You Shall Be My Witnesses
Mark 6:7-13; Acts 1:1-14
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If you are still basking in the glow of last Sunday’s
glorious Easter worship, good news!
Easter isn’t over.
Last Sunday was just Day One of the Easter season—
a season sometimes called “The Great Fifty Days.”
It starts on Easter morning, celebrating resurrection,
and ends 50 days later on Pentecost,
celebrating the Holy Spirit.
The word Pentecost, in case you weren’t aware,
literally means 50th.
It gets its name by counting days.
In worship,
now is the season for the church to remember and reflect
on the post-resurrection life of the disciples,
and on the difference resurrection made
for their life of following Jesus.
We don’t limit ourselves to that brief period.
We think broadly about the development of the early church.
Our lectionaries direct us to spend time
in the book of Acts,
and in some of the letters to the churches.
So as I looked over the texts for this season,
I noticed two things going on in the church.
They were experiencing rapid change.
And they were experiencing conflict.
They were a church in motion,
and therefore,
they were also a church in com-motion.
Often, the two go together—
rapid change and conflict.
So could it be? just maybe? the church of today
could find something here to identify with?
_____________________
In today’s readings from Acts 1 and Mark 6,
the commotion that awaits them is not yet obvious.
We’ll get into more of that in upcoming Sundays.
But these texts set the stage for the conflict yet to come.
They call for followers of Jesus to be in motion,
to be on the move,
to not live defensively,
but to embrace the power given to them,
and to go . . . go take risks.
So let’s look first at Acts 1.
One thing that strikes me,
is how daring and difficult the mission seems,
for a group of traumatized people.
These disciples are only days or weeks
after Jesus’ suffering and violent death,
and after the terror and turmoil that overcame them all,
that buried them in an avalanche of grief, and fear,
and panic, and confusion.
Yes, Jesus’ several unexpected appearances did also
instill in them a strange sense of hope,
but it was still so new and so full of mystery and unknowing.
It’s obvious from the post-Easter Gospel accounts
of Jesus’ appearing to the disciples,
that the resurrection was kind of a mixed bag.
The disciples were both joyful, and still full of dread and fear.
Then, in Acts 1, we have this scene of Jesus’ farewell,
and here’s what he tells them:
“Go back to Jerusalem and wait . . . but only for a bit.
Soon you will be given further reassurance, and then, then . . .
you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you,
and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem,
in all Judea and Samaria,
and to the ends of the earth.”
From the get-go,
Jesus tells his followers to stay in motion,
to be a pilgrim people,
to look for the pain of the world,
and move toward it.
This is not a new idea coming from Jesus only after resurrection.
No, other times during his ministry years,
he almost literally pushed his disciples
into their zone of discomfort,
saying, “Go, do the work of the kingdom . . .”
“This is not about you or your comfort or personal preference.
There are broken people and broken systems out there in the world.
There are people getting pushed to the side and forgotten.
Go, get close to them.
Be in the healing business.
Be in the release from bondage business.
Be in the compassionate inclusion and restoration business.
Because all of that is God’s business.
So make it yours, too.
_____________________
Our other text, Mark 6, tells about
one of those times early in Jesus’ ministry that he told his disciples
to get on the move and do kingdom work.
Mark says he “gave them authority” and sent them out in pairs.
Go, free people, heal people, give good news to people.
But there’s a surprising twist.
There’s a curious and uncomfortable part 2 of the instructions.
I say curious, because it sure doesn’t sound like
the way Jesus people have typically worked.
Over the long history of the church,
we’ve done Part 1 quite well.
We’ve been sending people out, with power and authority,
for 2,000 years.
We’ve been sending them everywhere,
even into hard and uncomfortable and desperate places.
But this second part doesn’t sound very familiar.
And it doesn’t even sound like a great idea.
Verse 8, and I quote: “Jesus ordered them to
take nothing for their journey except a staff:
no bread, no bag, no money in their belts,
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 town.
In other words, dear church,
go into the world with authority and power,
but go with nothing.
Be vulnerable.
Be utterly dependent on
those . . . to whom . . . you . . . are . . . sent.
Would you go, under those terms?
All you have, as a resource,
is this intangible and invisible thing called “authority.”
And even that’s not something you can prove you have.
No signed certificate.
No keys to the city.
No special access code.
No one even knows you have “authority,”
until you can demonstrate it in some convincing way.
Instead, the posture you take,
as you present yourself to the world as a representative of Jesus,
is a posture of utter neediness. Vulnerability. Dependency.
And with one tunic, almost, nakedness.
Who does this?
Jesus expected his disciples to.
And I just have a hunch, he still does.
No, I’m not being a literalist, here.
It’s no sin to pack a suitcase when you travel.
But I think what we are asked to do,
is just as difficult,
as going somewhere with literally nothing on our backs.
We are asked to be vulnerable and exposed,
while we are stewards of the power of the Gospel.
You might know that the church, as an institution,
doesn’t have a very good track record with vulnerability.
We build protective structures around us.
We strike a pose that asserts power.
When we make mistakes, we usually dig in.
We protect our assets.
We have often packaged the Gospel into handy containers,
so we can go out to those who need it,
and distribute it like goodie bags,
from a position of power.
Because we have it and they don’t.
Jesus is preparing his followers to live out the Gospel,
in power, and with vulnerability.
Both . . . at the same time.
Hmm. No, I’m not saying the church,
or we as individual disciples,
must divest ourselves of everything we need to survive,
and start bumming off everyone else—
being a parasite,
instead of providing for ourselves.
Jesus’ decision in Mark 6 to send out his disciples
with nothing in their hands,
had a specific context and time and purpose,
that doesn’t exist for us right here, and right now.
But I do believe, within Jesus’ instructions was a universal principle,
just as relevant today, as it was then.
And that is this:
Know that the Gospel has power to transform this world,
and to transform lives.
Know that you can be a channel of that power to others.
But go toward others with a deep humility,
a profound awareness of your own need
and your own brokenness.
Go toward others knowing they have something of great value
that they can offer you.
And put yourself in a position to receive it.
Learn to not be self-sufficient.
Approach others with honest curiosity.
Desire to know them more deeply,
and be prepared to love and respect them—as they are—
not as you hope they will someday become.
When we can pair that kind of power with that kind of vulnerability,
I think we will have learned what Jesus was teaching his disciples.
And I think we’ll find that others will see that character in us,
and experience it as authenticity and authority.
I see far too many Christians today who live life on the defensive.
From the local level to the national level,
Christians are organizing to assert their power
in coercive ways.
Dare I say, even violent ways.
Christian Nationalism is a dangerous ideological movement,
being actively promoted by
many political and religious leaders,
to impose Christian authority on a society, on a state.
The Jesus I read about in the Gospels,
must shudder in anger and grief,
at what has become of his Gospel.
But it’s not just those more extreme examples
that we should be concerned about.
Defensive Christianity is a temptation for every congregation,
and every follower of Jesus.
I’m often guilty of it, and so are we all.
We do like having control.
We do like holding on to what’s ours, to our stuff,
to our power, to our position in the community.
If the Gospel has the power to transform us all—
and I believe it does—
then Jesus’ invitation is to let go of our controlling grasp,
and allow the Gospel do its healing and transforming work—
in us and in those around us—
and let its authority speak for itself.
We’re not doing the Gospel any favors
by striking a defensive posture.
The Gospel doesn’t need us to validate it, or prove its worth.
It can stand on its own feet.
We only need to be able to notice and say “no,”
whenever we see this defensiveness in ourselves,
or whenever we are expected to go along with
those who try to co-opt the Gospel,
for personal or institutional or political gain.
May God give us grace, and give us clarity.
Join me in our confession that we offer together.
one God who calls us to be on the move together,
all Forgive us when we stay put.
one God who calls us to exercise the
compassionate power of the Gospel,
all Forgive us when we fail to recognize the gift we have to share.
one God who calls us to follow Jesus in humility and vulnerability,
all Forgive us when we build systems that protect and stockpile.
[silence]
one The God whose mission is to save, redeem, and heal the world,
freely forgives us for faltering in our witness,
and invites us yet again to steward the Gospel
with confidence and in deep humility.
—Phil Kniss, April 7, 2024
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