Of Whom Shall I Fear?

Matthew 10:24-39

"A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household! 

"So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. 

"Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven. 

"Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one's foes will be members of one's own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

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There are any number of directions to take a message based on today’s gospel text, but what I felt most compelled to address are Jesus’ words about fear. 

The concept of fear was present to my family in several instances over a 12-hour period this week. The first example happened as I read to my children before bed. We are reading the book Woodsong by Gary Paulsen, about his experiences with sled dogs and the Iditarod race. The first couple chapters include several accounts of fear, particularly his account of a doe being chased by a pack of wolves and his story about the time he threw a stick at a bear and nearly lost his life when that bear attacked him. His writing on fear is gripping and palpable. 

Next there was the case of my child who could not fall asleep. By midnight a sobbing boy was admitting to us that the reason he could not sleep was that he was afraid of something. Perhaps out of shame or embarrassment, he initially didn’t want to tell us what he was afraid of. I tried to explain to him that the way our fears get out of control is when we fail to put words to them and keep them locked inside us. Eventually he told us what he was afraid of...and no, it wasn’t anything to do with the Gary Paulsen book we had read together (which was my first assumption). His specific fear is not important to the story, but suffice to say I think it helped for him to tell us about his fear. 

The next morning, during a family walk through the woods at Southeastway Park, my other son jumped over a large stick stretched across the path and screamed as he landed on the other side. What he noticed, while in mid-air, was that the large stick he was jumping over was actually a large snake! Not only was he terrified and shocked from the sight of a snake (an experience I know all too well and have struggled with my whole life), but now that snake was separating him from the safety of his family, as he was not about to jump over the snake again. 

In some respects, these experiences with fear are minor. Certainly there are other things in the world more terrifying than snakes or the thoughts that pop in our heads as we try to sleep. But on the other hand, fear is fear. You can’t experience only a little bit of fear. There isn’t a spectrum to fear as we feel it pulse through our bodies. And we cannot look objectively or rationalize our fear in the moment. The work of teaching ourselves how to overcome fear has to be done preemptively. 

It is tempting to think that the way to deal with fear is to avoid the experiences about which we know we are afraid. For example, my family could stop walking through the woods to avoid more snakes; much the same way that I have avoided swimming or surfing in the ocean because I’m terrified (and convinced) I would get attacked by a shark. This is far from an ideal solution. Not only does it end up limiting one’s life experiences but it’s entirely impractical to most situations. For example, I don’t think it would be in anyone’s interest for my son to avoid going to sleep ever again! 

Jesus never taught his disciples the ways of fear-avoidance. He did not comfort them with the words, “Do only what makes you comfortable, for as long as you follow me you will have a safe life.” Instead, Jesus warned his disciples that to follow him meant to make the same enemies as him, to endure the same afflictions and punishments as him, and to ultimately lose their life like him. Jesus’ command for his disciples to not be afraid is less an invitation to avoid fear than it is to run headlong into the things they think would be terrifying and have faith that God’s ultimate goodness will prevail through it all.

Jesus instructs his followers that the ones who profess to have power in the world have only the illusion of power. These illusions of power will be uncovered and exposed in the light of the gospel. Jesus says it would be right to fear only one thing: the one who wields absolute power over our soul and our body--that is, God; but even God is not to be feared because the one who wields absolute power over our soul and body will never harm us. Never ever...for we are too valuable. God is not in the business of destroying what God has created and redeemed. 

The quote “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” doesn’t belong to Jesus, but it is a Christ-affirmed conviction nonetheless. Only fear will prevent us from following in the footsteps of the Christ. Only fear will prevent us from sharing the good news of God’s redemption of all creation. Only fear will prevent us from seeing our diverse brothers and sisters as God’s children. Only fear will prevent us from critiquing the systems and structures that diminish peoples’ livelihoods and claim their very lives. Those systems and structures do not have ultimate divinely-ordained power and therefore we should not fear them. 

The three examples of fear I mentioned earlier are not the only ways in which I have learned about fear lately. I have also gleaned much from the work of African-American professor, author, activist, and theologian Howard Thurman and his book published in 1949 titled Jesus and the Disinherited.

In his chapter on the topic of fear, he posits that fear prevents us from having a meaningful and formative answer to the question at the core of each person’s life, which is: “Who am I?” He explains, 

“There are few things more devastating than to have it burned into you that you do not count and that no provisions are made for the literal protection of your person. The threat of violence is ever present, and there is no way to determine precisely when it may come crashing down upon you...The underprivileged in any society are the victims of a perpetual war of nerves” (29).

I don’t know what it is like to be underprivileged in society. My answer to the question “Who am I?” has not been shaped by the fear of violence against me or my people. But even for the underprivileged who live assaulted by the perpetual war of nerves, Howard Thurman insists The answer to “Who am I?” has to point to God. His grandmother, who was enslaved in Florida, would recount to him the constant message from the preacher of secret religious meetings who would triumphantly proclaim, “You–you are not slaves. You are God’s children.” 

Howard Thurman goes on to write, “This [identity in God] established for them the ground of personal dignity, so that a profound sense of personal worth could absorb the fear reaction. This alone is not enough, but without it, nothing else is of value” (39-40). In other words, only after a person understands they are inherently valued and cared for by God, can they then demand, bravely, in the face of oppression, to be treated by others as a child of God…which is exactly what is happening throughout the world right now.

My friends, God commissions you to be the beautiful hands and feet of Christ that bear the good news for all people that they are God’s beloved children. As we see throughout history, and still today, too many people stand in direct opposition of this inclusive message. But do not fear in your proclamation of the good news. Nothing is more important for God’s followers today, than to be fearless. To borrow the words of Howard Thurman once more, “Nothing less than a great daring in the face of overwhelming odds can achieve the inner security in which fear cannot possibly survive” (45). 

May you be fearless in your proclamation of the good news. Amen.

White People, Do Something

Matthew 9:35 -10:8

Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness.

These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother, Andrew; James, son of Zebedee, and his brother, John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.

These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You have received without payment; give without payment.

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Some of you know – and have asked me about – my time in downtown Indy the last couple of weekends, participating in the peaceful protests for racial justice that have been such a large part of our nation’s life since George Floyd was murdered in Minneapolis a few weeks ago. (Notice I said “peaceful protests,” not riots, there’s a distinct and meaningful difference.) Some of what I witnessed at these protests was new to me, in so many ways; and surprising; and worth sharing.

I saw lots of signs, of course, and heard all the chants – some so clever they were funny. Some so full of rage, they were unsettling, at times.

I saw people carrying gallons of milk on a hot summer day, in case they needed it to wash away the pepper spray or tear gas that are a distinct possibility and a common occurrence when the sun goes down on a protest, as you know.

I saw white civilians dressed in camouflage, with automatic weapons strapped across their chests.

I was wearing my funny shirt with the clerical collar, which makes many people assume I’m a priest. One guy said, “You don’t see many Catholic priests at these things, Father.” I said, “I’m a Lutheran.” He said, “That makes more sense.” (I took that as a compliment.)

I saw police officers doing their job – minding the crowd, even greeting and talking with protesters. I went out of my way to acknowledge them a time or two and they returned the favor. I can’t imagine the fortitude and sense of vocation it takes for the good ones to do their job these days.

I saw one white man trying to instigate a group of black protesters, throwing a water bottle at them, trading insults, and calling them a bunch of “N” words.

I watched organizers pass around Sharpie markers and sharing the phone number we were instructed to write on our bodies in two different places, should we get arrested and need to be bailed out, if things went sideways or got ugly.

I was even ritually “smudged” with sage smoke from a protester who was performing the ritual as an offering of protection and cleansing for those who had gathered.

So when I read, in this morning’s Gospel, that when Jesus looked at the crowds back in Galilee, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd, I thought about the crowds that gather for protests like the ones taking place these days in our own country and around the world. “…harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd…”

I’m not sure why it’s happening now. I’m not sure why these particular deaths – George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Dreasjon Reed, and Ahmaud Arbery, I mean – seem to have sparked an outrage – if not a revolution – that the deaths of Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Philando Castille, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland, Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Laquan McDonald, Botham Jean, Latasha Harlins, Amadou Diallo, and Emmett Till weren’t able to instigate. I’m not sure what’s different this time around and after so many years. And, sadly, I’m not at all convinced that the change so many of us long for is really going to come as soon or as fully as we would like.

But, people of color – especially Black and Indigenous people – in this country, are telling us – and have been telling us for generations – that they indeed feel and have felt harassed and helpless for so long in so many ways. And as followers of Jesus, we are called to be moved – like Jesus was – with compassion for them.

And the hard, holy news today is that immediately after his compassion is stirred, Jesus calls upon his disciples to do something about it, acknowledging that the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. There was, there is, there always will be so much work to do, and too often not as many people willing or able or inspired enough to do the heavy lifting. But for those who are ready and willing, Jesus gives the authority to do some amazing things: to cast out demons and to cure every disease and every sickness. And I would contend that the demons and the dis-ease and the sicknesses that need casting out and curing in this day and age, include but are not limited to the likes of prejudice, bigotry, white supremacy, and racism.

And yes, I’m talking about George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, and the many others on that list. But I’m talking about things closer to home, too. Like the fact that within the last three years a Black boy at one of our schools was told to go drink from another drinking fountain. Or the fact that my children, and many of yours, have never had a Black teacher. (And neither did I, for that matter, in 20 years of public school, undergraduate university, and seminary education.) And I’m talking about the fact that zero Black people call Cross of Grace Lutheran Church their home. And that one member of our congregation told me once, not long ago, standing in our narthex, without shame, that he called the cops on a young Black man driving through his neighborhood, because “he clearly didn’t belong there.”

And as terrifying and as disgusting and as frustrating and as embarrassing as those examples are to share, I find some hope for all of this in today’s Gospel – because of what we heard in last week’s Gospel. See, I listened differently last week to that little ditty we heard from the end of Matthew, Chapter 28, when Jesus said, “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” “Go…” “All nations.” “…everything I have commanded you.” “Always…to the end of the age.”

But at times like this, I am overwhelmed by the scope of that, I have to admit – what we call our “great commission.” It’s all so much, so daunting, and more than I feel ready for or capable of on a lot of days, to be honest.

But I am reminded to be relieved, some, by this morning’s Gospel story – earlier in Matthew’s Gospel, Chapters 9 and 10 – where Jesus, in the midst of traveling around his own little neck of the woods in Galilee, calls his disciples together to set them about their mission in the world. Because when Jesus sends the disciples to “the lost sheep of the House of Israel,” as he says it this morning, he’s sending them to share the message and the story and the hard, holy good news of it all with the Jews – with their own people – people they know, people they love perhaps, or at least people they could relate to.

“Gather with the ones you know,” he seems to be saying. “Keep it in the family, for now.” “Talk to your own people – friends and family, folks from your own synagogue, in your own neighborhoods, from your own cities and villages and towns. We’ll get to the nations later – somewhere in chapter 28.”

And I don’t mean for this to be a cop out. It’s not a sneaky way to suggest we not reach out to people who are different from us. This isn’t me – or Jesus – saying God’s good news is just for people who sound and smell or live or look like me. I am in no way suggesting we limit the scope of our outreach to what is familiar and comfortable and close to home. I’m acknowledging that it all matters, for sure, but that maybe our first steps these days – however small – are meant to lead to something more down the road.

Because, the story we are sharing is one of good news and of hope and of grace for all people. The Gospel we are called to tell about is a Gospel meant for the nations, for sure. “Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.” There is no denying that. But when it comes to casting out and curing the sins and the sickness of racism and white supremacy and prejudice and bigotry, this is white people’s work. We need to get our own house in order before we can reach the nations, as God intends. This work is for you and me to do for ourselves, with each other, and for the sake of the world. This work is for those of us – myself included – who are blind to and who benefit so much from the systems of inequality that run the world around us.

And I know there are plenty who wish I would get off of this soap box. Some of you have told me as much. And I’m sorry, but not so sorry about that right now. There’s a difference between a soap box and a pulpit. And when I stop collecting examples of blatant racism and bigotry from my own, everyday life – or from the lives of my children – in this community and in this congregation and from the church-at-large, I might feel compelled to slow my roll a bit. But the harvest is plentiful. There his so much work to be done. And please hear me when I say I’m learning along the way myself, in more ways than I wish I still need to learn.

Which is where I’d like to invite you to join me today – and in the days ahead. Several of you have joined me in Race Relations Dialogue Circles around here over the course of the last few years. (I’m more than a little proud to say it didn’t take a televised lynching to inspire that work for our congregation.) But I would like to broaden the scope of those conversations and of that learning sooner, rather than later, in light of current events.

So, in the next couple of weeks I will be inviting us to read some books, watch some documentaries, listen to some podcasts and, of course, to have some conversation and prayer about how we might respond to Jesus’ invitation to love one another, to cast out the evil of racism, to cure the sickness of bigotry, to heal the dis-ease of injustice that plagues our black and brown sisters and brothers and should therefore feel like a plague upon us, just the same.

And just like those first disciples were sent, first, to their friends, families, and neighbors with the work Jesus called them to, I hope we will start with what and who we know. Let’s start in our kitchens. Let’s begin in our living rooms. Start something in your son’s car or your daughter’s bedroom. Begin at your own front door – at your office – on your neighbor’s porch. There are people all around us – acquaintances and the best of friends – who have something to learn from and to teach each of us in all of this.

That’s what this morning’s Gospel is about for me this time around – doing the work of the Gospel for and with neighbors, family and friends – nothing more and nothing less. Today, Jesus isn’t sending us to the nations just yet. Today, Jesus is calling us to each other – to those we know and to those who know us. “Baby steps,” he seems to be saying, “if that’s still what it takes to begin.” “Share a little bit of yourself. Share a little bit about whatever you know or need to learn with the people close to you, and let’s just see if – finally… finally… finally – where the work of ending racism in our midst is concerned – the good news of great joy and justice and grace for all people will change the world as God intends.”

Amen