4th Sunday after Pentecost

Whenever we read the Bible, or hear it read in church, if we’re at all predisposed to be inspired by it, we’re basically listening with a posture that asks, “What does this mean for me?” “What am I supposed to do with this information?”

And, generally speaking (especially when we’re reading the gospels), we’ll look to what Jesus is doing in the story to be our model. After all, our mission is to “be like Jesus.” So it’s a reasonable way to listen to the scriptures.

And whenever the story is about the disciples – especially where Jesus is giving them instructions (as in today’s story) – it’s perfectly reasonable to hear those instructions as equally applicable to ourselves. After all, we are disciples of Jesus. We are following him, in our days.

And so, when I began preparing this sermon, that’s exactly the posture I took. I was looking at the experience of the 70 disciples that Jesus sent out in pairs as a pattern or model for us, as we seek to do the work of Christ in this world. And to be clear, that is a totally valid way to preach this lesson. But it’s not how I’m going to preach it today!

As I kept reading the story, something else began to emerge. I began to ask another question: What if our model here isn’t Jesus, or even the disciples? What if our model is the townspeople who receive the disciples? They’ve got a critical role in this story, too. After all, it’s their hospitality, or the lack thereof, that either allows the disciples to do the work of the kingdom that Jesus sends them to do, or renders that potential ministry void.

And if this is the case, if we are the townspeople whose hospitality for Jesus’ disciples matters, it begs another obvious question: Who are the disciples coming in our midst?

So I spent a while with this question, turning it over in my head, and this is what I came up with:

In the language of this story, Jesus’ disciples can be defined in three distinct ways:

First, they’re totally inexperienced. They’ve never actually done this work before. They’ve been following Jesus. They’ve got some model in their head of the kind of work he does. But they’ve never done it themselves. They’re total amateurs.

Second, they’re decidedly vulnerable and needy. And this is no accident. In fact, Jesus makes it a stipulation of this short-term mission trip: “See, I am sending you out like lambs in the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bags, no sandals [and find people who are willing to put you up in their homes].”

And third, they actually do have authority. If indeed they’ve received the hospitality of the townspeople, these inexperienced, vulnerable people have a message to be listened to, and a ministry to perform – to cure the sick and demon oppressed, and in them, the Kingdom of God will come near.

So I ask again: Who are they? For us? Who are these inexperienced, vulnerable people Jesus is sending us to receive with hospitality and respect, and in so doing, allowing their Christ-given power to be made manifest?

And two examples come to mind:

The first is refugees and immigrants. I imagine for most of them, they’re inexperienced in their way (they’ve never moved to another country before). And they’re certainly arriving in a posture of vulnerability. So in some sense they tick the first two boxes.

But are they coming as disciples of Jesus? Are they coming with an authority that he gives to proclaim the Kingdom of God with word and power? No, not directly. Not explicitly. They’re not coming as missionaries. They’re fleeing poverty, violence, and oppression, with the dream of “America” – that bastion of potential that has lured immigrants for centuries.

But from another perspective, yes they are coming as emissaries of Christ. Elsewhere in scripture, especially in Matthew 25, Jesus makes it quite clear that he himself is in the midst of us in every needy and vulnerable person. Whenever we care for someone in prison, who’s naked or hungry or thirsty, we are caring for Jesus. This is a lesson we’ve heard many times. It is, in fact, embedded as a core principal of our baptismal covenant: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?”

But it’s very easy, when caring for those who are vulnerable and needy, to adopt a kind of paternalistic manner, “Oh you poor thing, let me take care of you.” It’s quite a different posture – quite an opposite posture – were we are to say, “In serving you, I am serving Christ. And if you are Christ, then you have a certain authority over me.”

What if, when serving at FISH foodbank or with Harbor Hope, we weren’t just being “do-gooders for the poor?” What if it meant, we were actually encountering Christ? And if so, we were looking to them to carry a real authority – that they have a message we need to receive? a ministry that’s waiting to be empowered by our hospitality?

I think of the Rahimi family that St. John’s has supported – refugees from Afghanistan. We’ve given them our resources. We’ve shown them hospitality. But what would it mean if we were to perceive – in these Muslim refugees – a kind of message and authority from God? Honestly, I hardly know what form it would take, other than to enter into the relationship with an open, humble posture of mutuality and dignity, that believes, together, God’s kingdom is going to be made manifest.

So who are the inexperienced, vulnerable people Jesus is sending us to receive with hospitality, and in so doing, allowing their Christ-given power to be made manifest? The first is the refugees and immigrants in our midst.

And the second? It is the youth. It is the young people in our society who are coming of age in this broken world we’ve created. Just like the disciples in the story, they aren’t Jesus. The rabbi, the master, isn’t here. We’ve got his inexperienced underlings in his stead. And like the disciples, they’re totally vulnerable, without resources or power at their disposal. But, I believe, they are absolutely coming to us with a message that needs to be heard, as from God.

Because, quite honestly, this world is in dire condition at the hands of the grown-ups: the titans of industry; the shapers of finance; our leaders in the three branches of government, that’s gridlocked and tottering.

Our world is struggling. The stability and health of its people and the land itself are all vulnerable. And the young people who are coming of age in this world are rightly frightened by what they’re inheriting, and calling out to us to do better. And as the generation that still has authority, that still has power, I believe we need to receive their message with the real authority it carries. I do believe it comes from God.

The example of Greta Thunberg is extraordinary – that young student from Sweden who’s risen as one of the most challenging environmental activists in our generation. She’s achieved an extraordinary platform to proclaim to the world the real and dire threat of climate change. And yet, despite the news coverage and the applause that greets her, those with the authority to affect change that would reduce greenhouse emissions in any useful amount, refuse to do anything. In fact, in our country, we now seem to be going backwards.

But like with the immigrants, these young people can be as Christ in our midst. We in the church (at least) can choose to receive them, with dignity and hospitality, believing they come of God – that along with their inexperience and vulnerability, comes the authority of Christ who sends them.

Now obviously, it goes without saying, that showing hospitality to young people in the church means greeting them, and being kind to them. Of course. But hospitality also means using our resources to provide for them and their welfare. It means discerning wise and worthwhile structures of ministry that will take them seriously, that will foster their spiritual formation, to help them perceive what God is growing in and through them.

Which is why I am so proud that our church offers Catechesis of the Good Shepherd as the model of our children’s ministry, because it takes the spiritual potential of the child so seriously. It’s an extraordinary ministry. But here at St. John’s, it’s also quite vulnerable, because to offer something so good, requires a lot of investment. Not an investment of money, but of time and commitment. It requires many people to commit themselves to being trained as catechists. About 80 hours for each level. And then to be willing to serve regularly in the atrium. That’s what hospitality can look like for us, to welcome these disciples of Christ being sent to our village.

We’re also on the verge of creating a new model of youth ministry to be shared by four churches in Gig Harbor. Just last week, I’m proud to say, our joint-church task force posted a job offering for a full-time, salaried youth pastor to serve this new ministry. If we pull this off, we’ll be able to offer a weekly middle school group and a weekly high school group that’s led by someone whose entire commitment is the well-being of our youth. And, please God, we’ll find such a youth pastor who wants to lead in this work. Which means, please God, there would be more teenagers in our midst who are taking their faith seriously, who will have a message that we, in turn need to receive.

And I’m mindful that we’re considering these things this morning, on the eve of Independence Day – that day we celebrate our common life as Americans. America is not to be confused with the Kingdom of God. But it is, very much, the context in which we live. As Christians, it is the context in which we live our faith, where we seek to grow in obedience to God and to love and serve our neighbors as ourselves.

And so I’m mindful this morning, that a very real way to love my nation and to seek its good, is to welcome and support the refugees and the immigrants who are joining us here – hoping still that the American dream will be true for them; it to welcome and support the young people who are coming of age among us. And in so doing, with a posture of humility, to be prepared to witness in them the authority of God healing us and setting us free from the demons that oppress us.

It is with such a hope that I will sing, “Oh beautiful for spacious skies,” this hymn of our nation, that is also a prayer, for God to “shed his grace on thee.” Amen.