"What we carry" Sermon for Sunday 30 August 2020
Sermon for Sunday 30 August 2020
13th
Sunday after Pentecost
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger
"What we carry"
Grace and peace to
you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
In case you missed it, Wednesday the 26th of August was
National Dog Day in the United States. I wouldn’t blame you for missing it, as
there were a few other things going on this week: A hurricane, a political
convention, police shootings, protests, and a little virus that just won’t go
away.
Still, if you are on social media at all, you may have noticed an
increase in dog photos in the last few days. I definitely noticed them. It
seems approximately 95% of my American friends own dogs! But I also noticed these
posts because I don’t have a photo of my own to share. I don’t have a dog photo
to share, because one of the decisions made when my family answered the call to
serve here in Jerusalem was that we found new homes for our two beloved cats,
Ernie and Katie, and our dog, Charlie.
Today, Charlie is in a really, really good home. He has three kids to love him, and a
little dog friend named Lucy to keep him busy. He lives in my old neighborhood, and gets to walk in his familiar places. He’s now been with his new family 3 times as long as he lived in my
house! I am utterly confident that it was the right choice to not bringing him to this urban
environment. Still, the day I dropped Charlie off
at his new home was for me one of the most
painful parts of moving to Jerusalem and entering missionary service.
As some of you know firsthand, moving (and especially international moving) requires much planning and often much sacrifice. At one point in my family’s relocation process, a friend said to me something like “Gee,
Carrie…when Jesus said ‘Take up your cross and follow me’, he really meant it,
didn’t he?”
And at the time, that sentiment felt exactly right. I appreciated her saying it. Selling our home and saying goodbye to church and friends and animals felt like a
huge burden. It was hard.
But I was remembering
this comment as I watched those cute dog pictures flood Facebook this week,
showing up right alongside the horrific news coming out of Kenosha, Wisconsin, and the ongoing
tragedy unfolding in Beirut, which the world seems to have largely forgotten. Giving up my dog was
really, really difficult. But was it my cross to
bear?
I think we need
to be clear about saying that just as giving up a beloved pet to a good home is
hard, but not equal to the cross of Christ,
So we need to
be clear about the fact that neither is digging out of the rubble of our destroyed city the cross we are to
bear.
Neither is being paralyzed from the waist down because you’ve been shot
by police the cross Jesus asks us to bear.
Nor is enduring a chronic illness.
Nor being the parent of a child with medical challenges.
Nor living in an abusive relationship.
All of these
situations are difficult. All of them cause real
human suffering.
But none of them are the cross Jesus asks us to carry.
Illness, pain, grief
and war cannot be the cross Christians are asked to bear, because I do not believe in a God who would deal out disease or disability or war or gun violence from a deck of cards in order to give us the opportunity to learn self-denial
or to increase our faith.
On the cross, Jesus
shows love for and solidarity with all who suffer, thanks be to God. But suffering, in and of itself, is not the cross
he asks disciples to take up and carry.
No—rather, “taking up
the cross” refers to a conscious decision, as a follower of Jesus
Christ, to surrender status, privilege, ego, comfort, and
even life itself, for the sake of our neighbor, and thus for the
sake of God’s kingdom.
At this moment
in time, it feels like I can’t emphasize enough the voluntary nature of
cross-bearing.
As a pastor, I’ve
often heard people describe a medical diagnosis, a job loss, or even a
particularly annoying co-worker as “the cross I must bear.” While it might be
accurate to describe these situations as burdens, as trials, and even as
opportunities for spiritual growth, these are not rightly compared to the cross
of discipleship.
Again, it gets down
to what we believe about the God we serve and the Christ we follow. As Jesus
prepared the disciples for the next step on the journey, the entrance into
Jerusalem, he told them the truth. He told them that as a result of his radical
message of grace, forgiveness, and love, he and any like-minded followers would soon face suffering, public humiliation, and possibly
death.
What he did NOT do is say: “Andrew, here’s your cross. And Philip,
here’s yours. Peter, yours is especially big, because after all, you’re the
rock. You can handle it.”
Instead, what he said was: “I’m going to Jerusalem. Things are
going to get tough—really tough. I want you to come with me. But if you want to
join me, you’re going to have to leave some stuff behind, because what you’re about to carry is heavy. This is going take all of your heart, your mind, and your strength. Even so—EVEN SO!—do not be afraid, for when you follow
me, what you will find in the end is life, and life abundant.”
Yes, Jesus voluntarily took upon his shoulders the cross, the ruling
authorities’ ultimate tool of public disgrace and violence, and made it his
identifying mark.
He transformed the
cross from a symbol of death and institutional power into a symbol of life and
liberation. His invitation to the disciples, and to us, is to join him in this
subversive effort. He asks us to consider:
In the context in
which I find myself today—whether I’m in
Jerusalem or Kenosha or somewhere else in the world—where do I see powers and
principalities working against God’s kingdom and the Gospel of love? What is
the symbol or hallmark of that domination, and upon whom do I
see it inflicted? Once we’ve identified these answers, we
can finally answer the question:
What, therefore, is
Jesus asking me to take up and carry for the sake of my neighbor?
Electing to
take up the cross and follow means choosing an alternate way of being in the
world. By choosing the kingdom of God over comfort, choosing solidarity over status, and choosing the other over the
self, we necessarily lose some things—but we also find others.
One of the things we can lose on the journey of discipleship is respectability. I remember having a conversation with church members in my first pastoral call (in a small rural church) about whether we
would allow same-gender marriages in the building. This was at a time when
neither the church nor my country had made any formal decisions on the topic.
This church council boldly moved forward in faith and in love for others, saying they would allow such unions, at the
pastor’s discretion. However, just before ending the meeting, someone said to me, “Just so long as we don’t fly a rainbow flag over the church, Pastor.”
Now, I had no plans to display anything but a cross over the church building, I assure you! But it did make me think: Flying a rainbow flag
over the church would certainly have sent a message. It would have branded us
as the “gay church.” It would have gotten us talked about, maybe even laughed
at. It might have cost us members or money.
But then I thought...what do you suppose it was like when Jesus’ followers started wearing
the cross after his crucifixion? Crosses weren’t always considered essential
pieces of jewelry. They didn’t always adorn the tops of buildings as beacons of
respectability and tradition. They once were symbols of
humiliation, public disgrace, and death—a bit like a rainbow flag, depending on
where you live.
Another thing we lose
when we take up the cross and follow is the option of remaining invisible. I’ve
often thought about that desire to remain invisible
(or at least unnoticed) as I walk through this city as a female clergyperson.
One would think, considering the variety of religious attire worn around
Jerusalem, that my simple black dress and white collar would blend in. But female clergy are still uncommon here, and so I’ve been
called both “Father” and “Sister”, (And sometimes
Father-Sister!) I’ve been whispered about and spit upon as I walk by, and
have even had someone say to my face, “What ARE you?” Sometimes, it feels so good to go home at the end of the day and change
into something utterly unremarkable.
And then I remember that the sight of Jesus, the famous (or infamous) healer and teacher, rumored to be King of the Jews,
carrying the instrument of his own execution through these same streets of
Jerusalem, of course gathered a curious and mocking crowd.
There was no way to make that journey anonymously.
In the same way, when
we take up the cross of Christ and follow him, we must be prepared to lose the option of anonymity, invisibility, and
conformity.
When we name the
reality of white supremacy and are ridiculed or attacked ;
When we speak and act against the Israeli
occupation of Palestine and have our visas threatened;
When we challenge friends or colleagues who tolerate or even spread
untruths, and suffer consequences for speaking out,
Maybe then we can we understand a bit of the scandal and
spectacle of the cross.
“If any want to
become my disciples, let them take up their cross and follow me” said Jesus.
The cross was, and
is, a heavy burden to carry.
Discipleship is costly.
But we are not on this walk alone.
We walk with Jesus, crucified and risen.
And we walk with others, the saints of past and present, who both show
us the way and shoulder a bit of the burden we carry today.
|
And so, we may find that although the cross is heavy, with each step it
becomes a bit lighter. We become a
bit lighter, as we shed the baggage of our own self-preservation and
self-focus. |
|
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And so—we take that first bold step: and off falls the worry about what people
will think.
We take a few more steps and turn the corner: And there goes my fear of rejection.
Another few steps
forward: and now I’ve totally lost my desire for revenge or to cause pain to those who have
hurt me.
Nearly there now, almost to Golgotha: And there they go:
my concerns about my
career and my social standing and my reputation,
all the things that have been holding me back from speaking truth to power.
Dear people, every step toward peace with justice for the oppressed;
every move toward
honor and respect for the neighbor;
and every day that we
choose to take up the cross and follow Jesus,
means losing one more
piece of the junk that’s been weighing us down,
until the cross that
at first seemed so heavy becomes part of who we are – children of the God of love.
Dead to sin, but
alive in Christ.
Baptized into his
death, and now a new creation.
Lost, but now
found.
Liberated to love, to serve, and to live.
For those who want to
save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for Jesus’ sake
will find it. Amen.
Let us pray:
Look with mercy,
gracious God, upon people everywhere who live with injustice, terror, disease,
and death as their constant companions. Rouse us from our complacency and help
us eliminate cruelty wherever it is found. Strengthen those who seek equality
for all. Grant that everyone may enjoy a fair share of the abundance of the
earth; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(ELW p. 79)
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