As many know, my son traveled with me to General Convention recently. In the weeks leading up to our travels—the first time that my son would fly as a toddler in his own seat—I spent a LOT of time figuring out what to buy or do or bring to keep him occupied. I read some parent blogs, watched videos, and scoured Amazon for ideas and things to buy that would keep him occupied. It turns out that the best thing that I packed was a handful of toys he already had that I knew he liked and hid from him for about a month before hand, and of all the underwhelming but miraculous things…painters tape. The night before our first flight, I wrapped all the previously owned but not seen for a while Sesame Street figurines in blue painters tape, and then put all of these items in his little backpack to be pulled out on the plane. He had a joyous time unwrapping them and not knowing who we would be unwrapping, and then when all six were unwrapped, re-wrapping them together. This pattern often took up most of our time on the two hour-ish long flights we had—and also earned us come compliments from and conversation with fellow passengers, and even one grandparent chasing me down after the flight to ask what had kept him so occupied because they’re flying with their grandchildren soon and needed some ideas. Painter’s tape and toys we already owned—that is what did the trick.
I couldn’t help but think of this experience as I explored the Gospel for today. Particularly the second half of our passage, where Jesus is sending out the disciples in pairs of two, and the packing list he gives them to is shockingly small: nothing except a staff, no bread, no bag, no money, wear sandals and bring the one outfit you’re wearing. That’s it. I have found that motherhood has made me a bit of a chronic over-packer, and to be honest— this small list stresses me out a bit. Maybe it does for you, too.
This directive towards minimalism from Jesus to his disciples comes as a response to his lack of welcome in his hometown. At the beginning of our Gospel today, we hear that Jesus has come to Nazareth, after some travels that involve miraculous healings, and teaching, and here he begins to teach in the synagogue in Nazareth. At first the people who hear him—likely those who know him as a hometown kid—are astonished, amazed at what he’s teaching. But very quickly, this amazement sours, as they ask of his questionable parentage, wonder how ordinary carpenter Jesus could receive such wisdom and authority, turn on him, and find themselves offended by him. Jesus outwardly laments this rejection, naming that a prophet will often struggle against those who once knew them. The people in his hometown live up to this lament, as their curiosity turns to fear tactics, reminding him to stay in his place, to not rock the boat.
Perhaps the most strange and tragic piece of all of this is that this rejection of Jesus by those in Nazareth somehow causes Jesus’ ability to follow his call to be hindered. The text tells us that he could do no deed of power, except laying hands on a few sick people and curing them. This shared skepticism by the people of Nazareth is powerful enough to minimize what Jesus can accomplish among them at this particular moment in his ministry. As one commentary states: ““if people have no faith (or as John shared with us so eloquently last week, trust), it puts an insurmountable barrier between them and God—but God can surmount insurmountable barriers.”
What might surprise us is HOW God, how Jesus, chooses to surmount those barriers in this story. We often pose questions of God like—why wouldn’t God swoop in and save someone, or why doesn’t God just act in a way that would MAKE these people of Nazareth believe, or can’t God just force them to understand in that moment because God is God and God is all powerful? And while there are times when Jesus, God, recognizes a great need and does sweep in, much of the time, God leans instead on guidance, relationship, teaching, patience, and the seeking or eventual reveal of understanding rather than the forced reception of understanding.
Here, we see it in the way Jesus directs his disciples immediately following this incident of Nazareth’s unbelief. To send the disciples out into the world, preaching this new way, disrupting the norm, healing and casting out the traumas of the world, all the while they are traveling with next to nothing, reveals for us how God responds to those insurmountable barriers.
Jesus, after being called out for his ordinary-ness, his guy next door, hometown-boy, regularity, empowers his followers to claim that ordinariness, because of the way it reveals trust in God as a strength. So often in our world, and likely in Jesus’ time, we find we are impressed by people for what they own, what they achieve, what they accomplish. People are less lauded by how they live, how they treat people, how they pattern their lives, day in and day out. And so Jesus’ instructions become—don’t carry much, so that others can help you; stay in the first place that it offered to you, and don’t try to better your living situation while you are in a town; leave even the dust of the place behind, without judgement, if a place is not ready to hear your message. This approach is thoroughly ordinary, without fanfare: BE, LIVE, STAY, TEACH, LEAVE.
To slightly cherry-pick a line from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians today (where Paul is also defending himself from those who would think he is not powerful enough to do the work he is doing) Paul writes, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” These words come from God to Paul, reminding us that the grace we receive from God is enough. If we were to meet one of Jesus’ disciples on the road, and see that they were traveling with nothing, we may first assume this as a sign of weakness or insufficiency of some kind. Jesus is using this perception of insufficiency to push back at our assumptions and strengthen our understanding of our dependency on God. To reveal that our ordinary lives, selves, beings, are absolutely enough for God’s grace, mercy and justice when we allow them to work through us.
To be a follower of Jesus is to be asked to travel light so that we are radically dependent upon the grace of God, which manifests through the hospitality and charity of others—think about that for a moment.
How often do we consider the hospitality that we provide to others to be what speaks of our love of Jesus?
How often do we consider our preparedness to carry little and to receive hospitality because there is no other way for us to survive then by depending on the charity of others to be what speaks of our love of Jesus?
I can tell you—as the mom who wants to be prepared to distract my child out of any possible meltdown on the plane rather than confront the vulnerability of managing an upset child while in a contained space flying through the air—willingly putting ourselves in a place of dependence on the kindness and hospitality of others is not easy.
And yet— in the midst of the times when we struggle, when we feel weak or vulnerable, when we think we need more stuff, more money, more power, more recognition, more of anything to make us more worthy of God’s love, of relationship with God—we are reminded of the stunning extraordinary to be found in what people once believed was ordinary about Jesus. About the humility and even weakness with which God brought God’s own son into the world—as a fragile baby. For when we free ourselves of the extra stuff, or skepticism, or unbelief, or other things that we perceive will keep us safe from change, or prove our worthiness to GOD, but actually just distance us from God and one another, and MIRACULOUSLY even when we DO all of that stuff…We, our ordinary selves, are enough for God’s grace—without earning it, asking for it, deserving it—we are enough for God’s grace, and God’s grace is sufficient for all that God is calling us to , hopes for us, and will accompany us through. AMEN.
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