A Journey and a Return
After this, the Lord chose 72 more
followers. He sent them out in groups of two. He sent them ahead of him
into every town and place where he planned to go. He said to them,
“There is such a big harvest of people to bring in. But there are only a
few workers to help harvest them. God owns the harvest. Ask him to send
more workers to help bring in his harvest. You can go now. But listen! I
am sending you, and you will be like sheep among wolves. Don’t carry
any money, a bag, or sandals. Don’t stop to talk with people on the
road. Before you go into a house, say, ‘Peace be with this home.’ If the
people living there love peace, your blessing of peace will stay with
them. But if not, your blessing of peace will come back to you. Stay in
the peace-loving house. Eat and drink what the people there give you. A
worker should be given his pay. Don’t leave that house to stay in
another house. If you go into a town and the people welcome you, eat the
food they give you. Heal the sick people who live there, and tell them,
‘God’s kingdom is now very near you!’ But if you go into a town and the
people don’t welcome you, then go out into the streets of that town and
say, ‘Even the dirt from your town that sticks to our feet we wipe off
against you. But remember that God’s kingdom is coming soon.’”
When the 72 followers came back from
their trip, they were very happy. They said, “Lord, even the demons
obeyed us when we used your name!” Luke 10:1-11, 17
They
were light-headed with giddiness! What an honor! What a promotion! What
power they would have. What fame would be theirs when the crowds
figured out they were the opening act for Jesus the miracle worker. The
72, hand-picked by Jesus, already wove fantasies about the trip. Just
imagine thousands of people filling the valley, listening to their
message. Ok, it was actually the Master’s message, but in their fantasy,
it was the 72 who preached to the multitude. In their wild dreams,
flocks of needy people formed lines to be healed while the 72 fixed them
all up, and kicked a few demons out while they were at its. They could
hardly wait to get going.
First, though, Jesus had some advice … more like conditions. The 72 would go out without Google calendars and smart phones, without even a bag of Chex Mix to nosh along the way. Jesus says, “Don’t bother with suitcases because what you’re wearing is all you will need – and that includes just one pair of shoes. There is no rental car – you will have to walk. And you’re not staying at the Raddison– I don’t care if they do have free continental breakfast. We don’t even have the budget for Airbnb. You will have to ask for free lodging wherever you go. When you enter a town, pick a house and ask for some hospitality. The homeowners might be eager to provide. Then again, they may not be. If it’s yes, go and be a good guest. Eat all your vegetables and don’t worry about the portion sizes or whether you get desert. Give your peace to all who live there. Just as easily, you’ll come across some residents who would host a nest of rats before they invite you in. They will feel scared and threatened by the healing and exorcisms. They will say, ‘Not in my backyard are you going to treat the mentally ill – they must be rapists, murderers, thieves, and, “Hello!” they’re scary.’ They will disrupt your meetings and try to harm you. You won’t be able to convince these people. Don’t try to talk sense into them. Shake the sand off your feet and walk away.
Wow, buzz-kill. Nevertheless, the 72 go off two-by-two to save the world, with glorious, romantic notions about expanding the Kingdom of God.
Jesus’ instructions remind me of Rev. John’s directions to the youth before they left on their Summer mission trip to New Jersey. He said, “We are going to serve God by helping rebuild homes. Don’t take anything extra with you. One suitcase, that’s it. You will sleep on the floor of a school building. You will work hard and get grimy. You might get a shower after work. No phones. No electronics, no valuables. Some people you meet will be grateful. Some will be difficult to work with. Remember, this is not vacation. We are building relationships with each other, with God, and with the people we serve, so let’s not get distracted.” At least, that’s what I heard him say. Our youth and adult volunteers journeyed in small groups to rebuild lives with hammers, paint brushes, and the message that God’s love draws near.
I’ve been on a journey for five months while away on sabbatical and vacation. I did not do much travelling during my time away from CCC. Not in the traditional sense. My journey was less about a destination, and more about learning my bounds, pushing my body and my mind beyond self-imposed limits, and learning how to come back from injury and failure.
Part of my journey included overseeing the final edits and publication of my first book. It’s called The Space Between: Spiritual Activism in an Age of Fear, and it came out last April. I’m proud to say that a few people other than my mother-in-law bought a copy … but not many more. When I started my sabbatical journey, I had big dreams. My book would be an Amazon top seller in the religious social justice sub-niche market. I would develop workshops and webinars on the material in my book, maybe go on a speaking tour, or offer an inspirational conference keynote address … perhaps some book signings. I would grow my audience, network on social media, develop curriculum and trainings, and get my perspective out into the world. I was going to become a one-person PR machine. And, while I did get to preach at two churches, my ability did not match my fantasy. I am horrible at self-promotion. I didn’t have the emotional energy to engineer a podcast. I did not follow through on 90% of that fantasy.
Truth be told, I was tired. So, after a week of switching off between sleeping and pacing frantically around my house looking for something to do, I asked myself, “What, during this sabbatical journey, will be the most life-giving gift I can offer myself?” The answer came to me in the form of endurance racing.
I know this may sound crazy, but I spent a lot of time – I mean A LOT of time — training to race in short-distance triathlons. A triathlon is a race where we swim, then bike, and then run all in one event. You may be familiar with Ironman events where athletes push themselves to extreme distances. I raced in five shorter sprint and Olympic-distance events. The Braddocks also joined some friends and members of CCC in the Defeat DIPG 6k in memory of Elijah Sundell. So, my journey was more about putting miles into training. Since the beginning of May, I swam the equivalent of 62 miles, biked 850 miles and ran 300 miles — not bad for a 47-year old dad who could not stand up straight due to chronic back pain three years ago. Speaking of not standing, I had a big bike accident in May – I skidded out on wet pavement, landed hard on my hip, and gouged up my left side from my ankle to my armpit. It set me back about a month of training and racing. I learned a few things. #1, I am not a good patient. Just ask my wife and the good people at the wound clinic. #2, I am not good with blood, even if it’s my own. Just ask my wife and the good people at the wound clinic. #3, Endurance training is hard and unpitying, and it requires sacrifices. #4, It’s true what my parents taught me: If you ride a bike, you are going to fall. The true test is whether you get back on.
I also used my journey to deepen my spiritual practices. During what feels like endless pool lap, or when I am running for an hour, I spent the time focusing on my breathing, offering prayers for my family, for our world, and for you. It’s true, I did not forget about you while I was away. Even though we were not near each other physically, I prayed for CCC with my breath.
Now that I am back, I will confess, I expected a lot from a sabbatical. At first, I developed a fantasy of what it would be. In my mind everything went together perfectly. There were no falls, no failures, no major plumbing accidents with a broken pipe spraying water into my basement on the day of a huge party we hosted for our son’s graduation (I will save that story for another time). I dreamed that my old self would be shed and a new-and-improved me would return, ready to revitalize the church. My return to CCC would be a grand and glorious vision and I felt ready to get back to the work of ministry.
I did not listen to Jesus any more than did the 72. What was waiting for me? A moldy, flooded social hall, the deaths of some beloved members of our church, ongoing issues of trying to figure out what God wants us to do and who is going to do it and how are we going to finance it, tragedies in families, and all the tough conversations about money and budgets that I secretly hoped would be resolved before I came back – another naïve fantasy. I returned, not joyfully, but cautiously at first. It was not what I had expected. It felt like there was no recognizable change in or in our church.
Then I looked again … More good happened here than I thought at first glance. I saw volunteers who worked heroically, around the clock, to keep our church dry during the flooding. I saw our CCC staff who kept ministry going. I saw people who stepped up to lead worship and provide spiritual nurture. I learned all the guest preachers I lined up actually showed up – no one skipped out or forgot. Some of the most inspiring preachers were our own members who spoke about how faith intersects with their lives. We all learned that we can do more than we thought when we are apart, and it’s a lot easier around here when we are all back together.
The sabbatical journey brought newness. There is some newness to me: a new haircut, a summer tan, a few pounds slimmer. Beyond the surface, the journey provided the space we all needed to think objectively about what’s next for me and for us. After much thought and listening for the Divine Spirit’s guidance, it is clear to me that God is calling us to a new season at CCC. It will not be a season of gathering but a season of sending. Like the 72, God is sending us out together. Jettison the fantasies of greatness and the lure to power. Forget about the dreams of grandeur where we open the doors and hundreds of people flock to Colesville Road to join us on a Sunday morning. I think God about to send us out – sent to heal what is ailing in our community; sent to drive out the demons of abused, malignant, privileged power in our world; sent to proclaim the supremacy of diversity; sent to preach compassionate justice; sent to offer God’s over-the-top welcome to those who feel forgotten, or worse, abused, by Christianity. Our journey ahead will require sacrifice, hard work, and commitment. Sometimes our message will be accepted. Other times it might feel like we injured.
When we go on a journey, we are going to lose our way occasionally. The true test is whether we can get back on the path – whether we can find and follow the Way.
Christian people are sent people. Journeying people. If we want to understand our faith, we must live it along the Way. Some realities only make sense at a soup kitchen, or on the steps of the Capitol, or at a hospital bed, or mentoring children after school, or in any one of the countless of places in the world where people cry out for mercy, for the bread of justice, for the cup of compassion. Even today, Jesus sends his followers, carrying only the message that God’s love draws near.
First, though, Jesus had some advice … more like conditions. The 72 would go out without Google calendars and smart phones, without even a bag of Chex Mix to nosh along the way. Jesus says, “Don’t bother with suitcases because what you’re wearing is all you will need – and that includes just one pair of shoes. There is no rental car – you will have to walk. And you’re not staying at the Raddison– I don’t care if they do have free continental breakfast. We don’t even have the budget for Airbnb. You will have to ask for free lodging wherever you go. When you enter a town, pick a house and ask for some hospitality. The homeowners might be eager to provide. Then again, they may not be. If it’s yes, go and be a good guest. Eat all your vegetables and don’t worry about the portion sizes or whether you get desert. Give your peace to all who live there. Just as easily, you’ll come across some residents who would host a nest of rats before they invite you in. They will feel scared and threatened by the healing and exorcisms. They will say, ‘Not in my backyard are you going to treat the mentally ill – they must be rapists, murderers, thieves, and, “Hello!” they’re scary.’ They will disrupt your meetings and try to harm you. You won’t be able to convince these people. Don’t try to talk sense into them. Shake the sand off your feet and walk away.
Wow, buzz-kill. Nevertheless, the 72 go off two-by-two to save the world, with glorious, romantic notions about expanding the Kingdom of God.
Jesus’ instructions remind me of Rev. John’s directions to the youth before they left on their Summer mission trip to New Jersey. He said, “We are going to serve God by helping rebuild homes. Don’t take anything extra with you. One suitcase, that’s it. You will sleep on the floor of a school building. You will work hard and get grimy. You might get a shower after work. No phones. No electronics, no valuables. Some people you meet will be grateful. Some will be difficult to work with. Remember, this is not vacation. We are building relationships with each other, with God, and with the people we serve, so let’s not get distracted.” At least, that’s what I heard him say. Our youth and adult volunteers journeyed in small groups to rebuild lives with hammers, paint brushes, and the message that God’s love draws near.
I’ve been on a journey for five months while away on sabbatical and vacation. I did not do much travelling during my time away from CCC. Not in the traditional sense. My journey was less about a destination, and more about learning my bounds, pushing my body and my mind beyond self-imposed limits, and learning how to come back from injury and failure.
Part of my journey included overseeing the final edits and publication of my first book. It’s called The Space Between: Spiritual Activism in an Age of Fear, and it came out last April. I’m proud to say that a few people other than my mother-in-law bought a copy … but not many more. When I started my sabbatical journey, I had big dreams. My book would be an Amazon top seller in the religious social justice sub-niche market. I would develop workshops and webinars on the material in my book, maybe go on a speaking tour, or offer an inspirational conference keynote address … perhaps some book signings. I would grow my audience, network on social media, develop curriculum and trainings, and get my perspective out into the world. I was going to become a one-person PR machine. And, while I did get to preach at two churches, my ability did not match my fantasy. I am horrible at self-promotion. I didn’t have the emotional energy to engineer a podcast. I did not follow through on 90% of that fantasy.
Truth be told, I was tired. So, after a week of switching off between sleeping and pacing frantically around my house looking for something to do, I asked myself, “What, during this sabbatical journey, will be the most life-giving gift I can offer myself?” The answer came to me in the form of endurance racing.
I know this may sound crazy, but I spent a lot of time – I mean A LOT of time — training to race in short-distance triathlons. A triathlon is a race where we swim, then bike, and then run all in one event. You may be familiar with Ironman events where athletes push themselves to extreme distances. I raced in five shorter sprint and Olympic-distance events. The Braddocks also joined some friends and members of CCC in the Defeat DIPG 6k in memory of Elijah Sundell. So, my journey was more about putting miles into training. Since the beginning of May, I swam the equivalent of 62 miles, biked 850 miles and ran 300 miles — not bad for a 47-year old dad who could not stand up straight due to chronic back pain three years ago. Speaking of not standing, I had a big bike accident in May – I skidded out on wet pavement, landed hard on my hip, and gouged up my left side from my ankle to my armpit. It set me back about a month of training and racing. I learned a few things. #1, I am not a good patient. Just ask my wife and the good people at the wound clinic. #2, I am not good with blood, even if it’s my own. Just ask my wife and the good people at the wound clinic. #3, Endurance training is hard and unpitying, and it requires sacrifices. #4, It’s true what my parents taught me: If you ride a bike, you are going to fall. The true test is whether you get back on.
I also used my journey to deepen my spiritual practices. During what feels like endless pool lap, or when I am running for an hour, I spent the time focusing on my breathing, offering prayers for my family, for our world, and for you. It’s true, I did not forget about you while I was away. Even though we were not near each other physically, I prayed for CCC with my breath.
Now that I am back, I will confess, I expected a lot from a sabbatical. At first, I developed a fantasy of what it would be. In my mind everything went together perfectly. There were no falls, no failures, no major plumbing accidents with a broken pipe spraying water into my basement on the day of a huge party we hosted for our son’s graduation (I will save that story for another time). I dreamed that my old self would be shed and a new-and-improved me would return, ready to revitalize the church. My return to CCC would be a grand and glorious vision and I felt ready to get back to the work of ministry.
I did not listen to Jesus any more than did the 72. What was waiting for me? A moldy, flooded social hall, the deaths of some beloved members of our church, ongoing issues of trying to figure out what God wants us to do and who is going to do it and how are we going to finance it, tragedies in families, and all the tough conversations about money and budgets that I secretly hoped would be resolved before I came back – another naïve fantasy. I returned, not joyfully, but cautiously at first. It was not what I had expected. It felt like there was no recognizable change in or in our church.
Then I looked again … More good happened here than I thought at first glance. I saw volunteers who worked heroically, around the clock, to keep our church dry during the flooding. I saw our CCC staff who kept ministry going. I saw people who stepped up to lead worship and provide spiritual nurture. I learned all the guest preachers I lined up actually showed up – no one skipped out or forgot. Some of the most inspiring preachers were our own members who spoke about how faith intersects with their lives. We all learned that we can do more than we thought when we are apart, and it’s a lot easier around here when we are all back together.
The sabbatical journey brought newness. There is some newness to me: a new haircut, a summer tan, a few pounds slimmer. Beyond the surface, the journey provided the space we all needed to think objectively about what’s next for me and for us. After much thought and listening for the Divine Spirit’s guidance, it is clear to me that God is calling us to a new season at CCC. It will not be a season of gathering but a season of sending. Like the 72, God is sending us out together. Jettison the fantasies of greatness and the lure to power. Forget about the dreams of grandeur where we open the doors and hundreds of people flock to Colesville Road to join us on a Sunday morning. I think God about to send us out – sent to heal what is ailing in our community; sent to drive out the demons of abused, malignant, privileged power in our world; sent to proclaim the supremacy of diversity; sent to preach compassionate justice; sent to offer God’s over-the-top welcome to those who feel forgotten, or worse, abused, by Christianity. Our journey ahead will require sacrifice, hard work, and commitment. Sometimes our message will be accepted. Other times it might feel like we injured.
When we go on a journey, we are going to lose our way occasionally. The true test is whether we can get back on the path – whether we can find and follow the Way.
Christian people are sent people. Journeying people. If we want to understand our faith, we must live it along the Way. Some realities only make sense at a soup kitchen, or on the steps of the Capitol, or at a hospital bed, or mentoring children after school, or in any one of the countless of places in the world where people cry out for mercy, for the bread of justice, for the cup of compassion. Even today, Jesus sends his followers, carrying only the message that God’s love draws near.
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