Sermons from the Pulpit

Preached to the Congregational Church in Exeter, U. C. C., on the fourth Sunday after Pentecost, July 1, 2001, by Michael L. C. Henderson, pastor.

II Kings 2:1-15; Galatians 5:1, 13-15; Luke 9:51-62

Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?
    -Luke 9:54

     He was traveling with his entourage on his way to Jerusalem, and he sent an advance team into this village of Samaritans but the resident Samaritans were not interested. It doesn't say why or how they rejected his visit. Apparently that doesn't matter. What matters is how you deal with rejection.

     As far as I'm concerned, these two brothers, James and John, had the right idea: "Let's call down fire from heaven and roast them alive!" It's recorded in Mark that Jesus once referred to these guys enigmatically as the Sons of Thunder, and for two thousand years we've all been wondering why. Maybe this is why. Whatever; I guess I'm a Son of Thunder too. How many other Sons and Daughters of Thunder came to church today?

     Admit it. When people are mean to you, don't you have fantasies about incinerating them? C'mon, we're in church here, do you think God doesn't know what what's going through our minds?

     It might be interesting to discuss that question sometime: Do we come to church to be honest about ourselves with God, or at least to have the experience of knowing that God sees us exactly as we are, or do we come to church to convince God and our fellow churchgoers that we're better than we really are? But that's another sermon.

     Anyway Jesus turned and rebuked them. It doesn't say what he said, at least not in the accepted canonical text of the New Testament. One of the ancient Greek manuscripts of Luke's Gospel has him spelling it out to them: "Get with the program," he said; "I'm not here to destroy people, I'm here to save them." Which kind of makes sense, doesn't it, but apparently that reading isn't considered authoritative. That's the way it is with the New Testament: Before you can translate it any verse of it into English you have to decide which of several competing Greek texts is the correct one, and then you have to figure out how to say that in English. That has implications for how we read the Bible. But that's another sermon too.

     So in this sermon the question is: How do the followers of Jesus deal with rejection? And I think the answer might be: Not very well. Certainly not very well in light of this little story.

     Samaritans and Jews didn't get along with each other. They were basically the same people, mind you, but they'd had a falling out long long ago and they kind of got used to thinking of each other as jerks. You know how families are.

     One of the issues between them had to do with Jerusalem. For Jews it was and is the holy city, and Mount Zion, which is in Jerusalem, is God's holy mountain, but the Samaritans didn't buy that, they thought God preferred Mount Gerizim. This is the kind of thing that people have always been happy to fight about.

     So along comes this advance team and says: "Our rabbi is on his way to Jerusalem! And a great crowd of us are going with him! And we're going to pass right through your village! What do you think about that?"

     It's like a set-up for rejection. It's totally predictable. Everybody in the story is only being who they always are and doing what they always do. Except one person who isn't: the rabbi. Jesus. It's not like he doesn't have an opinion about the holy city. He votes for Jerusalem. He's a Jew. But he chooses not to play the old traditional insider-outsider, us-and-them game. He just wants no part of it.

     Jews and Samaritans, foxes and geese, wolves and sheep, blacks and whites, geeks and jocks, labor and management, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, boys and girls, blue and gray, year-rounders and summer people, natives and immigrants, rich and not-rich, people who like talk radio and people who can't stand talk radio, you name the game, he wants no part of it and he's pretty clear about wanting us to have no part of it either if we claim to be his followers. Can we handle that? Can we let go of all that?

     It sure would be novel if we did. Christians have always had this preternatural interest in the spiritual condition of other people! I know where it comes from, or at least I know what verses of the New Testament are used to justify it: the so-called Great Commission at the end of Matthew's Gospel - "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you." St. Augustine interpreted that verse as a mandate for compulsory baptism of Jews and other infidels. But it doesn't say anything about what you do if people don't want your baptism and your teaching.

     And the thing is, you can absolutely count on it that they won't. We know that. It's not that Christianity is a bad religion or anything, it's just that people have their own agendas and their own loyalties and their own attitudes, and sometimes it's hard to get them to understand how altogether superior your Christian attitude and loyalty and agenda are.

     Jesus had some advice to offer about how you go about opening people up to the notion that your attitude about things is a pretty good one, and it didn't include baptizing them against their will. It was more along the lines of treating folks so decently that they're dumbfounded and they start wondering what got into you.

     And that would include allowing people to reject you or what you stand for and not getting all worked up about it. But we find that very hard. We'd rather declare a holy war and call on God to incinerate whoever's on the other side of that line between us and them.

     I love a good oxymoron, like jumbo shrimp, or black light or deliberate speed or include me out. Two of my favorites are legal ethics and military intelligence. Well, holy war is an oxymoron. That's what Jesus is trying to tell James and John here.

     Elijah rolls up his mantle and whaps the waters of the Jordan with it and the waters part like the Red Sea did for Moses, so Elijah and Elisha can cross over on dry ground and get to the place where Elijah is going to get carried up to heaven and leave Elisha behind. Elisha is sticking to him like a tick on a dog until the chariots of fire and horses of fire separate them and Elijah is gone out of his sight, and then he goes back to the Jordan all alone, and he takes Elijah's mantle and he rolls it up just like Elijah did, and he strikes the water with it and he cries out, "Where is the God of Elijah?" And God's answer is to part the waters again so he can cross back. God is with you, Elisha; with you even when you're not with Elijah; with you on either side of the river that separates your country from somebody else's country. With you on either side of the boundary.

     God is with you, that's the miracle. Thank God that God is with you, thank God with all that you have and all that you are, and don't concern yourself about whom God is not with. They are God's problem, and God will let you know what if anything God has in mind for you to do about it, and when and if God does that, it probably won't be what you had in mind.

     Amen