Carrying the cross means committing to follow the way of Christ, recognizing that doing so will transform our lives and relationships.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 23 C
Texts: Philemon; Luke 14:25-33

Siblings in Christ, grace to you, and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Have you ever been told that a physical or mental illness was “your cross to bear”? Or maybe it was a particular pain you were struggling with; an obligation that overwhelmed you; an injustice you’d experienced… Maybe you’ve been told that one of these things was “your cross to bear.”

Sometimes Christians talk this way about Jesus’ command to “carry the cross,” this idea that faithful people will accept trials and burdens passively and piously because “we all have our own crosses to bear.” Sometimes it even goes as far as to present suffering as necessary and spiritually redemptive.

But the God we know through Jesus’ words and actions in scripture focused on healing and alleviating people’s suffering,
not demanding it. Jesus provided for people’s needs, and protected the most vulnerable, even when it was scandalous or dangerous for him to do so. Even from the cross, Jesus speaks mercy and forgiveness. If we trust that Jesus, the incarnate word, reveals God’s heart, we can trust that God doesn’t desire for us to suffer. But God is with us when we suffer.

So what does it mean to carry the cross? Jesus gives this command a number of times across the Gospels,[1] and every time he connects it to discipleship, saying “Take up your cross and follow me.”

If we want to know what it looks like to carry the cross, it looks like Jesus. Not just Jesus’ suffering and death, but Jesus’ life. Jesus gives these teachings about taking up the cross long before he himself is executed on a cross. So the example he is calling disciples to follow also includes his life and ministry. To carry the cross, we need to practice the same hospitality, generosity, and compassion that we see in the life Jesus. We, too, need to provide for others’ needs, protect the vulnerable, speak forgiveness. To carry the cross, we need to live like Jesus… even when it’s challenging.

And it does get challenging. The Gospel is good news, but it isn’t easy news.

If we commit to following the way of Jesus, things will have to change. Not just on the inside, in our hearts, but on the outside, in our lifestyles and our relationships.

In the Gospel passage we heard this morning, Jesus adds some drastic language to the call to carry the cross. Worried that the crowds drawn by his popularity won’t take seriously the difficulties of discipleship, he says, “If you want to follow me, you have to hate your own family, your own life!” Whew! That’s a tough bar to clear! We know, of course, that Jesus doesn’t advocate hating complete strangers, let alone close family. But he wants to be sure that people get the message that living in the way of Christ will change their lives. It will shift even their most intimate relationships in unanticipated ways.

This is a lesson Philemon learned the hard way. His situation, which we encounter through one of Paul’s letters, is an example of how living according to the Gospel can challenge the status quo. Philemon is a Christian in the early church, and Paul is writing to him on behalf of Onesimus, who has also become a Christian. Onesimus is in serious debt to Philemon, but Paul urges Philemon to let it go. He should accept Onesimus back into his household – not as a debtor enslaved to a master, but as an equal, a sibling in Christ. Within the social structures of their day, Philemon had a right to demand reparation from Onesimus! But their shared commitment to Christ has changed their relationship to one another. Paul reminds Philemon: This is what you signed up for when you became a Christ-follower! Your life has to change! The world may think retaliation and punishment are fair, but the Gospel demands a different standard. For those who carry the cross, relationships are defined by love, not revenge; forgiveness, not resentment; and mutual respect, not coercion.

As Philemon learned, the Gospel life can involve letting go of things we might prefer to keep: things like status, power, comfort, wealth.

Discipleship can be costly. But it’s not about losing just for the sake of loss. It’s about losing for the sake of love, as Jesus did.

Jesus went all the way to losing his life for the sake of love. And, in doing so, modeled sacrificial love for us. When we choose to follow the way of Jesus, we choose to follow that way. Our “cross to bear” is the burden of love – for ourselves and for one another. That burden is not light. We have to let go of some things in order that we might carry it. We may think we know what we’ll have to lose. But, like Philemon, we will find that the Gospel continually changes our lives in ways that will surprise us and challenge us. That’s the hard work of discipleship that Jesus warned about. When we agree to follow Christ, we will be continually transformed, like clay in the Potter’s hands.

But we can trust that the Potter is making us into something new, something good.

The change might feel painful, but it’s the kind of pain that leads to growth, not the kind of pain that wears us down or destroys us. Bearing the cross of Christ-like love is a way of life.

Every time you make the sign of the cross on your body, remind yourself that you are marked with the cross from your baptism, and your baptismal calling is to carry the cross. Which means your baptismal calling is to live your life with the radical love we see in Jesus. And when that burden feels heavy, remember that it is also life-giving. And the life it brings is stronger than anything: stronger than suffering, stronger even than death. We share in the cross of Christ, yes, but we also share in the resurrection of Christ.[2] And thanks be to God for that! Amen.

[1] Mark 8:34; Matthew 10:38, 16:24; Luke 9:23, 14:27.
[2] Philippians 3:10-11.

Mary faithfully and joyfully proclaims the justice of God’s reign as a reality, despite the conditions of the world around her and the complexities of her own life, because she knows and trusts God.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Feast of Mary, Mother of Our Lord
Text: Luke 1:46-55

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

I’m so grateful we don’t have to wait until December to hear this Gospel text, which we read every year in Advent, because we need to hear it now.

These days, the world feels heavy with injustice. We awake daily to news of more gun violence, more political conflict, more racial fear-mongering, more accounts of abuse, more people in desperate need. In the midst of all this, Mary’s pronouncement that God’s strength is on the side of the vulnerable shines like a beacon in darkness.

In God’s reign, the powers of the world are turned upside down.

The rich and proud, who seemed untouchable and unshakable, are brought down low. Their authority and money cannot protect them. It is the lowly, the poor, the forgotten people on the margins who are lifted up. Those who have gone wanting will find more than enough at the table of God’s banquet. This is the promise of an ever-faithful God that Mary declares.

And yet, the same heaviness of the world that makes me so eager to hear this message now is also what makes it difficult to trust that promise.

The reality we see around us doesn’t match the vision that Mary describes. We feel overwhelmed, exhausted, doubtful that justice will come. We cry out: When will God’s might tear the tyrants from their thrones? When will God’s strong arm scatter the proud of heart? When will God’s goodness satisfy the hungry? Our context can convince us that these things are impossible.

But if we think that Mary’s context made it any easier to believe in God’s world-changing justice, then we are underestimating the reality she faced.

In the words of this Gospel passage, we hear the voice of a young woman speaking to us across centuries and continents. We cannot know much about what her life was like. But we do know that she was not a person of great wealth or means. She would have held little power in her culture, and when she found herself pregnant, but unmarried, her options would have become even more limited.

Why did she claim so confidently that God was paying attention to the people society ignored? How did a woman whose future looked so bleak declare such a bold vision of God’s righteous power in the world?

She experienced it personally.

Mary might have been marginal and unimportant according to the world’s standards, but not according to God’s.

Her situation may have endangered her future in her community, but not her favor in God’s sight. God noticed her. God knew her. Loved her. Chose her. It is she who will be the one to bear the incarnate presence of God among humanity. Can you imagine? Not a woman who is royal, or wealthy, or famous… but Mary, a Jew from a small town in the corner of the Roman occupation.

Mary’s very body bears witness to God’s regard for the those whom the world undervalues. She knows that God is with her and that God is for her, as God is for any who are vulnerable. She trusts that God’s spirit is transforming her and transforming the world.

And for that, she rejoices.

When she hears the news of her unexpected and inexplicable pregnancy, Mary holds fast to her faith and accepts the life that comes to her. Despite the complexity of her circumstances, she is overjoyed.

And she expects that everyone else will be, too. Mary seems completely unconcerned with what other people might think of her situation. She confidently declares that people for generations and generations to come will see that this pregnancy, this thing that has happened to her – is a complete blessing.

God is coming into the world.

And Mary just cannot keep that to herself. Her soul is bursting with this good news; she cannot contain it!

Mary doesn’t just share a word of God’s goodness – she proclaims it!

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior!” No wonder her words are so well set to music – she is singing with wonder at this event that is not only about her, but about all people. God’s righteousness is for all humanity.

None of this is theoretical or contingent for Mary – it’s already a reality. She doesn’t say God might fill the hungry with good things, or God will eventually, someday lift up the lowly. She says God has done this. That is proclamation.

Of course, Mary’s pregnancy doesn’t suddenly solve all the suffering and injustice of the world. It doesn’t even solve her own struggles. She’s still a Jewish woman living under Roman occupation. Her life as the mother of Jesus will not be easy, and she will be at foot of the cross when her son, the Light of the world, dies as a criminal.

The complete fulfillment of God’s kingdom is beyond Mary’s lifetime, as it is beyond the lives of all the saints who came after her.

The spirit of God who is at work in Mary’s life was at work in the world long before Jesus was born and will be at work in the world long after Jesus dies. Mary doesn’t know how everything will work out, and yet she proclaims God’s justice as a reality. Because she knows who God is. She knows God is faithful, merciful, and intimately present with her in the midst of her life’s joy and pain. We know that God, too, the same God that Mary, the mother of our Lord, our ancestor in faith, trusted with all her heart, with all her life.

From Mary, we learn to be attentive to where God’s spirit is moving in a hurting world.

We learn to respond with joy and gratitude when we experience God’s blessing in our lives, and to have faith that God still sees us, still knows us, still loves us when we experience suffering.

We, like Mary, can say ‘yes’ to participating in God’s reign on earth in all its compassionate justice, knowing that God is working even through us, knowing that we cannot grow weary of doing good, even when the fruits of our labor are beyond our lifetimes. When we look at the world and feel overwhelmed by pain and need and violence, we still trust in the God we know because that is an act of strong, subversive faith.

And we don’t keep it to ourselves. We proclaim the good news that never stops being an astounding message of hope: God is coming into the world!

Amen.

When idols take up too much space in our hearts, we can neglect our relationship with God, who remains faithful even in the midst of our unfaithfulness and continually calls us back in love.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 C
Texts: Hosea 11:1-11, Luke 12: 13-21, 32-34

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

‘Idolatry’ is one of those words that sounds really biblical and serious, but also a little archaic and obscure.

When we speak of idols today, we’re usually referring to pop culture icons, people to be adored and emulated. We think of “American Idol” before we think of statues of foreign gods. But the biblical writers took idolatry seriously.

This morning we read from Hosea, a Hebrew prophet who was highly critical of idolatry in ancient Israel. Wanting to ensure that their families and their fields were sufficiently fertile, the Israelites had taken to offering sacrifices and incense to Baal, a tribal fertility god whose popularity was on the rise during the Hosea’s life. This was a betrayal of Israel’s covenant with God, who had clearly commanded them to worship no other gods. Hosea tried to convince his people that God was not very pleased about their behavior. He used his own fractured family as an allegory for the strained relationship between God and the people. We heard last week the story of Hosea symbolically naming his children Lo-Ruhamah, which means “No-Mercy,” and Lo-Ammi, which means “Not-My-People.” In one translation God says to Hosea, “Name your child Nobody, because you’ve all become nobodies to me and I, God, am a nobody to you” (Hosea 1:9, The Message).

This is the impact of idolatry: We start paying a little more attention to idols, and a little less attention to God.

We start trusting idols a little more than we trust God. These objects of adoration and devotion become a source of life and meaning, and eventually God become a nobody to us. Now maybe you and I have never experienced a Canaanite fertility god having such an impact on us, but Baals aren’t the only kinds of idols.

The apostle Paul reminds us in Colossians that greed is also idolatry (Colossians 3:5).

The insatiable desire to have more and more material stuff, the secret envy of other people’s lifestyles and possessions, the endless endeavor for wealth and success… These are idols with which we are more familiar. They can start to take up too much space in our hearts, to demand an ever-increasing percentage of our effort and focus. Greed is idolatry because enough is never enough. When we get caught up in the idolatry of greed, we can end up like the wealthy landowner in Jesus’ parable, achieving material security but disregarding our dependence on God. This man has forgotten his own mortality, and all the supposed ‘treasure’ he has stored up is good for nothing when he comes unexpectedly to the end of his life. The problem is not that he paid attention to his physical life; it’s that he neglected his inner life. The problem is not that he was financially successful; it’s that he did not address his spiritual poverty. The problem is not that he became a somebody in his community; it’s that he let God become a nobody in his life. He let his wealth and savings play a role that only God can play. He found his identity in his own merit, instead of his being a beloved creation of God. And in the end, those idols left the landowner empty-handed.

At the conclusion of the parable Jesus says, “Where your treasure is, your heart will be also.” So make sure the treasure you give your heart to is the real deal.

Don’t commit your time, your energy, your loyalty, your adoration, your trust to treasures that can wear out or be stolen – treasures that need bigger and bigger barns just to store them. In the end, those things cannot be depended on. Eventually idols leave us wanting, Whatever our particular ‘treasure’ looks like – career success, personal appearance, intellectual knowledge – These can be good things in our lives, but they cannot be God over our lives. We can’t stake our lives on anything but God.

When we allow idols to take the place of God, God is heartbroken.

Hosea’s description of God’s response to the people’s idolatry is striking. He expresses God’s heartache as that of a parent whose children have betrayed their relationship. God is like a fiercely protective father, remembering how he held his children’s hands as they learned to walk, lamenting that the children have now rejected his care. God is like a tender mother, reaching down to feed her children, keeping them safe at every moment, grieving that her children have now forgotten that it was she who sustained them and raised them.

Hosea’s words describe a God who is devastated by the people’s unfaithfulness, and yet, this is what God decides: “I could never give up on my children. I could never destroy them.”

This is not a God of destruction and punishment, but a God of life and forgiveness, a God who has wrestled with the reality of human brokenness and has decided to be a force of grace and healing. Those people who chose idols over God, they aren’t called “Not-my-people” after all. They are called “Children of the living God.” They aren’t called “No-Mercy.” They are called “Complete Compassion.” God roars like a lioness calling her cubs back to her. No matter how far away from her they run, she will guide them home. God’s faithfulness is not like the faithfulness of humans; it never wavers. God never leaves. “I am the Holy One in your midst,” God declares (Hosea 11:9). God always desires to be in deeper relationship with us and continually draws us back.

We need to notice the things in our lives that crowd out God’s loving voice, that strain our relationship with God, and to stop giving those things so much attention and power.

What are the idols that are gaining too tight a hold over your heart, the things that are being treated like precious treasure but will never actually be as satisfying as they claim to be? Don’t build bigger barns to give those things more room in your life.

Invest instead in the parts of your life that make you more aware of the presence of the Holy One already in your midst.

Be attentive to God’s voice in your heart. Nurture the habits that help you deepen your relationship with God who loves you – whether that’s silence, worship, prayer, fellowship, service, or just… rest… God, the source of abundant life, is always with you. God, will never leave you, and will never leave you empty.

Amen.

The story of the Good Samaritan articulates God’s vision for the compassionate care of all people. When we fail to embody that vision, we are forgiven, held in God’s love, and called back to the task of loving our neighbors.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15 C
Text: Luke 10:25-37

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This familiar parable from Luke is often called the “Good Samaritan.” It’s a Bible story so widely known that there are hospitals, nonprofits, and even romantic comedies named after it. It’s popular because it’s relatable. We can so easily see ourselves in its characters. The fear and pain of being attacked and abandoned or  the relief and gratitude of receiving unexpected kindness from a stranger – these are such human experiences.  Perhaps the most relatable of all are the priest and the Levite who walk by on the other side of the road without stopping to help someone in need. Hearing this story can evoke guilt, discomfort, and despair when we are reminded we are not always as “good” as the Samaritan was. It’s an effective parable.

And its central question continues to be powerful and relevant: who is my neighbor?

For whom am I responsible and to what extent? One need look no further than our country’s current conversation about borders and immigration to see how perpetually challenging that question still is. In the context of Luke, the question “Who is my neighbor?” is presented by a lawyer who sounds like he’s looking for a moral loophole. An expert in religious law, he already knows that anyone who claims to love God should love their neighbors. The imperatives to welcome the stranger, care for the poor, and protect the vulnerable were not new ideas in Jesus’ day and they’re not new in ours. But, wanting to test Jesus and justify himself, the lawyer pushes the issue, asking, “Who, specifically, is the neighbor I’m obligated to love?”

Jesus doesn’t answer him by quoting scripture or reciting rules; he tells a story about the messy realities of human interdependence.

The priest and the Levite in the story were religious authorities. They, like the lawyer, would have been familiar with the scriptural requirement to care for those in need. When they encountered the man by the side of the road, they may have known the right thing to do, but it’s the Samaritan who actually does it. He’s not reacting out of guilt or obligation. He’s not fulfilling a quota for number-of-neighbors-helped. He’s not calculating whether he can be compensated for his assistance. He feels for the guy. That’s the impetus for his response of care. He’s moved by this person’s needs. The Samaritan acts out of compassion.

We don’t learn much about the man in the ditch, whether he’s wealthy or poor, whether he’s a Gentile or Jew – we only learn about the way a stranger shows him mercy. In telling this story, Jesus turns the lawyer’s question around: It doesn’t matter who your neighbor is; it matters how you are neighbor to others. It doesn’t matter what kind of person is in need; it matters how you respond.

This story articulates God’s vision for how humanity should live together.

Everyone deserves care. There are no qualifications. No one is left alone in the ditch. Everyone’s wounds are tended to because we respond to one another’s needs with generosity and compassion.

There are no moral loopholes. This is what it means to be a neighbor. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus concludes. Go and embody God’s vision for a compassionate world. That’s it. That’s the directive. That’s how Jesus leaves the lawyer – and us.

That “go and do likewise” ending is a hard thing to sit with, especially for those of us who see ourselves in the Priest and the Levite.

It’s uncomfortable to come to the end of this story and ask whether we have actually “done likewise” to the Samaritan. We are reminded of all the times we have walked by someone we might have helped. We wonder if we have missed the eternal life the lawyer was seeking…

But the final word in this parable is not the final word of God. Even when we fail to realize God’s vision of compassion, there is no condemnation in Christ (Romans 8:1). We trust the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39) – not even whatever might cause us to walk by on the other side.

God’s promise of love is for all people, no exceptions.

It is for those who have been harmed, rejected, and left behind. It is for those who serve others out of generous compassion. And it is for those who don’t. That’s the astounding truth of grace. None of us is ever beyond God’s love.

Jesus leaves this conversation with the lawyer and continues on his journey to Jerusalem, his journey to the cross, and even in the face of death, he speaks words of mercy not judgment. Jesus speaks forgiveness to the ones who torture him (Luke 23:34) and acceptance to the criminals dying next to him (Luke 23:39-42). And, after he confronts the very powers of hell with love, the risen Jesus returns from the grave to speak peace to the disciples who denied and betrayed him (Luke 24:36). They failed to live up to God’s vision of compassion, but their inadequacies did not stop Christ from reconciling with them, empowering them with the divine spirit, and sending them out to proclaim the Gospel. Imperfect, cowardly, and flawed, they are forgiven. And they are still tasked to go out into the world and act with love.

It is the same with us.

No matter how many times we walk by on the other side, we, too, are forgiven and we, too, are called back to the task of being love in the world.

Standing firm in the faith that we are saved by grace and unconditionally loved by God does not mean we abandon the millennia-old commandment to care for our neighbors. On the contrary, it means that we are invited again and again to come back to God’s way of compassion. We are convinced that radical care for one another is the path that truly brings life.

We aspire to be the neighbors God has called us to be, the neighbors our world desperately needs. Yet even when we falter, we are still held in that love from which nothing – not even death – can separate us.

Amen.

 

Discipleship is not about our perfectionism or accomplishments; it is about God’s work in us as the spirit transforms us and equips us to proclaim the Gospel with our words and our lives.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13 C
Texts: Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Gospel text this morning, the “word of God, word of life,” sure contains a lot of words that are rather harsh.

On the road to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples enter a village of Samaritans who are not particularly receptive to Jesus. James and John, in a response that might be considered a bit of an overreaction, suggest calling down deadly fire from heaven in retribution. It is certainly a relief that Jesus refuses to smite those who don’t want to follow him. But Jesus himself has some severe words for others who do want to follow him.

Along their journey, the group encounters some individuals who express a willingness to follow Jesus, but have some concerns they want to attend to first. Now, if these people are making excuses, they’ve found pretty good ones. One wants to say goodbye to loved ones. Another wants to bury a parent. Who could object to caring for one’s home and family? Surely it’s possible to do these things, and then commit wholeheartedly to the mission? But Jesus is unwilling to wait and disinclined to sugarcoat this news. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” he says, “no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

These comments are not because Jesus is against funerals or farewells. Elsewhere in the Gospels we see Jesus attend family celebrations and grieve at the tombs of friends; he does not consider these things wrong or unimportant.

Rather, these sobering responses toward those who want to follow him are because Jesus is focused on the destination ahead.

He has “set his face” toward Jerusalem, where betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution await him. Those who say they are willing to follow him anywhere need to be willing to follow him there. To the cross. They must be prepared to lose their homes, their safety, even their lives.

Faithfulness to the Gospel is comprehensive: it cannot be relegated to one part of life and kept out of others. It is not something to be done only after all the ducks of one’s personal life have been put in a row. When commitment to other things– even important things– hinders commitment to proclaiming the Gospel, it is like someone putting their hand to the plow but their attention elsewhere. You can’t do both. Jesus words to those who want to follow him serve as a potent reminder that the Gospel is matter of life and death. His statements express the urgency and priority that Jesus understood.

James and John must have understood, too. They themselves once faced the same choice now facing these people along the road: whether or not to follow Jesus. One day they’d been hard at work, fishing as usual, when Jesus, a man they’d never met before, arrived and said, “Follow me.”

In that moment, something about Jesus’ presence so compelled them that the two dropped everything, and followed him then and there (Luke 5:1-11). They didn’t go home to attend to family or say goodbye. Actually, according to Matthew’s Gospel, they just left their father standing there in the boat, with all those nets to mend and all those fish to clean (Matthew 4:21-22).

James and John couldn’t possibly have understood what they were getting themselves into when they said yes to Jesus and got out of that boat. They couldn’t have known where this journey would take them. Their decisive choice to follow Jesus irrevocably changed the course of their lives. Commitment to the Gospel will do that… it will change things. There is risk involved in saying ‘yes’ to God’s call.

Discipleship redirects lives, reorders priorities, and restructures relationships.

This is what Paul is describing to the Galatians in the passage we heard this morning. He tells them that the way they behaved before is no longer the way they can behave now that they’ve committed to Christ. Things will change. People will change. The Spirit will transform them.

Although Paul describes this process as a liberation, a being set free, he also acknowledges that it involves the loss of some familiar habits that have no place in the Christian life. He enumerates examples, but he knows the Galatians know what kind of behaviors he means: jealousy, anger, pettiness, corruption, bickering… these things have to be left behind. They have to be put to death. So, there’s no going back to them. You can choose that way of being or you can choose the Spirit’s way of being. You can’t do both.

But when the Spirit starts to take root in the community, it’s clear. You can see the change. Joyfulness, kindness, generosity, faithfulness – these things become habitual in the lives of disciples. Those who are living in this life of the Spirit have a different pattern of relationship. They weave together as a family, siblings in Christ. They serve each other out of freedom. They love their neighbors as they love their own selves. Paul articulates such a remarkable vision of Christian life.

Of course, we know from our own lives that those old habits that we meant to leave behind sometimes turn out to be not quite dead yet.

Sometimes, for instance, the most dedicated disciples, the ones willing to leave everything behind for the sake of the Gospel, threaten to burn an entire village in vengeance. Doesn’t really show a lot of patience, gentleness, or self-control. Yet, those were the kind of people that Jesus recruited to his ministry. Those committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ were the kind of people tasked with proclaiming the Gospel in all its life-or-death importance.

It turns out that committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ are still the kind of people being tasked with proclaiming the Gospel. Discipleship is not about the work we can accomplish in the world. It is about the work God can accomplish through us.

This frees us, on the one hand, from any sense of perfectionism. No one does it all, and no one does it alone. On the other hand, it undermines any protests we might make that we’re not the right people to bear the Gospel. We are, each of us, called and equipped to do so – through what we say and how we live.

Sometimes we fail to keep our faces set always toward the cross. Sometimes we make excuses and choose priorities other than Christ. Sometimes we want to call down the fires of heaven on people who frustrate us. Sometimes we look back and see that the furrows in our fields have come out crooked, and we ask, “How can God grow anything here?”

But we trust that God’s Spirit can bring about change in us and around us in ways we would never think possible.

The process of being transformed by the Spirit is lifelong. We go through fruitful seasons and fallow seasons, but we are always being made new.

Indeed, we heard some harsh words from scripture this morning, but we also heard one particularly important word from the mouth of Christ to anyone who would desire to be a disciple. Jesus said, “As for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Amen.