July 8, 2007
(Sixth Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 9)
Wishing and Hoping
by
The Rev. Joe Behen, Clergy Assistant
2 Kings 5:1-14 • Psalm 30
• Galatians 6:(1-6), 7-16 •
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
(From
The Lectionary Page)
The Kingdom of God is near. That is the proclamation that the seventy are to make in Luke’s gospel, and that is the hope that they are to live by. But what does it mean to speak of the kingdom of God being here when so much of what we see every day suggests otherwise? And what difference does it make that we should hope for such a thing? I think that these are the questions that Jesus is addressing in this morning’s gospel lesson.
The word "hope" is one of many words whose meaning for us in this time and place means, I think, something less than what it meant in the Greco-Roman world of first Century Palestine. I often catch myself substituting the word “hope” with “wish.” This “wishing” simply reflects my desire for something to happen without my having the conviction that it will indeed happen. When I wish for something, I see this desire as being separate, or distinct from who I am as a person. And I am certainly not connected in any way with its coming about.
The Greek word for hope, however, means something more. It means to look forward to something, with the implication of confidence about this something coming to pass. This confidence, then, makes hope to be fundamentally related to faith. Our hope in Christ fundamentally changes who we are in a dramatic way. And without this hope, we cannot become the followers that Christ wants to make of us. The late William Sloane Coffin once remarked that, “Hope criticizes what is, whereas hopelessness rationalizes it. Hope,” he said, “resists, while hopelessness adapts.” We can be certain that Christ’s message is not one of rationalizing and adapting to the world as we encounter it.
In sending out his disciples ahead of him, Jesus tells the seventy to avoid things that would compromise the reception of the message they bear. They are to avoid moving from place to place, they are to stop and speak to no one aside from their mission, as this would delay the reception of the message in place of small talk, something unrelated to the message they bear. In other words, their lives are to be about the message they bear. They can’t just think it, and they can’t just say it – they must live this mission.
“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.’” This mission of the seventy, then, involves two actions and one proclamation. The actions are pretty straight forward: they are to eat what they are given and to cure the sick. In other words, they are to be hospitable and to care for others. Both of these directives then are primarily about relationship – relationship with all the people we encounter in our lives. But these relationships must exist in cooperation with our mission. These relationships are a part of our mission. Our life at work, at home, and everywhere else has to reflect our mission as followers of Christ. What we proclaim with our lives must resemble what we proclaim on Sunday mornings to be a fundamental life conviction: that the kingdom of God is near. This is all that the seventy have actually been directed by Jesus to actually say. All the rest of Jesus directions to them are about making their lives to coherently proclaim this same message. The kingdom of God is near.
God’s kingdom must indeed be very near to us. It is not simply, as Israel had thought, that God’s kingdom is some future time in which Israel will once again rule itself and their land will be returned to them, demonstrating proof that God’s kingdom is present. No, Jesus seems to want to say that placing the presence of God’s kingdom within our concept of time, whether present or future, is simply an attempt to limit or control the possibilities. God’s rule of all things simply “is.” And if we are convicted that God’s kingdom “is,” then our lives will begin to reflect that conviction. And this conviction, this hope, will indeed change us.
In “The Lord of the Rings,” J. R. R. Tolkien quite creatively teases out the life changing and self- defining character that is produced by hope. Both Saruman and Gandalf are shown to have extraordinary powers over nature, powers not unlike what we in the first world countries have today through technology. But these two characters use their power in very different ways. Over time, the way in which they use their power has made them to be very different from each other, different to the point of being polar opposites. Gandalf, the apparent inferior, uses his power for the good of creation and of all the beings that are part of it. Saruman, however, uses his power to dominate creation for his own well-being. Tolkien shows the ultimate source of their difference to be about hope. Saruman has lost hope that good will prevail, and eventually his entire life is shaped by this despair. He doesn’t think of himself as being evil, but as having simply adapted to the realities of life. Self preservation and self comfort are his highest purposes, and his entire identity eventually forms around these purposes. Gandalf, however, hopes in the ultimate power of good over evil. By the time of the mission of the fellowship, this conviction has produced a life that appears to most, as one of complete and reckless self-abandon for what he describes in an almost Pauline way, as “a fool’s hope.” You see, his hope lies beyond what is seen, and his life is formed by it.
I believe that this was the experience of the seventy in Luke’s gospel. As their hope began to take the shape of Christ’s convictions, they themselves were changed. Only when their hope is in God’s kingdom and it’s immediate and difference-making presence, can they shape their lives around this reality – in other words, only then could they live this hope. And living this hope makes a difference. Satan falls like lightning in response to the convicted living of the disciples. Everything is different when you know that it matters. As soon as we convince ourselves that God is indifferent to some part of our life, we have created fertile ground for the growth of rationalization and ultimately for despair. But when we are convicted that what we think, what we desire, and what we do with the next hours of our lives, and how we interact with those we will come in contact with today – when we are convicted that all of these things are part of who we are as God's children, they will change us, and they change our relationship with God. In the end, however, they matter simply because the kingdom of God is indeed very near.
