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July 1, 2007 Rev. Steve Gehlert "And it came to pass when the time was come, he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem." Jesus turned. He went to Jerusalem when he could've gone to Galilee. These are places on a map; but they're also places in your soul. Galilee is where Jesus came from, a place of simple people, home, safety. Jesus spent most of his life there without attracting the world's notice. Galilee is what you're familiar with, what you feel safe, secure, and comfortable with, The word Jerusalem means "peace," but Jesus knew that's not what it would mean for him. He knew it would be a place of struggle and pain. For him, Galilee meant peace, a haven, home. Jerusalem meant suffering and death, but that's what he set his face toward. The Greek idiom in the Gospel is "he made his face into hard flint to go to Jerusalem." Let's think about that hard-set face. You set your face hard when you're trying to do something that's not easy, that's a struggle, that takes all your strength. Going to Jerusalem was a struggle for Jesus. Don't think that Jesus was done with temptation earlier, after his baptism, out in the wilderness. He was tempted all the way to Jerusalem, tempted to turn back, back to the safety of Galilee. Two roads diverged, one led back to Galilee, to home and safety, another to Jerusalem and betrayal, suffering and death. Imagine if you had to make that choice. Out there, beyond the green fields, is Nazareth, quaint village close to the sea of Galilee. Surely in Galilee there were plenty of people in need, bodies to be healed, scripture to be taught, and little children to be blessed. Settle in, settle down in Galilee. But he set his face like flint, hard as a rock, to go to Jerusalem. Mark says that when Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem, his disciples "were amazed." They sensed what awaited him there. Stay out here with us good country folk; let the city fend for itself. When Jesus set off toward Jerusalem, his friends were "afraid." Afraid for him; afraid for themselves - those milling, thronging crowds in Jerusalem, whipped up into a frenzy by the coming Passover celebration. Just a little spark, a too passionate sermon, a wrong word here or there and the whole thing would explode. He set his face toward Jerusalem and his followers were afraid. You know, there are two words we almost never put together: struggle and spirituality. Spirituality is what you feel when you're at peace. "I'm attempting to engage in spirituality," she said, "to become more centered." Yes, that's the function of faith, to be more centered, stable, steady, secure. If you ask many people why they come to worship. Know what they say? "I come for peace, to calm my nerves. I've got a busy job, many demands, tension. The place and the music help me to settle down and be at peace." That's the spirituality we often seek, and expect to find it here. That's not the spirituality Jesus found. In Galilee there was time for quiet walks and meditations delivered under an olive tree. But when he got to Jerusalem he flipped over the tables in the Temple. He prayed with great drops of sweat like blood and white knuckles in Gethsemane. He struggled. He didn't want to go; but he had to go. He embodied a virtue that's out of fashion among us: obedience. I see him hesitating a moment before those road signs pointing in opposite directions - one back to safety in Galilee, another to peril in Jerusalem. And then he said, "Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done." Yes, the word is obedience. And, today, nobody wants to hear it. But thank God, Jesus was willing to hear it, and do it. He just said, "The time is fulfilled." He set his head down and charged the line. He gritted his teeth, in obedience to his Father. The word is obedience. To the end it was struggle, and it was obedience, bowing before, submitting to, an unknown, unseen future, laying it all in God's hands. No wonder his followers were amazed, or afraid, to have their tomorrow out of their controlling hands and into God's hands. “Thy will be done on earth,” he prayed. And it was then, that another word broke in upon them, opening up struggle and obedience. Let's call that word love. The greatest sacrifices, biggest risks, most daring ventures are done out of love. Biologists will tell you that our strongest drive at birth is self-preservation. But if we're fortunate, as we grow, and other lives touch ours, we're given to a higher drive, a more noble virtue, the source of the best that we do where struggle and obedience melt and we're most truly who we're created to be. The word amid the betrayal and the blood and the suffering of Jerusalem is an ultimately triumphant one, love. You'll never explain his setting his face toward Jerusalem and his massive sacrifice, without love. Love makes the struggle possible. Love confronts the fear; not taking it away, but giving strength to do what's loving even in the face of rejection, struggle, and pain. Two men were coming down a factory staircase and of one of them threw the lighted end of a cigarette into what he thought was a fire bucket filled with water. Well, the water turned out to be gasoline. There was a sudden spurt of flame. One instinctively, ran downstairs to save his skin. The other, just as instinctively ran upstairs to warn the people in the floor above. Which self takes over in such a time? The downstairs self, or the upstairs self? The Galilee self? Or the Jerusalem self? When I heard this story, I thought of those in our faith family who are willing to give themselves again and again for the rest of us. I think of those who take on the burdens of responsibility, of not being sure of what the right decision is, but who are still willing to take the responsibility of making it, of making decisions and plans that everyone's free to criticize, because they know someone has to do it, and they care enough to be the ones, though that also means taking the criticism and the anger that sometimes comes to anyone who's willing to love enough to stick their neck out, be involved, take responsibility, act. There aren't many of them; but thank God for them. Thank God that some are able to love enough to accept the burden of struggle, conflict, and pain. When love goes to its deepest level, it's able to forget self-interest and become sacrificial. True love is impossible without sacrifice. Those who hold back, who live for self, who do their best to avoid commitment and responsibility, may throw the word “love” around, but they still haven't learned what it is. Love is love when it's given away for others. Jesus went to Jerusalem, into the breach, into the fray, for love. That's what he was obedient to, when he set his face that way. For you and me there are two roads, one to Galilee, one to Jerusalem. In goodness God grants us time in quiet Galilee. But in love God also brings us to those turning points when we're confronted with the possibility of either an easy way out, or a time of struggle, obedience, sacrifice, and love. It's harder and harder for us to understand that to follow Christ, to his disciple means to turn as he did, and accept that time of struggle, obedience, sacrifice, and love. Jim Wallis says that in our narcissistic culture "conversion" to Christ has been reduced mere therapy, in which we ask what Jesus will do for us rather than what we can do for Jesus. He says, “The Gospel message has been molded to suit an increasingly narcissistic culture. Conversion is proclaimed as the road to self-realization. Faith is presented as a way to uncover our human potential - our potential for personal, social, and business success, that is. Modern conversion brings Jesus into our lives rather than bringing us into his. We're told Jesus is here to help us to do better than what we're already doing. Jesus doesn't change our lives, he improves them. Conversion is just for ourselves, not for the world. We ask how Jesus can fulfill our lives, not how we might serve his kingdom.” He's talking about an approach to our faith that some have labeled, not too charitably, as the "Prosperity Gospel." The substance of this "gospel" is that Jesus is the solution to your problems, a means of making your life more pleasant, the way to fix whatever ails you, even your financial woes. This "Prosperity Gospel" is a natural result of the practice so common in our world, which is to think of everything, even faith in terms of its benefits, in terms of “what it does for me.” Need more "meaning" in your life? Jesus can fix that. Need a little lift? Jesus can give you what you need. Today's Gospel appears to be quite another notion of "gospel." It's understandable that we should think of the Christian life as a matter of finding peace, joy, and all the other Galilean virtues. Those things are God's gift to us. But they're gifts that last only if we're willing to take another road, the road that Jesus took when he set his face toward Jerusalem, when, in obedience to love, he confronted the fear, and took the road he knew would lead to struggle and pain. It's down that road, the road where we have to die to ourselves in order to live for God and others, that in the midst of, and beyond, the pain and struggle, we find true peace and joy. Where are you willing to let love take you? |
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