"No stickers for discipleship" Sermon for Sunday 28 June 2020

Sermon for Sunday 28 June 2020

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Matthew 10:40-42

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen.

Meeting someone’s family or friend group for the first time is always a bit nerve-wracking. There’s always that feeling of “I hope I’ll fit in” and “I hope they’ll think I’m the right kind of people.” I remember feeling this way when I met Rosie, who would eventually become the grandmother of my kids. I really wanted Rosie to like me, to approve of me. I also wanted her to teach me to make her lasagna, which I had heard was legendary.

I sat down at Rosie’s Thanksgiving table (which was loaded with turkey and all the fixings along with the legendary lasagna) and was introduced to the others around the table. Along with aunts and uncles and cousins was Larry. “Larry just got released from jail” she said. “Um, ok” I asked. “And how do you know him?” “Oh, he’s living in my garage right now” said Rosie, and passed the lasagna to me.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was just how things were at Rosie’s house. Her table (and her garage) were often populated by folks who had been imprisoned, by recovering addicts, or by people she had met at the grocery store or church who had fallen on hard times.

I knew right then that I would like Rosie. I liked her way of seeing the world: In her eyes, everyone was the “right kind of people.”

For most of us, though, this isn’t the way things usually work. No matter how much we love Jesus, no matter how “open” we think we are, we do often judge others—for what they wear, for what they’ve done or not done, for the positions they hold. We’re much more likely to host a fancy dinner when the bishop comes to town than to fill the guest list with ex-convicts—or, let’s be honest, to even fill a table with people who don’t vote like us.

But as usual, in today’s Gospel reading, Jesus turns the idea of the “right kind of people” upside down. In these very short verses, he puts prophets, the righteous, and the “little ones” of the world all on the same level. This teaching sounds similar to other parables we’ve heard, about welcoming, about not judging, about who has a place at the table. Jesus tells the disciples:

“whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

I try to imagine what this scene looked like. Jesus is speaking to the twelve—maybe he’s standing, and they’re sitting on the ground listening. What does he do with his arms when delivers this last line about the “little ones”. Where is he looking? I imagine him throwing his arms wide and motioning to the so-called “little ones”—maybe there were children, or women, gathered nearby to hear Jesus speak. Or maybe there were lepers or others of society’s outcasts waiting in the distance, and Jesus wants the twelve to notice them.

Or…maybe there’s a different lesson here.

Maybe the little ones are the disciples themselves.

Scholars have noted that in Matthew’s gospel, the disciples are the righteous ones and the prophets. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells the twelve:

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

So the disciples, when they follow Jesus’ Way of showing mercy, speaking truth to power, and loving strangers and enemies, are themselves prophets and righteous ones.

But Jesus also says that those who follow him will become like the little ones of the world—powerless, persecuted, maybe even outcast themselves. Recall the scene in Matthew 18 where Jesus says:

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

So maybe Jesus isn’t telling the disciples to simply be more welcoming. Maybe he’s not telling them to be like Grandma Rosie---but is reminding them that when they are like Grandma Rosie, when they populate their tables with those whom society ignores—then they themselves should be prepared to be the “Little ones”. They should be prepared to be powerless, thirsty, and in need of a cold cup of water.

Once again, I have to notice that the call to discipleship could use a better marketing manager. Again and again, we hear Jesus calling us to follow—and again and again, we hear the news that His Way will lead to persecution, oppression, poverty, and the cross! Truly, we will not lose our reward—but that reward is apparently becoming outcast and powerless.

I want to tell him: NO, Jesus! This isn’t how rewards are supposed to work…

As you know, I’ve been moving to a new apartment this past week, and one of the things I came across in the move is an old music book from when I was taking guitar lessons. I was in my 30’s at the time, and yet the book is filled with stickers: happy faces, animals, glittery stars, rainbows. My teacher insisted on rewarding me this way whenever I learned a new song or a new skill. At first, I thought it was too silly for a grown-up. But eventually I loved it—those stickers motivated me to do better, to try harder, to keep showing up.

But there are no stickers for discipleship.

When we follow Jesus to the streets, or to the checkpoints, or to the Pride march,

When we stand for those who’ve had their breath stolen, their land stolen, their dignity denied,

When we speak the truth in halls of power,

When we forgive as we have been forgiven,

When we make seats at the table for family and strangers alike,

We don’t earn stars in our crown, or points toward a ticket to heaven.

Truly, we will receive a reward!

Many--especially those who in recent weeks have stepped up in these ways--know the hard truth of what kind of reward can be expected.

But in spite of this, the reward Jesus speaks of, the one we can count on, is greater than the honor one would ever receive for hosting a bishop or an ambassador for dinner.

It’s definitely greater than being right—about theology, about politics, about people.

The reward we receive through radical discipleship is the kingdom of God. It is the heavenly banquet, with seats for all. It’s a world in which all have life, dignity, and a future.

In other words, the reward is Creation restored! Thanks be to God, we get to be part of that restoration. Thanks be to God, we get to love, for love’s sake.

The Kingdom of God may sound like a lot of reward to expect to gain from doing something as small as being kind. Demanding dignity for all humans. Insisting that all should be able to breathe.

Or have a cup of cold water.

But even a small act of mercy can have long-lasting effects--on society, and on the individual.

I have several thank you notes hanging on my refrigerator, written by Sunday School children and Confirmation students, which lift me up on the tough days of ministry.

I have an angel figurine with my name scrawled on the bottom—written there by a dying woman who instructed her husband to give it to me when she had passed as a reminder that angels are watching over me.

I’ve been stopped on an Old City street by a shopkeeper who saw that my gloveless hands were chapped from the cold. He grabbed them and gently rubbed them with a bit of aloe from a plant in his shop. “A priest shouldn’t have rough hands”, he said.

These were small things, small acts of kindness. But they changed me—and the way I treat others—because in moments when I felt small, someone else made me feel big. In other words, because they were Christ for me, my strength to be Christ for others was renewed and increased.

Mother Teresa once said: “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” 

These days, we have so many opportunities to do small things with great love:

We can wear a mask.

We can stay home.

We can say their names: George Floyd. Imad al Hallaq. Ahmed Erekat.

We can stop talking and amplify those voices which usually go unheard.

Like a cup of cold water, these things cost us almost nothing. And yet the effects on the world—and on ourselves—are greater than we can imagine. Through Christ, even the smallest act of kindness and mercy becomes a building block of the kingdom, one more step toward a world in which all may have life, and life abundant.

In her book Dakota, Kathleen Norris tells the story, said to originate in a Russian Orthodox monastery, of an older monk telling a younger one:

“I have finally learned to accept people as they are. Whatever they are in the world—a prostitute, a prime minister, it is all the same to me. But sometimes I see a stranger coming up the road and I say, ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, is it you again?!’”

Thanks be to God, for the way Christ comes to us again and again, reminding us that we are all the “right kind of people” to receive mercy, kindness, and dignity.

May the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.