Mark 6:1-13
[Jesus] 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.
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Over the weekend, one of my long-time best friends was cleaning out some boxes in her basement and found a picture of the two of us from, if I’m remembering correctly, my eighth-grade birthday party.
We’re both rocking some amazingly big, round glasses - hers, wire-framed, mine red and plastic (the irony of my current eyewear is not lost on me!). We’re both wearing comically oversized t-shirts. I’m wearing a necklace with a clay pendant that I’m pretty sure I made myself. And the thing is, we both look so, so happy.
It’s strange to go back to old pictures like this, or to read old journals, or to find old mixed tapes; to unearth devotional booklets from middle school church trips, old collections of toys and trinkets, former favorite books: there’s been a lot of this for me in the past year as we’ve been cleaning out my childhood home.
I look back at all of these things with equal parts nostalgia and embarrassment. Because even though there are lots of lovely memories, it is also so strange to think about the many and various past versions of myself, especially the ones that are most different than the person I am right now. And yet, even if I feel far distant from the person I was at eleven or fifteen or twenty-one, the truth is that at every one of those moments in the past, I was 100% authentic to myself. Like, it wasn’t that I wasn’t me in 1996 and I am somehow actually me now. I was truly myself then, and am truly myself now, just the definition of “me” has kept changing. And will keep changing.
Maybe you remember a few years back when ArtHaus hosted “Cringe Night,” an open mic where people were invited to read from old journals and to scrounge up their most cringeworthy adolescent poetry. Cringe Night is a testament to the fact that we all share the experience of recognizing the gap between our past selves and our present selves. That gap can be pretty hilarious and awkward and embarrassing.
It’s part of growing up, of course. We get older and we change; we grow into our relationships, we refine our interests and our passions, we learn better and better how to interact with the world.
We generally expect this process of growing up and change to happen.
There’s a storyline in an episode of the sitcom “Friends” where one character, in her adult years, finally gets to go on a date with the guy who was the popular heartthrob back in high school. She’s so excited to go on the date, but as the night goes on, she comes to learn that, while she has continued to grow into her career and her adult life, he is still riding the same motorcycle he was riding in high school, and still wearing his high school letter jacket, and still working at the movie theater concession stand just as he did in high school, and is still living at home, and still has a curfew. Needless to say, there’s not a second date.
Things get weird when people don’t change like we expect them to.
And things also get weird when people do change and we are unprepared to let them, or to see who they newly are.
We expect people to change and grow…except when we don’t.
Ask anyone who has had to face the decline of parents who had once seemed invincible. Or family members and friends who are genuinely surprised by a loved one’s coming out. Or those who watch a loved one find or lose their religion. There are plenty of moments where we struggle with or resist people’s growth and change, especially when those changes ask us to change, too.
This is the conflict in today’s gospel. Jesus has returned to his hometown after crisscrossing the Sea of Galilee, performing exorcisms and healing people of diseases and teaching with wisdom and authority, doing everything that he proclaimed the Kingdom of God should be. At first, the hometown crowd is amazed by him and the news of his deeds of power.
But then, somebody thinks to ask, “Isn’t this Mary’s son, you know, that lady who got pregnant ‘by the Holy Spirit,’? The carpenter’s kid?” And whether it’s out of jealousy or out of a total inability to see Jesus for anything other than his parents and the kid he was growing up, the hometown crowd starts to turn cynical and unkind.
Whoever Jesus is, right now, is not compatible with what they want or expect Jesus to be. And as they refuse him their faith and support, so also does Jesus lose the power and the will to keep following his heart and demonstrating his calling among them.
It’s worthwhile for us, as people of faith who continue to grow and change in this world, to check in, every now and again, with who we think we know Jesus to be. Because I suspect that each of us has certain expectations that we, ourselves, have about who Jesus is and what Jesus should be doing. Some of these ideas are true and faithful, and some of these ideas that try to put Jesus back into a box we have created for him.
Whatever we think we know Jesus to be…what would happen if we gave him a second look?
Would we see a miracle-worker?
A fierce advocate for the poor and critic of wealth?
A healer of body, mind, and spirit?
A passionate rebel against systems of oppression?
A wise and witty teacher?
A friend?
A nomad?
A mystic?
What would happen if we let Jesus defy all our expectations? If we took apart our preconceived notions and graven images, and let ourselves get to know Jesus all over again for who he is, right now, in this moment?
Author Sarah Miles writes, “Jesus trusts that humans have the power to truly see him ourselves. He believes that our mortal bodies, our experiences here on earth, are enough to bear and hold God. He knows we can find him in our own flesh, and in the flesh of others.”
We see Jesus most truly, most clearly, when we approach him with wonder and humility and openness, and when we expect to see him in the unexpected.
What if we approached each other the same way?
What if we didn’t just give lip service to the idea that everyone grows and changes, but actually believed it to be true? What if we overestimated rather than underestimated each other’s capacity for growth and change and compassion?
Because, truth be told, we live in a pretty cynical world. And for every self-help meme that crosses your Instagram feed urging you to be gentle with yourself and to have compassion for one another’s journey, there’s also that person down the street who sports a bumper sticker or lawn sign that causes you to write them off as the thing you assume them to be; and there’s that person who you saw the worst of at some point in the past, and you have yet to allow them to update their image in your mind and heart.
Perhaps one of the greatest acts of faith we could offer to Jesus, and one of the greatest acts of grace we could offer one another, is simply the question, “Who are you, right now?”
Imagine what it would feel like to be asked that question - the freedom to be seen and known for who you are right here and right now. The freedom to speak your needs and your dreams as they are, not as they once were. The freedom to be known, deeply and truly, for the person you are at this exact moment in your journey.
Maybe this is why Jesus sends the disciples out empty-handed for the next stage in their journey of discipleship. So that people could see them not for what they carried, not for images of their hometowns, family groups, or former professions, but simply for the good works they were doing and the good news they were sharing.
And maybe the blessing for us is that Jesus sends us into the world the same way. Empty-handed and fleet-footed and unhindered.
This, of course, does not mean that we ignore or overlook the things in our past that have caused others harm; part of being who we are now is taking seriously who we have been, and righting the wrongs that that we have caused.
Especially on this Independence Day, we do well to recognize the cost of our own freedoms, and to continue to work for the liberation of those who are still oppressed and still harmed by actions and attitudes of those who came before us.
Humility about our own journeys is part of what allows us to offer others the mercy of seeing them in the present tense. Making amends for the harms we have done is what opens us up to allow others to defy our preconceived notions of them. And this is all an act of faith.
This world has plenty of baggage about who Jesus is and who Christians are. Plenty of old images and preconceived notions. Some of them warranted. Some not.
Our calling, then, is to live in this world like the disciples who are sent into the villages, living out, in the present tense, the mercy and hope and healing of Jesus that still has the power to amaze and startle us. We go into the world humbly and honestly. We invite others to share their stories. We open our hearts. We give people second chances. We are always willing to be surprised by God and by one another.
And we share the journey, knowing that we are shaped by the roads we have traveled, refined by the hardships we have faced, amused by our absurdities, humbled by our missteps, strengthened by our companions, and guided, each step of the way, by our faith in the one who always defies our expectations, and who always urges us forward toward all of the new things God is doing in us and in this world.