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He 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 hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and 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 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 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.

For some reason, our neighborhood in Greensboro felt like the epicenter for church-related door-to-door activity. Many Saturday mornings we’d get a knock on the door from our friendly neighborhood Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’d chit chat on the front porch, read their magazine, try and figure out if I was one the 144,000 that would be saved. I’m still not sure. We also had a lot of Mormons. You would see them, college-aged gentleman, in black pants, white shirts, black ties. Two by two, they would come. In the rain, they were riding their bikes. In the sweltering heat, they walked the streets, knocking on doors, bearing witness to their faith. I’m not sure if I could have that kind of commitment. One day I was visiting Andy. A member of the church in Greensboro, he lived a few blocks from me. Andy had just turned ninety. We would visit as we walked around his garden or inspected his beehives. He had a great sense of humor. One afternoon one of the Mormon guys came to his door. Andy was excited. “It’s great you’re here! My preacher is, too. Why don’t you come in and talk with him,” he said, with a smirk as he glanced back at me.

This guy couldn’t have been twenty, and he was hot, and tired. Andy got him a glass of water, and he sat down full of questions. I tried to offer appropriate pastoral empathy, asking how hard it was to be out there day after day. “Its amazing the things people say to you,” he said. “Good or bad?” I asked. “Awful,” he said. “Just down the street, a woman came out of her house, came down the driveway yelling at me to leave.” He was fascinated by this funny name, Presbyterian, wanted to understand who we are. I, trying to be generous, glossed over theological differences, explaining in delightful detail of our form of government, the ways we try and live out our faith. After a while, he interrupted. “Excuse me,” he said. “You all do believe in Jesus, don’t you?” He knew who his Jesus was, and wanted to make sure it was the same one I was talking about.

The folks in Nazareth knew Jesus, too. He left his hometown a ‘nobody.’ But everything turned at that baptism, when he went out to John at the Jordan and the clouds parted and his ministry began.[1] We have heard in recent weeks how he calmed the storm, how he crossed boundaries of gender and class to heal both Jairus’ daughter and the hemorrhaging woman. Today he goes home. It goes about as well as most of those Mormon guy’s visits go. The people who grew up with him had already decided who he was. God couldn’t be working through this guy, Mary’s son, the carpenter. They took offense at him, Mark writes. And – in a really interesting part of the text - their lack of faith somehow limits his power.

Mark then shifts gears. If things don’t work at home, let’s take this show on the road. He sends those disciples out, two by two, giving them authority to be a part of his ministry. They are to take nothing with them, were sent out to embody the goodness of Jesus but not to linger if ministry in his name was not gladly embraced.[2] After this warning, Mark tells of their success. “So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent,” he writes. “They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.”

This is a text about the barriers to discipleship – what keeps us from following, and what we could do about it. In the first section, it is about the people’s preconceived ideas about who Jesus is. They had Him nicely boxed in as an everyday fellow – surely nothing exceptional. God couldn’t be working there. We do the same, when we pick sides in our disputes, when Jesus all of the sudden becomes a Democrat or Republican, for universal health care, for free market forces, pro-life or pro-choice, for traditional or contemporary worship, only in solidarity with the poor, only applicable to our personal spiritual lives. We pick the Jesus we like and carry Him around in our pocket, pulling Him out when we need Him, when things get hard, when the relationship ruptures or the diagnosis comes. The rest of the time we leave Him on the shelf to collect dust, hoping He stays out of our business. We have work to do, for goodness’ sake.

But Jesus keeps coming, pest that He is. Will Willimon points out that Jesus expends more time and detail in telling His disciples what not to take as disciples on a mission rather than in telling them what to take.[3] This is a text about stewardship. It is about what we choose to take with us, and what we choose to leave behind as we seek to follow Jesus. It is about the decisions we make about what cars to drive, what kind of clothes to wear, what kind of home we live in. It is about what we save and what we spend, what we give away to the church or anywhere else. How do you make those kinds of decisions? What criteria do you use? I think Mark is challenging us to travel light. The things we take with us – whether our preconceived ideas about how God works, or the stuff to which we cling – these things keep us from effectively sharing and living the Gospel. We have to set these things aside. Anything worth doing, worth caring about, worth committing to, requires something of us. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, in words that have become virtually scripture in any conversation about discipleship: “Cheap grace is the preaching of … forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is … grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ living and incarnate. Costly grace is … the gospel which must be sought again and again. The gift which must be asked for, the door at which one must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs us our lives. It is grace because it gives us the only true life.”[4]

I got to do something remarkable on your behalf this week. As you may have seen in the newsletter, we have made some decisions about the money you all so generously gave for our Westminster Presbyterian Church Economic Stimulus Plan. We have learned so much about so many good organizations. We have chosen to give $25,000 to Urban Ministries of Durham, to pay to keep their shelter running – to house 140 people per night - for three weeks. They are in a really tough financial spot: needs up 25% across the board from a year ago, donations down that amount or more over the same period. We could not imagine the implications if they had to reduce services. We also chose to give $25,000 to seed a fund for the Adult System of Care, a relatively new organization that gathers groups of professionals in the areas of law, finance, mental health, substance abuse, housing, around a table with one person with deep needs to help develop a plan for them. They get everyone in the same room and empower the person to take the next steps to improve their lives. I had the privilege of sending emails with a copy of the letter in the newsletter, informing them of our decision. As you would guess, I got phone calls back pretty quickly, filled with gratitude and energy and hope. That happened because you all decided your journey was better with a little less stuff. You took a risk again, dug deeper again, to meet needs in these difficult times. The Director of Adult System of Care, Ann Oshel, left me a message while I was on the phone. She was so excited. She said she could see the faces of the people we had helped, the people they were trying to help and would right now with the money you gave. “Those faces have hope now,” she said.

I tell you this by way of gratitude, but also to challenge us to keep up the work of meeting needs. This work is not as an ‘extra’, but is an indispensible piece of our own spiritual health. We continue to gather for Next Step Housing, for Threshold, for the Hispanic Presbyterian Church across town. We do this work for them, to be sure. But we also do it because our discipleship demands it of us. Christ empowers us to head out on the road, two by two, group by group, to engage a world where He is already at work. Mark reminds us again that the best way to engage that world is by traveling light - letting go of the ideas and things that hold us down and moving, with open hands, towards the cross.

That is our goal, after all. It is at that cross we are reconciled and transformed and sent. But not so we can take the easy road and stay the way we are. Not so we can continue to embrace a world that values accumulation and ignorance and violence. But so we can live into the hope to which we are called – a hope filled with joy and sacrifice and abiding love. As you pack for the beach these warm days, you have to sort out what’s important and what’s not. This summer might be a good time – around your house, within your spirit – to make sure you too are traveling light.

[1] Mark 1:9.

[2] Brian Blount and Gary Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices, (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2002), p 99-100.

[3] William H. Willimon, Pulpit Resource, Vol. 37, No. 3, Year B, p 5

[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer as quoted in David Augsburger, Dissident Discipleship: A Spirituality of Self-Surrender, Love of God and Love of Neighbor, Brazos Press, 2005, pp.209-210, from Pulpit Resource, p 8.