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 Genessaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized Jesus and rushed about that region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard that 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.
It didn’t used to be this way, but when I read this bit of Scripture nowadays, I’m not so impressed by the crowds. I’m not drawn to the way they recognized Jesus or how they chased him around Galilee, like a rock star. I’m not even moved by his compassion for those crowds or for the sick people he healed or even for the great faith it takes to believe touching his cloak would work a miracle, let alone that those sorts of miracles apparently happened. For good or ill, we’ve come to expect that from Jesus, right?
So, what gets my attention these days is how it seems like, maybe, Jesus was trying to avoid all of that some of the time.
See, the disciples show up – sometime after he’s sent them out to share the good news and heal diseases and cast out demons and whatnot – and they start to tell Jesus all about their exploits. And I imagine they’re more than a little proud and excited about all they’ve been up to. I wouldn’t be surprised if these former fishermen had traded one sort of “big fish” story for another, if you know what I mean. Like, what used to be a competition about who caught and sold more or bigger fish out on the lake, now had likely become a chance to one-up each other about who’d converted the greatest number of new believers; or who had cast out the most demons; or who had forgiven the most sinful sinner; or who had healed the grossest case of leprosy, or whatever.
Now, I’m sure Jesus was proud of his protégés. I imagine he was pleased with their progress, if their reports were true. I suspect he was impressed with their enthusiasm and their faith and all of their hard work. But – again – what gets my attention these days is that Jesus tells the disciples to stop; to step away from all of that; to go to a deserted place, by themselves, and rest for awhile. And I think maybe Jesus does this because he has as much compassion for his closest friends and followers, as he does for all of those crowds, who were like sheep without a shepherd, looking to be healed.
And the truth is, Jesus’ disciples weren’t any different, or better, or worse, than the crowds who followed them around. They needed healing, too. And the same is true for you and me. We are no different, or better, or worse, than those with whom we live our lives of faith out there in the world.
And sometimes we need to step away from all we’re up to in order to remember and to recognize and to receive the rest we need and that God longs for us to experience. Sometimes we need to stop looking outside of ourselves at the needs surrounding us and start looking in the mirror for the needs that are ours. Sometimes we need to be quiet and still long enough to hear something other than our own voices or the noise of the world. Sometimes we need to listen for what God has to say about what we need most, rather than what the world out there is trying to convince us is so important.
And that’s hard, right – the stillness and the solitude and the listening, I mean? I was reminded about it at our last “Wild, Wacky, Wonderful Wednesday,” with the kids. I did my best to talk with them about prayer and meditation. And we talked about the difference between praying – where we do all the talking and ask God for all the things we’d like God’s help with – and meditation – where we sit still and be quiet and listen for what God might be trying to tell us. Some of the kids got it and played along – or at least pretended to. But several others hated it. I know because they told me so … out loud … in front of the group! They couldn’t do it. They couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t do it. And it made them want to go home.
Which is as funny as it is frustrating. And it’s not unique to kids. I’ve had adults tell me the same thing – that it’s hard, frustrating, impossible, even, to be still and quiet in prayer and meditation for too long. And I struggle to make time for it, too, to be honest.
So, I think this Gospel is a perfectly-timed message for us – not just because it’s still summer and those of us governed by the school calendar have a couple of weeks left before another school year – and all that that means. But this is good timing for all of us as we continue to wonder about what Fall will look like post-pandemic – out there in the world and in our lives together at Cross of Grace.
I thought of something I’ve seen Social Worker and Professor, Brene Brown, get credit for saying – that we shouldn’t long so much for a return to whatever “normal” was just for the sake of it. She says, “Normal never was. Our pre-corona existence was not normal other than [that] we normalized greed, inequality, exhaustion, depletion, extraction, disconnection, confusion, rage, hoarding, hate, and lack. We should not long to return, my friends. We are being given the opportunity to stitch a new garment. One that fits all of humanity and nature.”
Now all of that doesn’t apply to all of us. But it begs the question for me. “What will ‘normal’ be for us?”
Will we fill our schedules, calendars, and agendas with all of the things that were there before – just because? Have we already started to do that – and why? Or will we be thoughtful and deliberate and faithful about engaging what matters? Will we say “yes” to what does matter? And might we practice saying “no” to what doesn’t? Might we schedule more time away – to stop – in deserted places, by ourselves to pray and listen and plan to live more deliberately? And will we be kind and gracious, forgiving and compassionate toward those who have the courage and faith to say no – or to do differently – in the days to come?
I hope so. Because I think this is what Jesus is calling his disciples to this morning. And by extension, of course, this is our call as followers of Jesus, just the same.
What time apart and time away, in deserted places, means to do for us is to give us rest and refreshment, yes. It allows us to stop and relax. It replenishes our energy and restores our enthusiasm and builds our strength and increases our stamina. Personally, it has a knack for getting my creative juices flowing in new ways. All of this is called Sabbath, remember, and it’s one of God’s Top Ten commandments. And when we get it right, it forces us to stop relying on ourselves and on our own accomplishments, and reminds us to rely on God more often, instead.
And this takes faith, because we have to let God be God in those moments when we dare to stop doing, producing, accomplishing, proving and distracting ourselves with all we have on our respective agendas. And it takes humility because it reminds us that our value, as far as God is concerned, comes from simply being, merely existing – nothing more and nothing less – and that is a lesson in grace, for sure.
And when we practice that kind of Sabbath well… when we put away our busy schedules and our big fish stories (unless they actually involve some fishing, I suppose) and the pride that goes along with them… when we stop filling our calendars and our schedules and our lists of things to do… we will start to see that value and that worth and that kind of grace in the mirror, for ourselves, apart from our ability to “do” anything about it.
And when we learn to see it in the mirror, we’ll begin to see it in the world – in friends, family, neighbors and more. And then we might normalize – and prioritize – things like grace and patience, humility and each other, instead of what was “normal” before. And when that happens, our compassion will be stirred, like Jesus’ was way back when. And we will begin to live and move and breathe and serve in the world, with joy, more meaningfully, beside still waters, perhaps, and mindful of our place in the midst of what all belongs to God, and resting assured in God’s grace to care for every bit of it – and even for us, in the end.
Amen
