hurts. You know that as well as I do.
Nor can we go back to being the people we once were. Everything that’s happened in our past has changed us. What Jesus asks of us as his followers, is that we say yes to the infinite possibilities of transformation and renewal, and move forward from there. If we’re serious about our Christian calling to spread the good news, that means that we see the call to live in God’s kingdom as a call to live our own lives here and now in a way that reflects our understanding of the kingdom, and to spread the good news by the way we live. We have to rearrange our values.
It’s not an easy calling – it’s not a comfortable way forward.
Step off your world
A sermon on Luke 9: 51-62. June 2022
Today’s Gospel is a real challenge! What on earth does Jesus mean? What does he call his followers to do? Is he really saying, it’s OK – it’s more than OK, it’s the right thing to do – to take off suddenly into the blue, leaving family, responsibilities, friends, work, and everything that makes up a life in community. And don’t even stop for a few moments to tell them where you’re going or why? We’ve all heard stories about missing persons in our society, and the heartache they leave behind. We wouldn’t dream of calling this responsible behaviour, if one of our friends or relations just took off. We’d be calling in the police and putting advertisements in papers and on line and going out and looking ourselves. What are we to make of this gospel reading?
Can the context help us come to terms with the text? This little story comes into that part of Luke’s gospel where Jesus set his face towards Jerusalem, and would not let himself be turned back for anything. Here he behaves rather differently from the compassionate Jesus of the healing stories, and the Jesus who went out of his way to hold out a hand to strangers and outcasts and aliens. He could have gone into the Samaritan village and worked wonders of reconciliation – he’d done it before. We know from many other stories that Jesus didn’t judge others because they belonged to different races, or tribes, or even because they held different beliefs about the Law of Moses. Jesus could have gone into that village and revealed something of the good news of God’s love for all. But this time he chose not to. Moreover, he wasn’t going to let the disciples loose on the Samaritans either – he knew the disciples better than they knew themselves, and he knew they still hadn’t got the message about his true ministry.
There’s something here that’s especially important to us in today’s world. The rejection of violence against a different religious group was not only incompatible with Jesus’ vision, but also with his – God’s – mission. God’s love is all-encompassing – and this love is contrary to all our human conceptions of love.
So Jesus passed by the Samaritan village – he was in a hurry to get to Jerusalem. He didn’t have the time to spend in discussion or wonder-working or healing miracles. Nor was he in the mood to have others delay. The journey to Jerusalem and the task ahead of him there, were of primary importance.
And then we have those brief accounts of a few people who came after him and made tentative offers of discipleship. Why, in this story, does he seem to repulse their advances? Usually he was tender towards those who approached him, but here, he’s almost brusque. He tells one person that he’s got nothing to offer but hardship. You won’t be able to call any place home if you follow me, he said. There’s nothing here about any rewards of God’s kingdom. He tells another person to turn his back on law and tradition. Honouring your parents includes burying them with all the proper rites. But no, says Jesus, if you want to take my path you can’t take time to obey the command of the Law and bury your father with all the respect you owe him. And the third person who offers discipleship is told to forget all ties of love and responsibility and life in community. Jesus says: no, you can’t stop off to tell your family that you love them, – you have something much more important to do for now if you want to follow me.
Even that very image of looking back over the ploughed furrow holds a jarring note. We’re close enough to our farming heritage here to know that farmers check the furrows to make sure they’re going the right way! It’s not good husbandry to have wavering lines in all directions over the field! It doesn’t matter whether you’re using a tractor, or pushing the plough yourself, you still need to check how you’re going.
It all seems much too hard for mortals to cope with. It seems to shift discipleship out of the reach of ordinary, fallible people, so that it belongs to those rare and single-minded saints, not to us. And yet, throughout his years of ministry, it was the ordinary, fallible people whom Jesus called out and empowered – people like Peter, and Mary of Magdala.
This short reading from Luke has sometimes been given an editorial subtitle: ‘would-be followers of Jesus.’ It’s asking us to look hard at what following a call might mean – so let’s not give up on it yet.
Our culture has to grapple with the tension between past and present. This isn’t a new tension – but it does seem a little more urgent for us, than it was perhaps for our parents and grandparents. Change is so much faster now – driven by technological changes. We can get breathless trying to keep up – we find it difficult enough trying to keep up with the younger generations of our own families without the additional breathless pace of change in the world around us. And in all of this we keep asking ourselves the questions: What do we keep of the past? What do we replace? What is our path through today’s world? What is God’s vision and mission here and now?
These aren’t easy or comfortable questions. They were brought into focus for us after the big quake. Do we knock down the ‘old dungers’, or preserve our heritage? Put it all back as it was or build something entirely new? Honour our roots and our history, make the buildings safe and focus on the public spaces. Or, focus on the neighbourhoods and on people’s homes. And, of course, where’s the money coming from? And even where buildings survived, there’s still uproar when someone wants to tamper with the layout and the cherished icons of the past. Then there’s the uproar generated by suggestions of shifting boundaries. There were endless post-quake discussions about re-grouping parishes, and shared ministries? Inside and outside all the churches there were and are the questions – what will the future be – of this parish, of this school, of this land?
This whole process of grappling with the significance of the past asks us that most important question: what is the mission of the church? Is it maintaining our heritage and handing it on unchanged to future generations? If we’re talking buildings and monuments, then what exactly are we handing on? And who are we handing it on to? The days when several generations of one family belong to one particular congregation and are linked with one particular building have. I was once asked to dedicate a plaque in a city church commemorating two deceased members who represented a 4th generation of one family worshipping in the one building. But the current generations of that family no longer sat in that building on Sundays. The little congregation was about to close down, and ownership of the building was transferred from the parish to the school. How many times around our country is this story replicated?
Yes, it’s true that something of beauty has a value of itself, and shouldn’t be lightly passed over – or changed, or destroyed. Yes, it’s true that we need to know and understand and value our history in order to move forward. But are we, the people of the twenty-first century, called to put most of our energy and resources in maintaining the visible structures of our past? Without having a clear vision of how those visible structures will help to fulfil our mission..
It goes much deeper than buildings of course. We’re a people who affirm that we love and worship God. But as our understanding of the world around us changes and deepens, the way we worship will also change and deepen. It must, if it’s to keep on nourishing us, and moving us forward on our journey as a people in relationship with the living God. Quite seriously, we can’t afford to stagnate. What was right and appropriate for us in the Sunday School, or for congregations of past generations, will only hold us back today. It won’t challenge us to move forward on Jesus’ path.
Change is always alarming. Once you’ve made a shift, you can’t ever go back to the way things were before. There’s no going back to the days before a crisis. After every life-changing event there are gains and losses. Every new relationship changes us for ever. Every encounter with a serious health problem changes the way we see the world around us. Every death or parting changes us, both individually and as community. Every time we move house even,
it changes our world.
When Jesus called people to follow him, he saw very clearly that they would never be the same people again. Whether they answered the call and set their faces towards their own Jerusalem, or whether they turned back, nothing could ever be quite the same. It’s one thing to affirm our past as a gift that’s brought us where we are. It’s quite another to go on re-living it over and over, and wanting everything to be the same as before. To refuse the challenge to change is to let the past become a dead weight, holding us back.
This affects us on a very personal level. We can’t afford to let our own past failures and disasters hold us back. We can’t afford to be forever playing the old tapes, and playing the game of ‘if only.’ The past is the past – we can’t go back and change it. It’s very hard to let go of old hurts. You know that as well as I do.
Nor can we go back to being the people we once were. Everything that’s happened in our past has changed us. What Jesus asks of us as his followers, is that we say yes to the infinite possibilities of transformation and renewal, and move forward from there. If we’re serious about our Christian calling to spread the good news, that means that we see the call to live in God’s kingdom as a call to live our own lives here and now in a way that reflects our understanding of the kingdom, and to spread the good news by the way we live. We have to rearrange our values.
It’s not an easy calling – it’s not a comfortable way forward.
But – as Dorothy McRae McMahon wrote:
We believe the call of God
is a call to life.
We can bear to hear it
because it comes to us in grace and loving kindness.
It is safe to hear it
because Jesus Christ stands with us and takes our hand.
We believe that the Spirit of God
will give us the gifts we need,
even though we falter on the way
and only now and then
take up the cross of Christ.
Amen