Sermon for Sunday 3 September 2017: On what Jesus does (and does not) ask us to carry

Sermon for Sunday 3 September 2017

13^th Sunday after Pentecost

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith

Matthew 16:21-28

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

    be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Psalm 19:14

One afternoon earlier this week, I stepped out the front door of Redeemer Church and saw a face that was at once familiar, and completely out of place. It was Mr. Nusseibeh, the Muslim key keeper of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Most days, all day long, he is sitting on his bench just inside those massive, carved, wooden doors, greeting the many pilgrims coming to visit the tomb of Jesus. So I was surprised to see him in front of our church!

Whenever Mr. Nusseibeh sees me, I am scolded for not coming to pray at “his” church more often. This was no exception.

“Sister, wen inti???” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you!”

After a few standard greetings, a kiss on the cheek, and a little more scolding, he asked me about my family.

“They live in Texas, sah? How are they doing?”

I explained that my mom and dad have recently moved to Ohio, where they are safe and dry, but that we are praying for all those affected by the terrible hurricane in Houston.

Mr. Nusseibeh grabbed my arm and gave me a serious look.

“You know that this storm is from God, don’t you?”

“Um…” I said, hesitantly.

“Yes,” he insisted, but now with a smile. “This is what happens when people think they are bigger than God. And Texans think they are bigger than everything!”

Now, as a former Texan, I found this “joke” pretty funny.

But as a Christian and a pastor, I found it disturbing.

As Mr. Nusseibeh walked away, I wondered how many people would not understand that he was trying to be funny. And the answer is: far too many.

Whenever horrible natural disasters occur, pastors, politicians, and armchair theologians struggle to make sense of it. How could this happen? Why were so many people hurt, displaced, and killed? What did Houston do to deserve this suffering? There must be an explanation.

An example is this week’s tweet from an infamous American political commentator, Ann Coulter:

I don't believe Hurricane Harvey is God's punishment for Houston electing a lesbian mayor. But that is more credible than "climate change."

Now, I suppose we can give her credit for letting God off the hook (although she did it only to deny the existence of climate change). But the problem with this snarky tweet is it works precisely because so many do believe God would send a hurricane to teach Houston a morality lesson.

Preachers, books, movies, and jokes perpetuate the idea that this is how God works:

that the Creator of the universe deals out disease or disability or war or hurricanes from a deck of cards, so that humans might have the opportunity to learn a lesson or increase our faith.

As I’ve listened to radio and television reports coming from Texas and Louisiana this week, already I have heard hurricane survivors uttering this familiar bit of the same popular theology:

“I guess this is the cross I must bear.”

This breaks my heart, to see people standing in the ruins of their homes, or sitting in disaster shelters, knowing they believe Jesus wants them to be there.

It breaks my heart, and I believe it breaks the heart of God!

So this morning, I want to say very clearly:

God did not give Houston a hurricane because Houstonians needed an attitude adjustment. That’s not how God works!

And your flooded house, your cancer diagnosis, your chronic depression, or your abusive relationship are not the cross Jesus asks you to carry.

That’s not how discipleship works.

I need to say this clearly this morning, because as a pastor, I’ve often heard people I love 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 yes, even as opportunities for spiritual growth, these sufferings are not the cross of discipleship Jesus invites us to carry, as heavy as they are.

When Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me,” he is making a very specific invitation—not to the suffering and life struggles and persecution inflicted upon us by disaster, or by others, but to a costly, and voluntary, discipleship.

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 repentance, love, and forgiveness, he and any followers would soon face suffering, and public humiliation, and possibly death. He did not say to them: “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.”

Jesus said to them: “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’ll be carrying is heavy. This will require all of your heart, your mind, and your strength. Even so, do not be afraid, for what you will find in the end is life, and life abundantly.”

Jesus voluntarily took upon his shoulders the ultimate tool of public disgrace and violence, and made it his identifying mark. He transformed the cross from a symbol of death into a symbol of life and liberation. Therefore, his invitation to the disciples, and to us, is to join him in this subversive effort.

Jesus asks us to consider:

In the context in which I find myself today, where do I see powers and principalities working against God’s kingdom and the Gospel of love? Who is suffering as a result?

Once we’ve discovered these answers, we can answer the question:

What, therefore, is Jesus asking me to take up and carry for the sake of my neighbor, and for the sake of co-creating the kingdom on earth, as it is in heaven?

Our local Lutheran bishop, Munib Younan, has a story he loves to include in sermons about discipleship and carrying the cross. He sometimes says it is a story “from one of the church fathers.” Other times, he says it is “from the Arab literature.” I’m skeptical about both of these claims. I have sneaking suspicion this story comes from an Arab church father named Munib. In any case, it goes like this:

There once was a man who had a very strange dream. In his dream, he prayed to God: “Please, my cross is too heavy! It is too much to bear! Please give me a different one!”

And as he prayed, an angel came to carry the man to heaven.

When they arrived in heaven, the angel took the man to a room full of crosses of every shape and size. The angel said to the man, “Your prayers have been answered. Please, choose the cross you would prefer.”

The man went to the first cross, a large one made of iron. He could only carry it for a few steps, so he said, “No, this one is too heavy.”

Then, the angel led him to the next cross. This one was made of silver. The man carried it a few steps, and then he said, “This one is better, but I think I see one made of gold over there.”

So the man put down the silver one and picked up the gold cross. But this one was still too heavy. And besides, he preferred white gold to yellow gold.

The next one was made of wood, but it was far too large to lift, and besides, it put splinters in his shoulders.

On and on he went, picking up and carrying the many crosses in the room, unable to decide, until finally the man said to the angel,

“You know what, after all I’ve seen, I think I choose the cross Jesus gave me in the first place, because it’s the one God gave me the strength to carry.”

Now, I sort of feel about this story the way I feel about Mr. Nusseibeh’s Texas joke! I want to say: NOPE. That’s not how God works.

On the other hand, there is a bit of truth here.

First, the cross of discipleship does come in many shapes and sizes. Not everyone’s path of discipleship is the same.

The cross of discipleship looks like the blisters and sore feet and lost sleep of the big-hearted Texans who have stepped up to help neighbors in need.

The cross of discipleship also looks like the exhaustion of the nurse on the chemo ward, who gives not only of her expertise but of her heart as she cares for her patients.

The cross of discipleship often looks like the harassment and sometimes violence inflicted upon those who dare to speak out against the evils of racism, sexism, homophobia, and systemic injustices.

And the cross of discipleship looks like the broken hearts of those who, for 50 years, have worked tirelessly for peace, justice, and equality for every human being here in Palestine and Israel.

When Jesus invites us to take up the cross and follow, we don’t know its shape or its size. We don’t know how long we will have to carry it, or where the path is leading us.

And this is the second truth in Bishop Younan’s story:

Ultimately, we don’t really choose to carry any cross. We choose to follow Jesus. And the result of following him is we will carry some heavy stuff. We may carry the burden of ridicule from others. We may carry the burden of disagreement with family or friends. We will certainly carry the burden of sorrow and grief over the ongoing heartbreak in the world.

And, if necessary, we may need to carry the cross all the way to Calvary, loving God and our neighbors with our whole life, as Jesus did for us.

But be not afraid! For truly, whatever we carry for the sake of our neighbor, and for the sake of the kingdom of heaven, God will give us the strength to do it. In this time when the world is facing so many challenges, and our neighbors are experiencing so much suffering, the church has many opportunities for faithful discipleship. It is good for us to hear again that with God, all things are possible, for “my burden is easy, and my yoke is light” says the Lord. “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

This is how discipleship works.

This is how God works. 

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you, for by your holy Cross you have redeemed the world. Amen.