The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Year C, Proper 9 RCL)
July 8, 2007
The Reverend Paul R. Abernathy, Rector
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Some years ago, when my brother lay dying, my mother, not yet fully enveloped by the dark impenetrable specter of Alzheimer’s disease, wondered how it
could be that a son should die before his mother. My mother, a lifelong Christian, who believed in a God of providential power and benevolence, could
make no sense of it. Yet, remaining faithful to her convictions, she, as the psalmist, cried out to God, praying that my brother be restored to health,
praying that he be brought up from the dead.[1] That didn’t happen. And I know not how she continued to pray. I only know
that she did pray until her mind was robbed of all sense. Yet, who knows, even in her shadowy silence, she may pray still.
Today, we continue our July sermon series on faithfulness. That virtue of reliability, trustworthiness, loyalty. Our focus, last Sunday, was faithfulness
when the choice is either/or. Today, when things don’t make sense. Today’s gospel passage and Hebrew scripture text raise point and counterpoint.
Jesus sent his disciples out on a missionary journey.[2] He told them to carry nothing, to tarry not with casual greetings
on the road, and worry not about food and lodging.
This, at least to me, makes no sense. Pontheolla and I spent seven months on the road on our sabbatical journey and we never would have, never could
have followed Jesus’ instructions. Even if I interpret his directions as metaphorical expressions of the urgency of the mission, I still have a sense
that Jesus – as an itinerant preacher and teacher who knew what it was to live without luxury and, at times, even without bare necessity – meant what
he said. And if this wasn’t bad enough, he also told his followers that they were lambs amid wolves. Their mission was urgent, but also
dangerous. At least Matthew’s Jesus sent the disciples out as lambs with the additional prudent counsel to “be wise as
serpents.”[3] Luke’s Jesus simply said, “Go!” It makes no sense. Nevertheless, according to the narrative, the disciples
faithfully went.
Naaman, a Syrian army commander, had leprosy – a painful and unsightly skin disorder.[4] He was told that the prophet
Elisha could cure him.
Naaman, like all of us, had expectations. Expectations functionally arise out of our beliefs about the way things are. They are expressions of our
operative hope – by which I don’t mean wishful thinking, but rather our assurance, our confidence about how things work.
Naaman, expecting to be received first in the court of the king of Israel, and then to be directed to Elisha, carried a letter of introduction.
Expecting to reward the prophet for his healing ministrations, he carried money. Expecting Elisha to greet him face to face, and then to engage
in a rite of exorcism, with signs and incantations, he stood at Elisha’s door and waited.
But the king fearing that the request for a cure was but a pretext for war, when, of course, the king believed, the cure failed, didn’t even call
Elisha. Elisha didn’t meet Naaman, but sent a messenger with a strange instruction to wash in a filthy river. As the story unfolds, Elisha refused
to accept compensation.
There was nothing about this experience that met Naaman’s expectations. There was nothing about it that made sense. Nevertheless, faithfully, Naaman
did as directed, and was cured.
Naaman offers a counterpoint to our focus: faithfulness in following a path in contradiction to what one believes. But whichever case, whether the
disciples or Naaman, there is a common element: the nonsensicality of life in the face of which, nevertheless, they were faithful.
So, I ask, how is it that we can strive, even continue in faithfulness when confronted by the improbability, the nonsense of life?
Although a longtime student of scripture, I read it less for what it tells me about God as external, eternal reality and more for what it reveals
about the nature of life itself, verily, our lives. Therefore, although I am not a biblical literalist, I am, at least in one sense, a fundamentalist.
As I read and reflect on the Bible, I often perceive principles, fundamental, elemental truths about life.
So, holding in tension our question – How do we, how can we remain faithful? – and these biblical stories, I see many elements. Yet, only one,
it seems, is essential. It is also simple.
Faithfulness, at its heart, is a relational virtue, even if the relationship is with one’s self. In each of these stories, trust placed in another
allowed the one who trusted to act faithfully.
The disciples trusted Jesus. They trusted in the truth of his word that he wasn’t lying. The journey would be perilous. Even more importantly, they
trusted in the truth of the words he gave them to say: “Peace to this house” and “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” The disciples were sent
out not merely to talk a good game, but to be the embodiments of their word. In them, all were to know peace, for the disciples were to welcome all.
In them, all were to know kingdom love, for the disciples were to be unconditionally benevolent to all. In them, all were to know kingdom justice,
for the disciples were to act fairly toward all. And even if they were not believed and received, as they remained faithful, the word – the life
they sought to live, the peace, love, and justice they sought to share with all – would remain true. Real. Alive in this world.
Trust, it seems, enables faithfulness. Even when nothing makes sense. How do we trust? We just do it. Perhaps even when things didn’t make sense,
just trusting is how my mama could continue faithfully to pray.
[1] The psalm appointed for the day is Psalm 30. I refer to verses 2 and 3.
[2] The gospel passage appointed for the day is Luke 10.1-11.
