On the Road Again

Photo of The Rev. Michael Johnston by The Rev. Dr. Michael Johnston, Scholar-in-Residence

Rummaging around this week in what I call my sermon barrel, I came across an article from an old issue of Sojourner’s Magazine by Rose Marie Berger, a Catholic peace activist and poet.  The article is called Road Trippin’ [Berger, Rose Marie, “Road Trippin’”, Sojourners Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 4, July-August 2002, p. 45.]  And it takes the form of Frequently Asked Questions about traveling the Jesus Trail.  The first of which was “What do I need to bring?”

“Not much, actually.  It’s a come-as-you-are arrangement.  Good walking shoes.  Maybe a water bottle.  We’re not sure how far we’re going, so it’s best to pack light.  We can get what we need along the way.”

“Well, what will we talk about?  “Who you love; who you hate.  What things make you happy.  What to do when so many people come to the picnic that you run out of food.  How to fight for what’s right without using your fists.  How to tell the difference between a phony bill of goods and the genuine article.  How do deal with a bad boss.  Who God is.  How to pray.  How to mourn.  How to die.  How to live.  And, oh yes, what to do when your friends leave you high and dry.”  That last one, I suspect, is Berger’s allusion to the first half of today’s Gospel.  But it rather plays down the tensions between Jesus and his friends and family in Nazareth.

You will remember from last week’s lessons that Our Lord has outdone himself in the miracle department by raising Jairus’ daughter from the dead.  But in his hometown synagogue, they become suspicious of his renown and decidedly take offense at the mighty works wrought by his hands.  To them, Jesus is just “the carpenter, the son of Mary”, from whose hands only more mundane things are expected.  And while there are translation difficulties with the phrase “the carpenter, the son of Mary,” most scholars agree that this is intended as a slur, because the identification of Jesus by his maternal side would have insinuated illegitimacy.

In any case, the point of the episode is the ultimate put down—-the derogation of Jesus’ stature by his own people.  He must now concede that he is a “prophet without honor,” stripped of status and robbed of clan identity.  And what follows is that now disowned, Jesus kicks the dust from his feet and takes to the road again -- itinerant teacher and healer.

Accordingly, he now summons to himself his new community, a group of followers that Matthew at one point will call laborers sent into the fields of the Kingdom.  But just what is the nature of this fellowship if it is not   –- as we now know -- based on kinship and local allegiance?   Who, in fact, are these early harvesters?

We are apt to think of them as “the Twelve”.  And that is precisely who Mark says they are:  “He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over the unclean spirits.”  Matthew agrees with Mark on both name and number, and expands somewhat the nature of the work:  "These twelve Jesus sent out, charging them...heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons."

Then there's the Gospel of Thomas, a collection of some hundred sayings of Jesus that almost surely predates the four canonical texts.  Thomas makes no connection between discipleship and “the Twelve.”  In fact, Gospel of Thomas seems to have no knowledge of a tradition of the Twelve at all.  Rather, Thomas refers to those "sent out" merely as "disciples"--neither numbered, named, nor paired-off.  And in his text, "disciples" seems to be merely a generic term for those who follow after Jesus.

The identification in Luke especially muddles the issue of number:  “And the Lord appointed seventy others [other than whom?] and sent them out in pairs...And he said to them, ‘See I am sending you out like lambs in the midst of wolves.  Go on your way.  Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road.  And whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick and say to them,  The Kingdom of God is at hand.'"

So, comparing all the texts, reading them side-by-side, is not much help.  There are the pairs, the Twelve, the disciples and the seventy--or sometimes seventy-two, depending on the translation.  And I wonder whether that lack of agreement isn't itself a clue.  I wonder whether the earliest missionaries "sent out" shouldn't be understood in only the most general terms--as followers who became committed to the social program of Jesus and his ecstatic vision of God’s reign on earth.

The biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan refers to one group of the earliest Jesus people as “mimetic Christians”--from the word “to mime”, “to imitate.”  They were out there on the road doing what Jesus did, teaching what he taught, and proclaiming his gospel.  And Crossan suspects that they brought free healing to the peasant masses of rural Galilee in exchange for open table fellowship.

You hear that connection between healing and hospitality in Luke’s words: “Eat what is set before you; cure the sick and say to them, ‘The Kingdom of God is at hand.’"  Consider that again: “Eat what is set before you; cure the sick and say to them, ‘The Kingdom of God is at hand.’"  The Kingdom, it would seem, is the convergence of compassionate presence and an open table to which everyone has access.

So I wonder also whether what we're dealing with isn't, in fact, an unspecified collection of healed healers--sent out to do for others what Jesus had done for them.  They came to him from the ragged edges of their woundedness--Jairus’s daughter, the woman with the issue of blood, the centurion’s son, the man with the withered hand, the woman taken in adultery.  The five thousand who were hungry for the Bread of Life and the hundreds who thirsted for the Waters of Righteousness.  The woman at the well and the boy with just five barley loaves.  They came to him ravaged and ravenous.  But once fed and healed, they were available for service.

So, maybe following--being "sent out"--means nothing more, but nothing less, than doing likewise:  cleanse the leper, heal the sick, cast out demons.  Do unto others as it has been done unto you.  And in return, the healer is fed by the healed.

When you begin to consider the ones sent out as healed healers--rather than a select group of apostolic designates or dignitaries--it's easier to see a correspondence between them and us.  Discipleship does not require particular personality or heroic exercises of courage or piety or wisdom or prayer.  We are not expected to produce the purple prose of Paul, or to be crucified upside down like Peter, or to nurture the apocalyptic vision of an exiled St. John the Divine.  Least of all, are we expected to get ordained!

We are merely meant to allow ourselves access to the healing power which Jesus freely offers, and--once healed--to pass that healing on to others.  Being sent out is deciding to hang some dry wall at Abraham House.  Being sent out is making sure Meals on Wheels keeps rolling.  That the Kansas City Community Kitchen gets sufficient volunteers.  That prayers are offered for the sick and the dying.  That communion is brought to the shut-in.  That newcomers get properly welcomed.  That our children get told the Good News.  That is the harvest work of the Kingdom.

The harvest is indeed plentiful.  There are bushels and pecks of suffering out there.  But the laborers are not at all few.  Each one of us bears a sickle of hope, healing and redemption.  All we need to do is follow our shepherd into the field.  His life alone has taught us all we need to know about being disciples.   All we need to be are mimetic Christians.

So go on your way.  Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.  Welcome the stranger, spread the table.  And, while you’re at it, eat what’s set before you.