Luke 10:17-20
Last Sunday our guest preacher, Pastor Whitesel, based his sermon on Jesus commissioning seventy of his followers to go out into the villages in Galilee. He told each of them to take along few belongings, stay at one home, and then cure the sick and proclaim that the kingdom of God has come near to them.
The Sunday before that one, I mentioned that a new café had opened up on the square and that I would commission myself, so to speak, to go there, have some coffee, and wait to see whether anyone might want to strike up a conversation.
Now, I’m actually a somewhat reserved person, generally not wanting to draw attention to myself. And in the parts of the country where I previously lived, most Lutheran pastors wear street clothes during the week. So practicing here the custom most days of wearing a clerical collar hasn’t been all that easy. For one thing, if I’m out walking somewhere, a person down on his or her luck may be likelier to ask me for money than someone else. And I prefer not to give cash because, in spite of what someone tells me, I don’t really know what it’s going to be used for.
Another reason for being hesitant to wear my collar in public is that some people have mixed feelings about organized religion—and might be rather vocal about it. As a representative of such a faith, I occasionally bear the brunt of that resentment or even hostility—not often, mind you—but occasionally. For example, two weeks ago, while visiting Penn Park for a celebration of the diverse people who live and/or work in the City of York, I stopped at a number of booths to say hello to vendors and representatives of nonprofit organizations. In so many words, one person let me know that the Christian faith is much too limited in its understanding of God or of some supreme being or some force in the universe. Fortunately, after a few minutes of conversation, we found some points of spiritual contact, and we ended our discussion on rather good terms.
Well, this past Thursday I ventured out to walk down to that café. On the way I saw a fellow—rather down and out—sitting on one of the benches in front of the church. We made eye contact, I smiled at him and said hello. He did the same. Then he said: “It’s nice to see someone smile.” Nodding my head, I continued on to the square. “Well, that was a positive experience. So far, so good.”
At the café, after getting some coffee, I sat down at one of the tables and began jotting down a few ideas for today’s message. Unlike those seventy followers of Jesus, I did not stand up and proclaim to everyone there that the kingdom of God had come near to them. If I had, I certainly would have quickly found myself escorted out of the building to announce the kingdom like others who sometimes do that in the square—with the typical signs in their hands.
So there I was, minding my own business. “Might another patron approach, say hello, and then pose to me some religious question? Or share some spiritual doubts that had been nagging her
or his soul?”
Well, an hour or so passed and then the lunch crowd began filling up the place. “Maybe someone will come over to say hi and pull up a chair.” And then it happened! Out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure coming in my direction. Turning to her, I was surprised, and then we exchanged greetings. While she and her coworker were waiting for their takeout order, we had a brief but pleasant conversation. Then, when their food came, we said goodbye. The last thing she said was, “Pastor, I really enjoyed visiting with you. See you on Sunday—at the early service.” You see, that person I was talking with is a member here at Christ Church.
So, when returning to the church office, I was unable to report to fellow staff as the seventy evangelists did to Jesus, who, with great joy, declared: “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!”
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Sometimes I wonder about the accuracy or rather, the literalness that we sometimes read in the scriptures. Might not there be passages that, to a degree, exaggerate the events that they record? That claim more than what might have, in fact, happened? Maybe God doesn’t care as much about exact numbers as we do for so many things. Maybe the point is simply that some wonderful things happen. And so the response is to be all-embracing about them.
For example, the person who wrote the Gospel of Luke also wrote the Book of Acts. Some of you may know that; others may not. So the same enthusiasm and joy that we see in the seventy evangelists, we also see later, when the Christian church was first established in the time of the early church. As in Chapter 2 of Acts, when Peter preaches to his fellow Jews after the coming of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost:
“Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the…Spirit. For the promise is
for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.” And he testified with many other arguments and exhort[ations]…
So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about 3,000 persons were added.
I’m sure at that time many people did come to believe in Jesus. But 3,000? Even if there were that many people there on that day, I doubt that all of them could at one time have even heard Peter give his testimony. So I think to myself: “In that event, a lot of people were converted to the faith. So let’s just leave it there.” In our day, most times we’re not going to have anywhere near those kinds of results. Except maybe in part of Africa, where the faith has been growing by leaps and bounds.
Once, while attending an ecumenical conference for pastors about various and things, one member of the cloth, a Baptist, spoke about a tough time he was going through. A few years
earlier, he had started a church on his own. At first, he said, he met with great success. A number of folks who had never belonged to a church before came into the faith and were baptized. He said: “I was getting so many people saved, but now it just doesn’t seem to be happening anymore. I feel so discouraged.” The speaker at the conference comforted him, saying that we all encounter times, periods that are spiritually dry. You know, that especially happened to God’s people in the wilderness. It happened at least once to the disciples—in the seventeenth chapter of Matthew: “a man came to [Jesus], knelt before him, and said: ‘Lord, have mercy on my son, for he…suffers terribly…I brought him to your disciples, but they could not cure him.’”
And that minister “getting” people saved? Well, St. Paul did write one time that he was all things to all people in order that some might be saved. But Paul would be the first to say that he wasn’t the one truly saving them but rather God, who was simply using him as a means by which to do that.
Christians who want to get the word out about God need—among other things—to remember this: One has to be in it for the long haul. One has to stay with it. A flash-in-the-pan approach just won’t do.
When serving another downtown church—while also a student at the local divinity school—on occasion I recruited religion professors to lecture in their particular fields of expertise. One of them—Charles Hambrick—was a Methodist minister who taught Eastern religions. This is the story he told about how he became drawn to that field of study and how he practiced his evangelism.
During World War II, as a young boy, he had with an older brother in the Army. The brother fought in the Pacific theater, where, in a battle with the enemy, he was killed. As he grew, the boy thought often of his brother and wondered about the people who had been our enemies in that part of the world at that time. A committed Christian, he attended college and then seminary—afterwards learning Japanese so he could become a missionary. He wanted to meet those people up close; he wanted to bring them to Christ.
He had had no idea how slow and difficult that work would be. Over time he learned much about their religions—especially Buddhism—and the place that it held and the roles that it played in their culture. He came to the realization that before he could share his faith with greater confidence, he had to understand, respect, and appreciate their religious heritage. So he committed himself to ongoing dialogue, at the same time continuing to present himself as a good Christian example.
In our own ways, it’s important that we know that, in sharing our faith, we would do well to understand others and where they are spiritually.
- Not to judge.
- Not to be in a hurry.
- And not to give up.
So I’m going to keep visiting that café, enjoying the coffee, and—as opportunities present themselves—to meet, engage, listen, and understand. And somewhere in the midst of that, share something about the faith that means the world to me.
I hope you have, even create, your own opportunities to do that as well.