Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

Grace, mercy, and peace from our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Maybe it’s because Jesus didn’t see himself as “the boss,” but I think he might have been the very best boss ever. Look at this lovely opening to the Gospel reading. The disciples have come back after a few weeks ago in our reading being sent two by two into villages and towns all around the region to heal the sick, cast out demons, and share about Jesus. They come back together to tell their stories and it sounds like they’ve done so much they haven’t even had time to eat!

Productivity is up! Opinion about what we’re doing is strong! These workers get it – promote them, have them do more, strike while the iron is hot! That’s what we’d say in our culture that feeds on productivity, but what does Jesus do? He listens. He tells them to rest.

I wonder what their stories sounded like? We went to this city and people listened to us and asked us great questions, we healed a sick child, and cured someone who had been possessed by a demon. They were so kind and welcoming and wanted us to stay forever, but we said we had to go on our way. So we went to the next village and they were a bunch of rotten apples. They yelled and spit at us, they cursed us and tried to kill us. So we shook off the dust on our sandals like you told us to, Jesus, and we left to the next place.

And I imagine as Jesus listens to these disciples tell their stories that he looks at them with compassion and grace. He laughs with them as they talk about a cat that just wouldn’t leave Peter alone and weeps with them as James talks about how hard the journey was for him.

I wonder what stories we tell to Jesus. I wonder if we really believe that Jesus can hear us. We think about the billions of people on Earth, and struggle to imagine how Jesus could keep all those voices and stories straight. We maybe fall into the trap of thinking that Jesus is too busy to hear us. It’s not that big of a deal. Does Jesus really need to know that I was moved by a particularly beautiful sunrise or a good conversation with a friend? Does Jesus really need to hear me tell him that it’s hard to be a parent and a spouse sometimes? Does Jesus really need to hear me?

And the answer to that is a resounding “yes!” Jesus loves us. And though we cannot fathom how a billion thoughts coming together can be sifted through by the Creator of the World, we trust that somehow it happens. Jesus hears our stories. Jesus loves us in the midst of all that we hold and all that we carry.

And, Jesus then invites the disciples to rest. Not forever. Not as a form of laziness.

Not to say they were done with the work they needed to do. But as a reminder that, yep, there is so much to be done. Spreading the Good News and the justice of God to the ends of the earth is a job that will never be completed. Healing the sick, visiting the prisoner, supporting the outcasts and ignored of society, loving the widows, being present with those in fear – yes, those will always be on the “to do” list. And being a present mom or dad, being a loving child, being a good friend – yes, those will always be things that are needed too.

But you and me, we are not machines. We are not called upon to push ourselves to the brink or beyond of exhaustion. We are not meant to be the Savior of the world. We are called and created to be beloved children of God. And as a beloved child, we sit at the footsteps of Jesus. We rest in the arms of our God. We listen for the movement of the Spirit inviting us to the next thing, which often times is to simply be.

Because there is a whole 20 verses that we skip over today. And those verses are the well-known story of the feeding of the 5000. Where people gather to hear from Jesus and he sees that they are hungry and tells the disciples to get them something to eat. And miraculously from a few loaves and fish the multitude is able to be fed.

I am certain that the disciples could not have done that if they had not followed Jesus’ invitation to rest. If they had kept pressing on, then the task ahead which already seemed impossibly overwhelming, would have simply been impossible.

I’m certain that’s true for us, too. If we do not rest. If we do not take daily and weekly times of Sabbath, we will look at the world and say, “It’s impossible. Why should I even try?”

But you and me – we have a God who tells us to rest.

You and me – we worship a God who gives us abundantly more than we need.

You and me – we serve a God who is with us in all circumstances of life.

You and me – we gather around a Table where God feeds us with good things for our life, grace, and salvation.

You and me – we are beloved. We are loved not for what we do. We are loved not for how productive we are. We are loved not only when we follow the command to rest.

No, we are loved because we are children of God. And it is only through that love that we can share these great things with the rest of the world that so desperately is looking for a better way to escape the rat race of productivity and life.

So, friends, may we tell our stories to Jesus. For he really wants to hear them. He wants to laugh with you and weep with you and be present with you and let you know that you’ve got a lot on your plate, and you do not hold that alone.

Jesus also wants to tell you to rest. And Jesus wants you to know that from that place of rest, you might be sent to feed 5000 with just a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish, or you might be sent to share Good News and grace with people who have been ignored their whole lives, or you might be sent into the world to give your kids or your spouse or your friend a hug and love in the midst of their hard times.

May we be the people of God that we were created to be. And may we know that God loves us. That God hears us. That God rests with us. And that God is always with us. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Mark 6:1-13

Jesus left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him.

Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their own hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, expect that he laid hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages, teaching. And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and he gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money for their belt; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.

He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

There is a great, strange, quiet little show on MAX called “Somebody Somewhere.” It’s got a serious Schitt’s Creek vibe to it in my opinion, but not many people know about it, from what I can tell. It came to mind as I fumbled around with this week’s Gospel, because “Somebody Somewhere” tells the story of a woman named Sam who returns to her hometown, somewhere in the cornfields of Kansas, to take care of her dying sister. Her family – broken and struggling in so many ordinary ways with sibling rivalry and addiction and aging parents and broken marriages – needs her help, too – whether any of them know it or not.

The short of the long is that Sam connects with an old classmate she doesn’t even remember, but should have known in high school, and the show is the story of their friendship and the underlying buzz of what it means for Sam to be back – as an outsider in her own family and as a stranger in her own hometown.

And, while it’s not at all the main focus of the show, the notion of what a truly inclusive, welcoming, loving Church is, can, or should look like is a noteworthy undercurrent, if you pay attention to that sort of thing. Anyway, four stars. Highly recommend. You’re welcome.

And, it made me wonder, in a very simple way, if the writers and producers of “Somebody Somewhere,” knew something about Jesus and the Gospel of Mark. Because after being out and about in the world, beginning a ministry of healing all kinds of people of all sorts of illnesses, after casting out demons, after calming storms, and after teaching with all manner of new insight and wisdom, Jesus comes home to Capernaum, like somebody, somewhere.

And, instead of a warm welcome and a happy homecoming, Jesus is greeted with questions and contempt. “Where did this guy get all of this?,” they asked. “Isn’t this one of Mary’s kids – the carpenter?” “Who does he think he is, anyway?”

So, we have to wonder what was it that made it so hard for Jesus to go back home? Why was it that no one wanted to believe what he was teaching? Why did they take such offense at all he was preaching and teaching and saying and doing?

Maybe Jesus wasn’t old enough. Maybe he was teaching them too much too fast. Maybe he was trying to pour too much new wine into too many old wineskins. Your guess is as good as mine.

Whatever the case, I’m sure they knew that Jesus was onto something because they had most definitely heard about his ministry: how he’d healed the paralyzed man, stilled the storm, raised Jairus’ daughter, and cured the woman who had been hemorrhaging for years. All of this had to make them wonder – and maybe even hope, in spite of their suspicions – that Jesus knew what he was talking about.

And I imagine it was nice to suspect that Jesus was onto something … from a distance. I imagine they were proud to know that this hometown prophet, this local hero, was theirs. I imagine they liked to say that they knew him when, or maybe that they had worked with him, or that he’d lived around the corner or just up the road, at one time. I imagine it might have been fun to cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then he came home…back to Capernaum…then he started preaching and teaching and healing right there in front of them. Then they couldn’t help but realize that his message was for and about them too.

And forgiveness sounds great until you have to offer it yourself, and mean it.

And faith sounds easy until your own is challenged.

And loving your neighbor sounds nice until you know more about who’s living next door, or until you realize that “neighbor” has nothing to do with proximity - or your address - a lot of the time.

So no wonder it was hard for Jesus to be back home again. What if that’s why he hasn’t tried it since? What if that’s why Capernaum – and the world for that matter – hasn’t seen the whites of his eyes since he left so long ago?

Are we ready for what he would teach or preach or perform for us, now? Just like the family and friends from his hometown, it can be easy for us to claim Jesus as ours … from a distance. Just like his family and friends in Capernaum, it can be comforting to proclaim that he’s one of us and that we’re one of his. Just like his family and friends and neighbors, it’s easy to cheer Jesus on from the sidelines.

But what if he came home today? Would he find us forgiving as much as we ask to be forgiven? Would he find our faith solid and steadfast and sure? Would he find us loving our neighbor – no matter who they are or what they do or where they live?

…

Have you ever had the opportunity to “go home again” like Sam in “Somebody Somewhere” or like Jesus in Mark’s Gospel? Have you ever taken a trip to your old hometown? Have you ever gone back to an old school or to a former Church or to a house where you once lived? I’ve done it many times – and it’s never the same.

Not that it’s always bad. Not that I’ve been driven out by angry friends and family. Not even that I wouldn’t go back and visit again sometime. But it’s never exactly the way I remember it. Rooms always seem smaller, familiar faces are gone or simply not so familiar anymore. And what used to be doesn’t always match up with what has become – of the people or of the places or of me.

I imagine that’s kind of what Jesus found when he returned to Capernaum: rooms – and hearts and minds – that were too small to hold the grace he was trying to share; faces that were once familiar but that had been changed by their doubt and fear, suspicion and sin, maybe; and I wonder if he found that the world from which he had come was nowhere near, or any longer, the place that God had in store for him.

So what does this mean for you and me? What kind of welcome would Jesus find if he showed up on your doorstep, or in your office; at your next staff meeting, doctor’s appointment, or family dinner? Would he see our faith or would he be amazed by our unbelief? Could he tell we were following? Would he find a warm welcome? Or would he shake the dust from his sandals and move on?

Because whether it’s Capernaum or Kansas, we are the hometown that waits for Jesus’ return. So what does all of this mean for us?

I think it means that we make room – in our churches and in our hearts and minds – for whatever and whoever shows up at the door. It means that we allow our faith to be challenged by the breadth and depth – by the size and scope – of God’s grace. It means that we work hard to make this world more like what God had in mind in the first place.

It means that we go out into the world, too, practice forgiveness… that we preach and promise a new word about love and hope and peace so that when Jesus does come home again, he’ll be amazed by something other than our unbelief. He’ll be astonished, for a change, at what we’ve learned and at what we’ve shared and at what we’ve become … so that somebody somewhere – and everybody everywhere – will be welcome to the grace that we share, in his name.

Amen