Heaving Against the Hinges

This past March, in a spring break trip to the Diebel Holy Lands, we visited two of the historic sites of the Texas Revolution: the Alamo, where on March 6, 1836 Mexican soldiers under General Santa Anna killed over two hundred besieged defenders fighting for Texas independence; and the mission La Bahia near Goliad where, on Palm Sunday of that same year, hundreds of captured Texans were led out in three directions and massacred from behind. These two tragic battles inspired the eventual victory of the Texans at the battle of San Jacinto in what is now Houston, rallying under the cries “Remember the Alamo, remember Goliad.” The sites, in and of themselves, are quite simple, but the stories they represent, and the revolution they accomplished are moving – at least to a Texan.

But of course Texas hasn’t been the only scene of a revolution. The Mexicans, themselves, had already fought a war of independence from Spain. There was the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, the French Revolution, and India’s successful battle for independence from England. And then there was that other revolution involving England that we celebrated just days ago that pitted the Red Coats against a determined army of American colonists bent on liberty and self-rule.

As you remember from history books, tension had been building between the colonial Mother and Child for some time. Britain had passed a series of laws tightening control on their American dependants who had grown accustomed to a large measure of self-government. The laws – especially those involving taxation – were not well-received, and tensions began to mount. Eventually, the British government mobilized troops to quell the rebellion, but that action only made matters worse.

On July 2, 1776, the Continental Congress declared the American Colonies free and independent states. But it took the delegates two days to agree on a formal document announcing their action. On July 4, the Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence. In some ways it was a foolish decision. We were ill-prepared to fight a war – we didn’t have an army nor a government to direct it. What we had, however, was conviction, determination, and a deep sense that something was profoundly wrong with the status quo. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Ever since then, July 4 has been celebrated as our nation's birthday. The founders would be pleased, if not surprised. John Adams said, "I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward for evermore."

Of course not all revolutions are military. We have seen an industrial revolution that changed the way we manufacture goods. We have lived through a sexual revolution that changed that way we talk about and practice that most intimate part of ourselves. We have participated in an informational revolution that, with the advent of the personal computer, has changed the way we process data and communicate with each other. And just a week ago technophiles celebrated a small technological revolution with the introduction of the iPhone.

“Revolution” simply refers to a fundamental change that replaces an old way of being or thinking or acting with a new one because of widespread dissatisfaction with the existing one. That dissatisfaction might be centered around poverty and injustice under cruel, corrupt, or incapable rulers. It may have to do with new ideas or new discoveries or previously unrealized opportunities. Wherever it occurs, however, a revolution needs strong leaders who can use unsatisfactory conditions to unite people under a program that promises something better.

John Kenneth Galbraith once observed that “All successful revolutions are the kicking in of a rotten door.” And so it was that Jesus came, stirring a revolution – heaving against the hinges; kicking in the rotten doors of a spirituality and a way of community that could not support life. It would be neither a quick nor an easy victory. What had begun with his own witness and ministry, he expanded to the ministry of an intimate circle of disciples. In the passage before us, that revolutionary mission is expanded even further. Seventy – in some ancient manuscripts the number is seventy-two – are sent out extend the vision of God’s shalom – God’s ultimate brand of peace.

The opportunities, Jesus told them, are plentiful. There simply aren’t enough seizing those opportunities. There will be challenges, but you will be equipped. Travel light, keep focused, and work in pairs. Why pairs? For one reason, according to Mosaic law, two witnesses were required for a testimony to be credible. In addition, given the rigors of travel in those days it simply made good sense.

Then Jesus gave three more instructions. When you enter a town,

· Eat what is given you without prejudice or snobbery;

· Heal the sick;

· Extend your gift of peace.

And when you leave, whether or not you have been accepted, let people know that in your presence the Kingdom of God has drawn near to them.

In some ways it is a straight forward story – a slice of life from the ministry of Jesus. But in another sense it might be for us an uncomfortable story. Here are the many being commissioned for ministry, not merely the few. We have gotten quite accustomed to viewing ministry as the proprietary work of the clergy and those specially trained and sent overseas. Firmly ensconced is the understanding that “I can go and visit, I can be a friend, but it isn’t ‘ministry’ until ‘the Minister’ does it.”

But more and more we are being challenged by the culture in which we exist and the voice within our hearts to test our definition of and practice of mission. Is it finally enough to work with and through specific individuals in our own congregation, and agencies and institutions of our denomination to satisfy our own call to mission, or do we have some personal responsibility as well? It’s hard not to get the sense from this passage that the commission for ministry is handed to all of us who call ourselves disciples.

So what would it look like if each of us took that commission seriously? What would it look like for each of us to involve ourselves personally in Christ’s revolution of peace? According to the instructions given the seventy, it would involve some large measure of hospitality – sitting down with others, on their terms, and receiving what they have to give at the same time we are sharing what is ours. It would involve a new measure of gracious acceptance that sets aside the cultural and philosophical boundaries that typically divide us, and share in acts of community.

It would involve an intentional and faithful practice of the faith. This isn’t a head trip on which Jesus is sending his missionaries, a floating classroom in which having the “right ideas” is all that’s required. There is work to be done. There are wounds in the flesh of community; there are tears in the human fabric that need attention. There is healing to be done – concrete acts of mercy and deliberate works of justice and compassion.

And there is a different way toward which to point. Life moves so fast these days, activities spin so rapidly that we can pass through our days “heads down” – immersed in the affairs of the moment (“life is so daily” someone once said) that we are prone to forget the future. Looking at our feet, we neglect to watch where we are going. It is our job not only to work for what God wants, be also to call attention publicly to what God wants. We are to announce a “revolution of peace” – of shalom.

There is a subtle postscript included in the story of the disciples’ return. Joy characterizes the experience of the disciples who have obeyed Jesus’ mission charge. We often view discipleship as onerous, difficult, and self-depriving. These disciples in the story would simply look back at us who hold such a view with a look of utter confusion. What they found in faithfulness was joy. Yes it was difficult. Yes, there was disappointment. Yes, not everybody joined in and sang along. But in the midst of it all was joy.

In a world so preoccupied with individual “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” wouldn’t it be nice to be filled, instead, with joy. The evidence daily surrounds us that the doors of our civilization are rotting – violence on the roads, shootings in the schools, corporate warfare, economic abuse that widens the gulf between rich and poor, one addiction or another, interpersonal disregard, and suicide. Jesus invites us to participate in a revolution far more dramatic than any holiday currently on the calendar can celebrate. To receive your commission, place your shoulder against the sagging hinges, and heave through the rotting door, that something powerfully good and abundant fill the void.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to spend one’s life: bringing near the kingdom of God.