Scripture Luke 10:1-11 (NRSVUE)
After this the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way; I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if a person of peace is there, your peace will rest on that person, but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’
Sermon ”Completely Vulnerable” Rev. Pat Raube
This passage has always given me anxiety. In fact, I think I’ve avoided it. I hate being unprepared… hate it. In my twenties I worked at the Harvard Community Health Plan for 3-1/2 years in a start-up health center in Braintree, Massachusetts. I was an administrative assistant and receptionist, working with people in Internal Medicine, Pediatrics, and Mental Health. It wasn’t my lifetime dream job, but I liked it, I was good at it, and I recognized the stress, both in patients and providers. I felt I had some capacity for helping to lessen that stress. At the end of that 3-1/2 years, on an impulse, I applied for a position in the Marketing Department. I would be working in the downtown Boston administrative offices, I would be traveling all over the greater Boston area, visiting large corporations like Raytheon and General Electric, and I would have a company car! I got the job, was trained, and went out into the field. And I was not prepared. I knew all about the health insurance—I had both observed it at work and participated as a member. But I did not understand sales. I did not understand that, even if our insurance probably wasn’t the best option for someone, I was still supposed to try to sell it to them. I kept getting in trouble for either trying to squeeze our model into something that people would be more comfortable with, or telling people flat out HCHP probably wasn’t the insurer for them. That’s not what a health insurance market rep is supposed to do. I put in my promised year, driving around a car that reeked of cigarettes, and then I quit and went off to try singing for a while.
I would never say I was like a lamb sent out in the midst of wolves. (I’m pretty sure it’s health insurers who are considered the wolves.) But I knew, very quickly, I was not temperamentally suited to the job, and hadn’t really been adequately prepared. But the 72 people Jesus sends into the field—not to sell, something, mind you, but to give it away, absolutely free—they are the lambs. They go without purse, or money, or shoes. They go completely vulnerable. What does it mean?
Jesus sends these disciples out in pairs to visit towns he is planning to visit later. In a way, they are Jesus’ opening act—but this isn’t an act. They are to reveal that God’s kingdom is near. But how are they supposed to do it if they are being sent out with absolutely no resources? Except for God, of course.
A hint comes in Jesus’ next instructions. When they arrive at the towns, they are to enter a house, and share God’s Shalom with the inhabitants. Jesus seems to assume that the disciples will be welcomed in. He assumes this with good reason. The Middle Eastern culture of hospitality is legendary. We see it in the most ancient passages of our scriptures. For instance: three men come to Sarah and Abraham, traveling on a hot day, complete strangers, and Abraham immediately invites them in, promises them some water, and then rustles up a real feast.
Radical hospitality is at the heart of Middle Eastern cultures. Maybe it comes from living in and near climates that are hostile to human life. Maybe it comes from long histories of war in attempts to secure water rights or territory. Whatever it is, everyone seems to be trained from childhood to welcome in the stranger—even if that stranger is an enemy. I think the logic is something like this: I will give away the gift of hospitality, trusting that I will receive that gift when I most need it. It’s a culture of hospitality based on trust.
Still. Jesus knows this is at least a bit of a gamble. He goes on to say that the right sort of person will receive the greeting of peace. But if they don’t, they shouldn’t let that steal their peace. The assumption is that the disciples will be able to depend on the kindness of strangers. Food, rest, a place to lay their heads. And when they are not resting and eating, they will be in the community, not just talking about the kingdom of God, but showing it. Living it.
They will do this by healing. Illness in a family can disrupt everything—it can mean lost wages, or lost meal preparation, or lost tending the garden and animals. It can turn life upside down. But healing people restores life to what it is supposed to be—turns it right-side-up again. This is a sign of God’s kingdom—it is God who is supposed to turn things right side up again. Feeding people, and giving them a place to lay their head, is also a sign of the kingdom. Think of the disciples, weary from their travels, hungry because they’ve had no way to purchase any food for themselves, worrying about where to spend the night safely. Here's what I think this is about: Compassion. Empathy. Jesus has placed them in a very similar position to the people they are going to visit: he has turned their worlds upside down, taken away things that give their lives stability and predictability. But their being welcomed and fed and cared for, will turn their worlds right side up again. When gifts are shared, writes one scholar, given and received, the reign of God comes into human community.
The reign of God is described as kindness and help, given and received. We are witnesses to this every week, if not every day. The reign of God is coming early to set up for Communion. The reign of God is showing up to play piano when our original pianist is no longer available. The reign of God is showing up to sing, even when the choir is technically off during the summer. The reign of God is showing up to make sure the people at home or traveling can turn on their computers or televisions and participate in worship with their community. The reign of God is helping people to choose their food at the pantry. The reign of God is helping one another to be helpers at the pantry.
None of these things is rewarded tangibly—no one is going to get rich doing these things. There us a wealth of joy in giving and receiving.
Have you ever received unexpected hospitality? Also in my twenties, I was traveling with the choir of Saint Ignatius Church from Boston College. We were in Ireland, for the Cork Music Festival. One night we went to a pub, at the urging of one of our local contacts, because, they said, the music would be great. They were right. It was wonderful. But it ended early—8:30 or so. Six of us from the choir were sitting together talking, and a local couple joined us. They asked how we had liked the music, and we said, we’d loved it. They said, “Well, you’re welcome to come to our house. We have some great recordings of excellent Irish bands.” And we all agreed. We walked a few blocks and were welcomed into the home of these people whose names I can’t remember. We were offered apple pie, of all things (it was delicious) and coffee, and out came the records. They played us, “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda,” and “Lanigan’s Ball,” and other wonderful, evocative tunes. The lighting in their house stayed with me the warmth. Their beautiful accents stayed with me, and the sound of laughter, and the smell and taste of the apple pie. And the music: I still weep over some of it. A beautiful memory of unsolicited kindness to complete strangers, all because, they could tell we loved music. A moment when the kingdom of God broke through, though I didn’t think of it that way. But I do now.
The kingdom of God is at hand, Jesus said. And he was talking about simple human decisions: to go and help; to invite in; to welcome in; to offer healing; to offer encouragement. Sometimes, in offering, we feel completely vulnerable. We know there is a chance someone won’t want our help. But we also know that God is with us, which casts any vulnerability we feel in a very different light.
There is always someone who is longing to be invited in. There is always someone who is not feeling welcome. There is always someone who needs the healing touch of a gentle hand, or kind words to lift their spirits, or our fervent prayers. There is always, always someone who needs our help. Now more than ever, today more than ever, our world is desperately in need of kindness, not in the need to profit or prove; based in love, not in scorn or hate; based in joy, not in resignation or apathy. The world is in need, desperate need, of lovingkindness.
So, my friends, let’s be on the lookout for opportunities to let the nearness of the kingdom of God shine out of some word or deed. Let us be on the lookout for opportunities to give and opportunities to receive. The kingdom of God is at hand every time.
Thanks be to God. Amen.