Who Are You?

A photo of New York City before the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

 

This sermon was preached on the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19B) at All Saints Church, Birmingham. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

 

Proverbs 1:20-33

Psalm 19

James 3:1-12

Mark 8:27-38

Who are you? No, I’m not quoting a classic The Who song. I really wanna know. (sung:) Who are you? Okay, now I am singing The Who. I do want to know though.

Let me ask this question like the Gospel for today did, “Who do you say that you are?” What about other people? That’s an interesting thought. What if I were to poll the five people closest to you—who would they say that you are? Would those two descriptions match up? Who you say you are and who others say you are? These questions revolve around the concept of identity—one’s personality or distinguishing characteristics that are formed by genetics and experience, nature and nurture, successes and failures. While discovering our identity is of crucial importance to healthy human development, within our church community there is another side to this identity coin.

Determining our true identity invites us into wondering about our vocation. Vocation differs from an occupation or simply a job—vocation’s root is the Latin word vocare, which means to call or invoke, and has everything to do with hearing what God’s voice is calling us to do and who God is calling us to be. So, vocation has everything to do with figuring out our real identity.

For many of us our identity was shaped by something that happened twenty years ago yesterday. The terrorist attacks that transpired on September 11, 2001, invoked within the United State of America a noble unity and a pure patriotism. We cared for our fellow Americans in beautiful ways that I had never seen in my life. Slowly through the years though, our good desires of safety, security, and comfort morphed into cynicism, distrust, and isolation. A chasm ripped open between us as neighbors. Two decades on, I wonder how will these wounds heal and what impact does that event still have on our identity and our calling?  

When I began college, two years after 9/11, my dean of students seemed obsessed with vocation—and helping students to discern their identity better. He often said, “There are three questions of vocation worth pursuing over and over again—‘Who am I?’ ‘What are my gifts and talents?’ and ‘What is my place in the world?’” These questions revolve around identity. But, with all due respect to my dean, there is one element which is missing from these inquiries. We need something more, especially in light of our divisive world.

To figure out who we are—our identity—we must also figure out who Christ is. To determine how to repair the chasms that exist we must know who Jesus was and is. Our calling, our purpose, and our identity take their roots in the life of Christ Jesus. So, before we can answer for ourselves, “Who am I? What are my gifts and talents? and What is my place in the world?” we would be wise to answer, Who is Jesus? Why does that answer matter? and How is our world different as a result? The first question—Who is Jesus?—helpfully gets answered in today’s Gospel lesson.

“Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asked his disciples as they journeyed into the Gentile city of Caesarea Philippi. Halfway through the Gospel according to Mark Jesus wanted to know his effect on the crowds, the scribes, and the Pharisees. The disciples quickly listed off three figures: John the Baptist, Elijah, and a nameless prophet. Let’s look closer at these:

Jesus’ connection to John the Baptist made sense, as they both preached of repentance and the coming of God’s Kingdom. Elijah was a mighty prophet of the Hebrew People; Jesus could be seen as the second coming of this great teacher. Jesus being likened to another prophet appeared logical as both Jesus and the prophets prepared the way for God’s people to turn back to God. While these are all nice answers, none of them hits the nail on the head. They were not Jesus’ true identity.

And, apart from the narrator in Mark giving us Jesus’ real nature—the Son of God—in the first verse of the entire Gospel story, we have not heard who Jesus was until what happened next.

Jesus asked his disciples, “But who do you say that I am?” And, for the first time we hear someone in the Gospel call Jesus, “The Messiah” that is the Christ. The anointed one who came to heal and to save—not just the people of Israel—but all nations. In last week’s Gospel lesson Jesus healed the daughter of a Gentile woman, a Syrophoenician woman—sure it was after the woman adeptly checked Jesus’ cultural boundaries. But, then he brought sight to a blind man in the Greek area of the Decapolis. And today, we see him traveling in the Roman stronghold of Caesarea Philippi. He was the Messiah of all—not just the People of Israel—not only those who would walk in the Christian way, but everyone!

Who was Jesus? Peter claimed for the disciples and for all, “You are the Messiah.” Plain and simple, Jesus was—and is—the Christ who came to heal and to save us all. So, we know who Jesus was, but what claim does that make on us?

Why does it matter that Jesus was…is the Messiah? 2,000 years later and half a world away, why should we care that a backwater rabbi impressed his followers enough that they thought he was the Savior of the world? Well, immediately after Jesus heard Peter’s words in today’s story, he sternly ordered his followers not to share this information. Why? In part because the disciples’ view of what it meant to be the Messiah and why it mattered was different than Jesus’ view. So, Jesus began to reveal the full view of what it meant to be the Messiah. It is in this description that we hear a claim on our lives—it’s here that we begin to discover our purpose and identity in light of Christ’s own purpose and identity.

According to Jesus, the Messiah had to undergo suffering, rejection, and even death. This is not glamorous or glorious or even gratifying, but it was God’s way, and it still is. We are so accustomed in our time to pride and pomp and pageantry being associated with being great. We throw parades for victors. Jesus’ parade on Palm Sunday was instead the anti-parade, as he came into Jerusalem not on a stead, but on a donkey. We shout words of honor towards those we respect. Jesus instead heard cries to crucify him on Good Friday. We heap praise on the celebrated ones of our day. Jesus instead endured jeers and mockery when he hung on the cross.

What claim does Christ make on our lives? He claims that if we are to be his, if our identity, our being is to be united with his own, then we too must take up our cross. We must not seek praise. We cannot go in search of our own vain glory. We are to deny these pursuits of puffing our egos, so that we might take on a new identity in Christ. We must be like Saint Paul who wrote to the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who lives, but it is Christ who lives in me.” How does our identity change? We no longer live for ourselves, but we unite in Christ and allow that new creation to be born through us.

This is a life-long journey. We never reach the finish line of our faith. We find ourselves every day at a new starting line. Always we begin again. Each day we have the opportunity to unite with Christ—yes, even in suffering, betrayal, and death—so  that our identity is resurrected in Christ’s likeness. You may be saying, no way! I am not going to put my life or my family’s lives at risk. I hear you.

Since we are here at All Saints, let me tell you about how we celebrate Saints within the Church. We have beautiful vestments and liturgical hangings that go with the color of the season. Sometimes though we celebrate a particular Saint, like St. Stephen. Stephen was a deacon in the Early Church who died because he would not renounce his faith in Christ. He bore his proverbial cross even unto death. We remember martyrs like Stephen using the liturgical color red—he died because of his faith. It is much like those who gave their lives to share the love of God with others on September 11, 2001.

There are other Saints though who we also consider martyrs—just martyrs of a different kind. St. Mary the Mother of Jesus did not die because of her faith—instead she lived out her faith. She bore a different cross than Stephen. We remember her with the liturgical color of white because she still gave up the life she would have otherwise lived and instead said to God, here am I, a servant of the Lord.

All of you are actually practicing martyrdom right now—and not because you are listening to a long and tedious sermon. No, you gave up what you would otherwise have been doing and you are here, participating in what we call liturgy—the work of the people—prayer, song, silence, Scripture, and communion. And it is in this way that our world can be different—it’s in this living martyrdom that Christ transforms the world. Here we become a new creation—reunited—as God grafts us into Christ’s Risen Body. God makes a claim on our lives. God yearns for us to see the sometimes difficult truth that we are all children of God’s family through Christ. So that we can become fully alive in Christ and see our true identity in light of God’s Son Jesus.

Who am I? What are my gifts and talents? What is my place in the world? As we explore these questions of vocation, may we keep a broader perspective understanding that our true identity becomes clear in the light of Christ. There we see that we are members of Christ’s Body. There we hear an invitation to share the gift of God’s self-sacrificing love with everyone—even through suffering, betrayal, and all kinds of death. There we know that our true place is picking up our cross and following after Jesus. May we deny ourselves, take up our crosses, and follow Christ. Amen.

 

What Do You Believe?

Have you found Jesus?

 

August 8, 2021—The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 14

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33
Psalm 130
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
John 6:35, 41-51 

© 2021 Seth Olson

Perhaps you have seen the signs when driving along the interstate. In bold text, an even bolder question, “If you died tonight, where would you go? Heaven or Hell?!!!” When I see such billboards, I get lost in anger—I wonder, how can someone short-change the message of God’s love in this way? Reducing the beauty, the complexity, and the immensity of Jesus’ Way of Love into an either-or question leaves me feeling frustrated.

Memories from my youth emerge: Walking through Southside Birmingham and seeing well-meaning Christians wrapped in fear trying to scare others into believing. Their shouts of “Have you been saved?” or “Do you believe?” crackling from a cheap bullhorn.

Of course, my favorite question along these lines is “Have you found Jesus?” It reminds me of a Far Side Cartoon in which two white men dressed in khakis, short-sleeved button up shirts, and ties are standing at a woman’s front door. They ask her, “Have you found Jesus?” In the living room of the home barely visible are Jesus’ sandal-clad feet, hiding behind a curtain for a big picture window.

With all joking aside, the yelling of Christians into megaphones has caused a great mess within our society. Or, maybe their shouting has merely revealed this mess. Belief has become such an empty word. Does it mean anything at all?

For many of our friends in other parts of the Church belief simply means to give ascent to something—to check off a certain list of criteria about God and ourselves. For many believing means to think the way others do, the way the pastor says to think, or to accept things in the right way as to avoid Hell. Sure, this is what believing means to some, but how did Jesus use this word? What did Jesus mean when he said that believing leads to eternal life?

This morning we heard Jesus in the continuation of a larger story from John’s Gospel account. The “Bread of Life Discourse” as some refer to it. (Are you sick of bread yet? Got any Gluten-free believers now?) Well, in this passage Jesus described himself as the Bread of Life and the Bread of Heaven—using the Hebrew story of the manna from heaven to elaborate on what he came to do in the world. When Jesus said, “I am the bread of life” this was the first “I Am” statement in this Gospel account. He would later say I am the Light of the World; the Gate; the Good Shepherd; the Resurrection and the Life; the Way, the Truth, and the Life; and the Vine. But if we are to walk into eternity with Jesus, do we have to believe Jesus literally? Was Jesus really bread or a vine? Is that believing?

You may be shocked to hear this, but when we go to the altar rail we are not participating in gruesome cannibalism. Jesus spoke in expansive language with many layers. When we meet him in Communion we do truly take hold of Christ, but there is more happening than we will ever know or we can even imagine. And so, we cannot take in all that is going on there.

When we come together as a community we sometimes say that we are re-membering, as in putting back together, the Body of Christ. We are constituting the Body of Christ right now. And, at the same time the words that we hear as we stretch out our hands at the altar rail are “The Body of Christ.” The Body of Christ is meeting the Body of Christ during Communion. Talk about “You are what you eat!” There’s even more though to this whole believing thing.

Thomas Merton put it more eloquently than I ever could:

The deepest level of communication is not communication, but communion. It is wordless. It is beyond words, and it is beyond speech, and it is beyond concept. Not that we discover a new unity. We discover an older unity. My dear brothers [and sisters], we are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are.

We have to be the Body of Christ—that we are already are!

The organist where I used to serve would ask me what my favorite hymn was. The richness of our hymnody is too much for me to narrow it down, so I change constantly. Usually whatever I would tell him, would make him roll his eyes. Today though my favorite hymn might just be “The Church’s One Foundation.” The last stanza refers to the sort of strange Body of Christ meeting Body of Christ nature that is happening during Communion. “Yet she [the Church] on earth hath union with God the Three in One, and mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won; O happy ones and holy! Lord give us grace that we, like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with thee.” I can’t help but get misty eyed when I sing those words, for I know and we know that there are those who have joined the great cloud of witnesses who still commune with us. But, is that what Jesus meant by believing and entering into eternal life? Do we just think that we will float around invisible during Communion? Sounds scary.

And, if we are not careful we will let all the fear from other parts of society and the Church soak into us too. The bullhorn shouting about going to heaven or hell distracts us from hearing Jesus say, “I will raise them up on the last day.” We miss this as we wonder, Do I get to be part of the exclusive club? What if I believe in the wrong way? What if I mess this whole thing up? We worry about what Jesus said when he talked about belief, but what he meant was not doing a certain set of things or thinking a certain way or consenting to what the preacher tells you to do. Jesus pointed to the non-permanent nature of the manna in the wilderness to drive home the truth of believing.

To believe—to really eat the bread of life, to be transformed by what happens in mystic sweet communion—to believe is to trust God. To give over our lives to the Creator of the Universe to be blessed and transformed. This might be harder than checking off a few things a leader says to do. That was the case with Israelites.

Way back when, manna was not the problem. The trouble was that those who were in the desert with Moses did not trust God. They grumbled. They pleaded for more than just the bread that was keeping them alive. And, sadly we often do the same.

When problems arise, we doubt. Which is actually the natural response, and it is okay! God still believes in us, even when we don’t believe in God. But, when we forget our true identity as God’s beloveds, and that God is holding us up, and that God is with us (all of us, all that time)—well, when we forget this, we tend to turn our religion into a weapon. When we disconnect from God we wield Christianity as a sword to beat disbelief or the unbelievers away. This is not what Jesus was calling us into when he spoke of believing. This is not what leads to eternal life.

Jesus showed us a way that was different. He was not talking about thinking a certain way so we can eat bread that would never get moldy. No, he was showing us the way through which we might recover our original unity with God. Jesus showed us the way into the eternal life. It is not through accenting to what a fear-filled preacher says, so that you can think that your group is better than others. Instead, we are called into a radical practice of trusting that God’s love for us and for all is infinite. It is eternally expansive and completely comprehensive. God’s love has the power to even defeat death. And it has the power to make us one.

We are called to trust God. That is believing. When we eat the bread of trusting God we realize that we are already part of the Body of Christ. What we have to be is what we already are.

What do you believe?

 

Rest Time

 

Teddy loves camp, but like his dad cannot stand this one part...

July 18, 2021—The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 11

2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Psalm 89:20-37
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

© 2021 Seth Olson

A couple of weeks back, I had the honor of directing a camp session at Camp Winnataska. It was the first time my son Teddy—a fifth generation camper there—got to experience this 103 year-old interdenominational church camp. I was reminded why time at camp is the best! Through his experience I could see such joy—horseback riding, time on the creek, singing songs, swimming in the pool, and being in the woods! There was one block of time each day though that was a struggle. And, it reminded me of how much I did not like this hour when I was a camper.

I despised this time above all other times. No, it was not swim tests. Nor was it dancing with yucky girls who had cooties—I mean even as an awkward and pimply tween, I liked to dance. I even liked the complete lack of air-conditioning, the time away from TV, and the not-so-clean bathhouses. The time I could not stand, I could not tolerate, I could not abide was none other than “rest period.”

You may think that I am a calm, laid-back, and contemplative person. And, as your pastor, I really do aspire to be a non-anxious presence. But, my true self is like a duck. On the surface I look placid, and yet underneath the water level there’s always churning and movement and activity. So, as a camper to ask me to nap or be quiet or even sit still on my bed during rest period was the greatest agony. Yes, I did have a cushy childhood! Still, I did not learn the great joy of napping or resting or even relaxing until later. Even now I’m not good at it. And, I’m not alone.

We as a society cannot calm down. Even during the last fifteen months of Pandemic time when much of the world slowed down, there were many people burning themselves out! This tells me, we are not good at resting. As someone once told me, “I don’t do nothing well.” Incorrect grammar aside—we don’t do nothing well. We are bad at sitting still. We are like kids who have been loaded up with sugar before bedtime or campers who just can’t sit still during rest time.

So what do we do when Jesus invites us to “Come away to a deserted place all by [ourselves] and rest a while”? How do we slow down enough to even hear him saying this to us? Can we utilize Sabbath time or moments of respite wisely?

In the Church we often talk about Stewardship of money or resources or even volunteering opportunities. But, just as important as our stewardship of these gifts is the stewardship of our time. As we enter the last bit of summer vacation, I wonder, how can we be good stewards of our times of leisure?

On the surface the phrase “Stewardship of Leisure” sounds silly, for leisure is spare time, time off, or free time used for refreshment. Why not let it just be spontaneous? Why worry about free time? Doesn’t that sort of structure defeat the purpose? To answer these questions, think about some free time or a vacation that felt unfulfilling. Maybe you came back more tired than when you left.

When we do not use our down time effectively it is akin to spending important monetary funds on something that you do not need, that does not bring lasting joy, or does not serve a larger purpose. Sadly, I have experienced a few retreats and vacations that depleted me instead of recharging me. Those unsatisfying moments of leisure were such because I did not think from the perspective of good stewardship. I was not thankful for what God was giving me. In other words, I did not recognize that the time away was a gift from God. I was a bad steward of time.

To listen to Jesus’ call to come away with him to a quiet place of refreshment is not about having the perfect plan. For that sort of over-scheduling can in and of itself defeat the work of the Spirit to create new spirits in us. So what does being a good steward of leisure time or time in general look like? Well, what does today’s good news teach us?

As you might have noticed, there is a hole in the middle of today’s Gospel lesson. In that space (6:35-6:52) is the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Don’t worry over the next five Sundays we will hear way too much about Jesus and bread to make up for this week’s missing piece. But, it’s important to see how Jesus’ invitation to come away to a deserted place did not turn out exactly as we might expect.

Jesus invited the apostles to rest awhile. And yet, that time of respite was cut short, as the Spirit intervened in the way of many tired souls seeking sustenance. They descended upon Jesus and his friends as soon as the protagonists reached the shore.

This onslaught of people meant that the disciples had no leisure time, not even to eat. Tired and hungry from their own missionary work, the disciples had been looking forward to a little rest and relaxation. Instead, they were tasked with helping Jesus feed the masses. It was as though a feeding ministry broke out in the middle of their retreat center! The time that God had given the disciples to rest was now time when God was asking them to work. Can anyone here relate to life throwing something unexpected your way?

Maybe all of us can think of a time during the last year and a half when we thought one thing would happen, but something else entirely came to be. Parents who thought having children at home would be great only to realize that teachers do not get paid enough money. College students who rejoiced at not having to get out of bed for class, then realized that Zoom classes can be more work than in-person classes. Recent retirees who looked forward to down time, but then struggled because of isolation during the Pandemic.

So, what do we do when life surprises us? Are we never to rest? Are we to give until we are burnt out, broke, and bone-tired?

Perhaps the fruit of this passage grows from an exploration of the way we see not only our free time but all time. Maybe you have heard of the practice of a rule of life, or as our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry calls it, a way of love. The purpose of this way is to find everyday practices that encourage and challenge us to give our first fruits to God—to give our best time to forming habits that nourish our relationship with Christ. When you thrive in your way of love, when you dedicate yourself to a framework that grows your relationship with God and neighbor, then all time gets transformed. This isn’t always easy to remember though.

During seminary I often felt like I had too much to do—papers to write, sermons to prepare, and work to do at my field parish. Sometimes I would just do the bare minimum. I would go to the required one chapel each day, but I shirked a second or third opportunity to spend that time with God and fellow students.

One day I was walking back from class with a friend. He began to turn toward the chapel and I started toward my apartment. I said, “I went to Morning Prayer already. I don’t have time to go to Eucharist today.” He responded humbly, “I don’t know what I have time to do until I go to chapel. Afterward my priorities become clearer.” After a deep exhale, I turned around and went to chapel.

Maybe in that moment I felt a tinge of guilt—like one of the disciples who just wanted to rest and not deal with the hungry thousands. Slowly though I have realized how wise my friend’s words were. Every moment of every day, God gifts us with the present. Each new day overflows with opportunities to grow our relationship with God and one another.

We need times of Sabbath, restoration, and healing, or else we will not be able to sustain our personal and collective ministries. However, whether it is free time or work time, family time or personal time, prayer time or other time God gives us each second, minute, hour, day, week, month, and year. All of it is a gift—regardless of what type of time we think it is.

At all times and in all places, we are called to give thanks to God for the present we receive. Some of those moments will be Jesus calling us away to a deserted place, and other moments will be times to forget our needs and serve those who are hungry. If we continue to give our best moments to God, we will discover something amazing.

Like how God transforms the bread and wine that we put on the altar each week into our Eucharistic Sacraments: the Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven; the Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation, and like how God transforms the monetary gifts we bring to the altar as symbols of ourselves into the ministries of healing and blessing in this world, when we give our time to God, God transforms it and God changes us.

Each nanosecond we receive from God is already a gift. God beckons us to give each moment back, so that it may be blessed and sanctified. Like how a child might get markers and paper from a parent, but what they give back is pure gift for that parent! All moments are gifts. Can you recognize them as such and give them back to God? This will be easy during a calm moment with Christ, but what about when the would-be-tranquil-times are interrupted by a chance for ministering to another? Even then, this moment is a gift. When we recognize that all time is gift it is easy to give the present back to God and one another. Amen.

Good News? Yes, Good News!

"The Beheading of St John the Baptist" by Caravaggio

During Holy Week we hear the Passion of Our Lord. We read an account on Palm Sunday and hear the Gospel writer John describe Jesus’ suffering on Good Friday. During those moments the Church mercifully leaves out what comes before and after the Gospel lesson. Today though, we did not have that luxury.

After hearing this brutal story of a corrupt, powerful, and witless figure I said, “The Gospel of the Lord.” And, you all responded—perhaps sheepishly—“Praise to you, Lord Christ.” How are we to offer our praise after hearing this? What about this is Gospel—meaning good news? Can we even describe this as positive? Is there any good news in this passage at all? Maybe. But, first we must hear the bad news. 

This bit of Mark’s Gospel account opens so strangely. King Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee, a man who reported directly to the emperor, was worried. Herod’s anxiety arose because he began to hear of Jesus of Nazareth. This upstart rabbi reminded him of someone else—John the Baptizer. And, Herod had just beheaded John. But, this is where the story gets even stranger, for the next portion is a flashback. This recollection depicts how Herod’s family used his power against him to murder John the Baptizer. This is bad news indeed.

Now even though Herod answered directly to the emperor, most historians depict him as blundering and weak. A colleague described him as a “murderous, lecherous, gluttonous, incestuous enemy of God.” That about covers it. But, this long flashback sequence still deserves a little more scrutiny.

At the beginning of this remembrance the Baptizer had spoken an unwanted truth to the king. John said one is not to take his brother’s wife. Leviticus outlined this mandate for good communal living. Now, this ought not be confused with caring for a brother’s widow. No, what Herod did was steal his brother Philip’s wife. So, John the Baptist told Herod and Herodias that God did not approve.

Herod though made a weak compromise with Herodias. Herodias wanted John the Baptist killed. Herod, although he was perplexed by John, enjoyed hearing him speak. So, Herod decided to keep John alive, just under lock and key. But, then came Herod’s birthday party.

Mark tells us that an opportunity arose when Herod threw a birthday party for himself and invited a bunch of his powerful friends. The word opportunity stands out here for two reasons. First, opportunity means “happy day.” Herodias saw the day when she could get rid of John as a joyful occasion. Gross! Second, opportunity is the same word used later in Mark’s Gospel account when Judas betrayed Jesus turning him over to his death. And, this brings us to a larger parallel. This story of John’s betrayal and death at the hands of the systems of power prefigures Jesus’ own betrayal and death. It is sounding more and more like bad news, right? Back to today’s story and the opportunity.

Herodias in a ghastly move of desperation sent her daughter into the birthday party to please Herod and his guests. Herod was this young girl’s step-father and uncle making the entire encounter disturbing enough. However, the foolish king quickly gave the girl a chance to make this party even more sadistic. For Herod promised the younger Herodias she could have whatever she wanted, up to half of the kingdom. In the middle of this disgusting birthday party, mother and daughter Herodias had the king right where they wanted him.

This mother-daughter combination pounced on the opportunity, as they asked for John the Baptist’s head. The girl added the gory detail of “on a platter” to her request. Then, the deed was carried out by a hapless soldier. When the man of the guard returned with John’s head on a salver he did not take it to the powerless king, but straight to the girl who promptly and proudly displayed it to her mother. This cannot be good news, right?

This story has to fall under the category of bad news. Jesus is nowhere to be found. The terrible triumvirate of Herod, Herodias, and Herodias never reappear in Mark’s story. And, perhaps most horrifically this flashback to John’s death truly foreshadows what Jesus will face on Good Friday.

So, why are we forced to face Jesus’ death, our Faith’s darkest day, here in the middle of the summer? Why are we thrust into the despair of Holy Week during this long season after Pentecost? Why must we endure this bad news? Where is the Good News?

Everything in Mark’s story of Jesus Christ is connected. Right before this nightmarish flashback the twelve disciples were sent out to do the work of curing the sick and preaching repentance—and they did it well. Right after this story Jesus took the disciples away to rest, but ended up feeding the five thousand. This gross story we heard today then points simultaneously in multiple directions.

First, the power of Jesus’ name was spreading. As Jesus sent out his disciples there were consequences. The power of his name had not only reached those people who yearned for God’s Kingdom to come, but also to those who were threatened by this Good News. We are to share in Jesus’ Good News—that God’s Kingdom has come to all—even with those in power.

Second, when the disciples brought healing and word of God’s Kingdom coming to the towns where they visited, they were welcomed with hospitality—at least for a time. This was not the case with John. For the Baptizer also shared the Truth of God, but he was killed for it. Those in power could not handle what John had to say. We can—when we speak truth to power like John—undergo resistance, persecution, and even harm. God still calls us to preach this Good News even if it gets us into trouble.

Third, most of this ghastly flashback story took place at an exclusive banquet for the elite. As we look forward to the next week’s Gospel lesson we see another gathering—Jesus’ feeding of the Five Thousand. This dinner was a counter-banquet to the murderous, lecherous, gluttonous, and incestuous birthday bash for Herod. All were invited to take part in Jesus’ mass, outdoor, pop-up party.

In these three directions we experience our own opportunities, our own happy days in which God transforms even this gruesome story into something which builds up God’s reign of love on earth. God switches what we are sure is bad into what God knows is good. But, God yearns for us to be a part of this.

We are called to be like the disciples. Friends, we must share the good news of God’s love taking it out into the world with our words, our actions, and our behavior. For this world needs Christ’s message of healing and hope and love. And quite often it will be like the disciples in last week’s Gospel story. We will be met with peace and smiles and hospitality. Sometimes though it will be different.

We are called to share God’s Truth like John the Baptist too. God desires for us to share Good News, and not just with those whom we know will like it. There are countless examples of Christians like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Edith Stein, Óscar Romero, Jonathan Daniels, and Martin Luther King Jr. who in their day spoke truth to power, even though it led them to death. They were not people unlike us, they were folk just like you and me. They and John help us to know that we cannot sit on God’s truth—why would we keep Good News all to ourselves? We must share it—even if it gets us into trouble, good trouble!

And, we are called to make our gatherings ones that look like the feeding of the five thousand, not like Herod’s birthday party. God showed us through Christ Jesus that all are welcome to feed at God’s Table—and yes, that would even include elitists from Herod’s gathering. As we look toward a fuller return to church life this fall—how will we invite everyone to be part of God’s banquet where all are welcome?

Make Jesus’ Good News known in all the world. Share God’s Truth with all, especially those in power who may be threatened by it. Invite everyone to God’s Table where all feast together. Amen.