What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. (James 2:14-17 NIV)
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus calls seventy of his followers to go to those towns and places to which he himself will soon be going. In the previous chapter of Luke, Jesus had sent out his twelve disciples with similar instructions. This was a vivid symbolic gesture of the expansion and continuation of Jesus own ministry. But now he sends out seventy followers in pairs. Who were these people? How were they chosen?
Throughout history people have wanted to know exactly who these seventy were, but neither the Bible nor any other resource provides any specifics. But they most assuredly were not graduates of approved seminaries who had attained their Master of Divinity degrees, passed their General Ordination Exams, and been approved by their local diocese.
What did Jesus call upon them to do?
He did not tell them to go forth and preach the perfect sermon, in three movements, moving from exegesis, to hermeneutics, to examples and applications. He did not tell them to go forth and expound upon theological topics such as eschatology or theodicy. Rather, he told them to go forth in peace and create a path, living in the way that he did. His ministry was to love God, while living in relation with all others, showing love and compassion not only to those who were neighbors, but also to those who were outcasts or enemies. Indeed, Jesus’ radical modus operandi moved far beyond the rigid, legalistic environment of the world in which he lived. He healed on the Sabbath and dined with sinners and outcasts. He raised up women and children. He invited his followers to look beyond the conventional rules and attitudes of the day and prioritize the way they treated one another over adherence to a rigid set of rules.[1] His ministry was exemplified by his actions.
Like the seventy, we are all called. We are called to share the life of Jesus with all those with whom we come into contact. We are called to evangelize through our actions. We are called to minister by living our lives as Jesus directed. Everyone is empowered to do so.
While I was in California recently, studying at a seminary there, part of our day included three liturgical services: Morning Prayer, noon prayer and Holy Eucharist, and evening prayer. Each service offered various opportunities to be in relation with that which is sacred.
But each day I would also walk into downtown Berkeley. It was there I met Kenneth. Kenneth was wheelchair bound, a cancer survivor, a slender 88-year-old wisdom keeper with mahogany skin and a virtually toothless smile that could light your world. Kenneth was also homeless. Kenneth and I got to talking and, all in all, I spent about five or six hours with Kenneth over the next couple of weeks. Periodically our conversations would be interrupted by people stopping to place a donation in the tin can that sat in front of his wheelchair, though few greetings were ever exchanged beyond Kenneth’s words of thanks.
Kenneth never complained. He never bemoaned his condition. Kenneth shared with me wonderful stories about growing up in Alabama with his Grammy. He also told me how grateful he was to have Jesus in his life. My favorite times were when he would raise his voice in an old Gospel tune…one that his Grammy had taught him. He loved to talk about the Lord and to raise his voice in praise to him.
I came to notice that whenever he launched into one of his favorite Gospel songs, he would move his collection can to behind his wheelchair or under his ever present lap blanket. I eventually asked why and he told me he just couldn’t take any money from people in return for his singing praises to the Lord, like some of the local musicians did. “It just wouldn’t be right.” He said, “Its worship and I’m honored to offer it.”
And Kenneth was right. With his eyes almost closed and his head tilted back he sang his sweet praises to the Lord. And for me, that was not just music. It was Kenneth’s way of sharing. It was his ministry. It was holy and it was sacred. “Where two or three gather….” I don’t need to tell any of you that there is no requirement for an official church building. This was church. And for me, it was easily as spiritual as any liturgy offered by any member of the ordained clergy.
We are all called.
Now where I studied in Berkeley was on what is called Holy Hill, because in addition to the Episcopal seminary I attended, there are also numerous other interdenominational and interfaith seminaries and schools. Among these is Zaytuna College, the first accredited Muslim undergraduate college in the United States.
On the first Thursday evening I was in Berkeley, I attended an interfaith Iftar meal. Folks from a diversity of backgrounds sat with one another to commemorate the sunset ending of a day’s fast during Ramadan by the Muslim community with prayers and a meal. It was a glorious time of exchanging stories, and after sunset a communal feast, with folks whose experiences were so varied and rich. I was seated with one of the founders of Zaytuna College. (I should point out that it was only upon returning to Massachusetts that I learned, while watching a news broadcast, that this scholar, this lovely man, has been targeted by ISIS for execution.) But what I will always remember was something he said during the Iftar dinner…which occurred scant days after the tragic killings in Orlando. He said, “We have yet another tragedy and more senseless deaths. What can we do? What can we do? What we can do is this: talk to one another. Create opportunities for dialogue. Get to know one another. Develop relationships.”
We are all called.
This year marks the tenth anniversary of the tragedy at the schoolhouse in Nickel Mines in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Ten years ago in October a milkman went into an Amish schoolhouse and took the lives of five Amish schoolgirls, maiming for life another, before he took his own life. The worldwide coverage of this incident was initially incited by a tragedy of this magnitude playing out against the fascination with the peaceful Amish way of life but soon came to focus on the forgiveness which the Amish offered from the very first day. The Amish, including the families of those injured and killed, paid visits to the family of the shooter, offering prayers and forgiveness. They attended the burial of the one who had taken those innocent lives, forming a human barricade between his family and the media, to allow the family much needed privacy. When donations poured in to the Amish, they shared it with the family of the man who had perpetrated this crime.
Now the Amish do not proselytize. They do not believe in verbal evangelism. The Amish believe that the concept of spreading faith primarily through words is a bit hollow. As one Amish man commented regarding their response to the tragedy, “this forgiveness story made more of a witness for our belief in Jesus and his way, all over the world, than anything else we could ever do.”
We are all called.
Eight centuries ago, St. Francis of Assisi said that “The deeds you do may be the only sermon some persons will hear today.” Witnessing has moved far beyond the seventy that Jesus called upon. God calls all of us to witness though our lives and through our example and through our relationships.
There was a small church that was celebrating Easter. Soon after the beginning of the service, a young man walked in and began to walk down the center aisle looking for a seat, but every pew was filled. When he reached the front of the church, not finding a seat, he sat in the aisle.
People were astounded. This was NOT DONE in their church. And besides, who was this tattooed and pierced ruffian! Raised eyebrows and hushed whispers continued momentarily until one of the very quiet church elders slowly raised himself from his seat in the back. He began to walk slowly down the aisle toward the young man, his cane tapping the floor with each step. Now, this young man’s actions would be addressed, everyone thought. The young man continued to listen so intently to the preacher that he did not notice the man coming up behind him. But when the man reached the youth, he grabbed his shoulder and awkwardly lowered himself to the floor beside him. They sat companionably next to each other for the rest of the service.
We are all called.
How often do we struggle to find the right words?
Perhaps people have heard enough talk.
It’s not about what we’re saying.
It’s about what we’re doing.
It’s not about teaching others.
It’s about learning from others.
It’s not about offering advice.
It’s about showing up.
It’s not about walking in to make improvements or to foster an agreement.
It’s about building honest relationships.
It’s not about asking people to believe.
It’s about giving them a reason to believe.
It’s not about loving “if”…
It’s about loving now.
It’s about love for love’s sake.
We can live without sermons.
But we cannot live without each other. Amen.
[1] David M. Felten and Jeff Procter-Murphy, Living the Questions: The Wisdom of Progressive Christianity (New York: HarperOne, 2012), 201.