Mark 6:1-13
Having just returned from a visit to my hometown, where I spent time among my own kin and in my family homes, I feel a particular closeness with Jesus in this passage. Ben and I went to Louisville to work, to represent our parishes and our diocese in a meeting of over a thousand Episcopalians from all over the church and Anglican Christians from all over the world. We wore our collars and took meetings and exchanged business cards with important people at networking events. But priest though I may be, in Louisville I am also Lora and William’s daughter, and Samantha and Ellie’s sister, and everyone’s former camper or camp counselor. I ran into many people at General Convention who knew me when I was still losing baby teeth, people who remember all my awkward phases and who can look straight past the collar and see the many versions of me that came before. I don’t preach to them, I think if I tried they would smile and nod and then ask me if I still love Harry Potter and sharks. They love me and they respect me, but many of them have known me much too long to take me too seriously. They’re proud of me, but I’m not their priest.
This is the kind of audience Jesus found in the synagogue in his hometown. He walks into the worshipping community that raised him, a space filled with the people who watched him to give Mary a break and the people who taught him to read Hebrew and recite the scriptures and the people who still remember the scandalous timing of his birth. Very likely there are also people there who played with him when they were all kids together, who remember what he was afraid of as a boy and all the ways he was different from the other children. This audience is not ready to see Jesus, not ready to look through all those memories to see clearly the man he has become. The people who remember him in diapers are astounded by his miraculous works and his prophetic words, and they respond with an attempt to humble him. Is this not the working-class woodworker? Is this not the son of Mary from up the road? We know his siblings and their families, we know the house where he grew up, we know him better than anyone. Who does he think he is?
The people in Jesus’s hometown who take offense at him believe they know him because of their proximity. They believe they know him because they know where he was raised and who his parents are. They believe they know him because of what they know about him, and so they cannot truly see him or receive the message he proclaims. Their assumptions cloud their vision, and their certainty about the world stops up their ears. They cannot see him, they cannot hear him, they cannot accept that he is somehow different from what they expect, and so they reject him. In their rejection they lose out on the opportunity to hear the Good News, and the chance for great deeds of power to take place right in front of their eyes. Jesus heals a few sick people who approach him, and the rest turn their backs as he moves on to the surrounding towns.
Jesus experiences this rejection on his missionary journey, and then turns around and sends his disciples on their own. He models for them what to do when someone won’t listen to them or accept the Gospel, then he tells them to go and do likewise. Wherever you go, he tells them, you will rely on the hospitality and graciousness of strangers. If they welcome you, stay. If they do not, shake it off and move on.
That is much easier said than done, Jesus. Being rejected is painful, and scary, and often even the thought of it can shut us down entirely. I have heard time and again from members of our parish families that they do not speak often about their faith with others, that they are afraid of being perceived as pushy or preachy or they might make someone uncomfortable. I understand that completely. I know that kind of rejection as someone who moves through the world with a neon flashing sign on me that tells people to expect some preaching every time I open my mouth. I also understand it as a young person, as a woman, as someone who grew up in a largely unchurched generation. The rejection does happen. The arguments and the dismissals happen. If it happened to Jesus, it can happen to anyone.
But Jesus knows this all too well, and he sends his disciples out anyway. He tells them to go with only the minimum supports- just a staff, the shoes on their feet, and the clothes on their backs. No extras, no pocket change, just enough to get them from one place to another. They are expected to preach, and heal, and cast out demons, all while sleeping under the roof of whatever kind soul will offer them shelter. He is very frank about the likelihood of rejection and refusal, and he gives them instructions for how to manage that pain. As you leave, shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them. He does not tell the disciples to rail against those who reject them, nor to condemn them or seek revenge. He tells them to pick up their staff and their wounded pride, shake off the parts of the offending town that cling to their skin, and walk away. Again, so much easier said than done, Jesus.
But Jesus does equip them with something to bolster them against the pain of rejection, something to make them brave enough to risk it for the sake of the Good News they carry. He tells them to go with a staff, sandals, one set of clothes, and… each other. He does not send them off to face the world alone. As the God of the Trinity, Jesus understands the importance of community, so he makes sure every disciple has a companion on the way. It is much easier to shake off the dust when you have a friend to encourage you. It is much easier to bounce back from an inhospitable rejection when you have a partner in ministry who can remind you of your worth. And it is much easier to stand up in the face of disagreement when you do not stand alone. Jesus knows this, and so he never sends us anywhere alone either. We too are called to go out and proclaim the Gospel, to offer healing and freedom from the tyranny of death. And we do not do it alone. As we celebrate more than three years of partnership between St Mark’s and Grace, three years of worship and fellowship and friendship and ministry together, we are sent out together, two by two. In giving us to one another, Jesus has given us partners in prayer when sickness and injury and chaos threaten to overtake us. He has given us partners in rejoicing when prayers are answered and unexpected gifts make themselves known to us. He has given us partners in study and in questioning and in outreach and in worship. He has promised that wherever two or three are gathered, he is in the midst of us, which means that in this partnership he is ever present. So let us go out from this place into the world where Jesus sends us, knowing that we are never alone on the way.
Mother A Writes 