Being Jesus [Proper 8A - Matthew 10:40-42]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Matthew 10:40-42

Being Jesus

Just down the hill from my apartment building, through a small but dense wood, there was an Episcopal Church.  I did not know much about the Episcopal Church at that time.  But I did possess a Book of Common Prayer – and so, I was intrigued. 

One morning, during my first year of seminary, I decided to visit that church.  I made my way through the trees, past the playground, across the spacious parking lot, to one of the building’s many thick, wooden doors.

Being that this was an Episcopal Church building, it looked to me like a castle, the door like something out of the middle ages.  I pulled the door open, hoping the random door I chose was the correct choice.  See, there were no clear glass windows in this section of the building – neither in the door, nor looking into the worship space.  It was a guessing game.  

As the door swung open, I saw there before me a sea of white robes.  I had either, I reasoned, opened a door into the book of Revelation or into the chancel.  Neither option was particularly appealing.  Sure that I had, in fact, made the wrong choice, I quickly closed that door and scurried around the outside of the building looking for another unlocked door – one that might lead a shy visitor, unnoticed, to quiet pew.

That church, Grace Episcopal Church in Madison, NJ, soon became my home church and later my sponsoring parish. I found out quickly that that first door I had opened was not, in fact, an entrance into the chancel.  It was actually a way into the narthex, at the rear of the nave.  It just so happened that the choir, which was, like ours, large, gathered in the narthex before the service, just on the other side of that solid door.  I had walked into that gathering.  I was, however, too embarrassed to stand there with the door opened long enough to find out that I had actually chosen the correct door, on the first try.

Like that Grace Church on the East coast, our Grace church is also built like an impenetrable castle.  We too have big, solid, wooden doors.  Our doors and stone and stained glass, while beautiful, also prevent the outside world from seeing the inside. 

It takes a lot of courage to visit a church – especially one like ours.  It takes a lot of courage to grip the iron ring and swing open a heavy, old door, not knowing what exactly one will find on the other side.  I always feel for visitors who walk through the tower door a few minutes after the prelude ends.  It is hard to be sneaky when the wind from that open door blows all of the bulletins into the front crossing, like flower petals before a bride.

The truth is: Our building is amazing, spectacular, but it is also intimidating.  We know that and so we do much to invite folks into our building, to try and make it less intimidating, more welcoming.  We host concerts and give tours.  We house a preschool and 12-step groups.  Three weeks each year, families experiencing homelessness live in our building. We allow musical ensembles to rehearse in our space.  On Sunday mornings, we have members who stand outside the doors and welcome those who enter – even greet those who choose not to enter. 

The global pandemic has, for the time being, negated the problem of our opaque doors.  Everyone knows what is behind those doors now: no one.  We are exposed, no longer behind stone walls and stained glass.  The Church is happening in public – today on the lawn, for the past three months on facebook and YouTube, Instagram and Google.  The curious have to do little more than hop on the internet to hear our organ, listen to a sermon, check on the progress of the lilac bush in my back yard.   There are no doors between us and those who wonder what we are about.

In a sense, we have been sent out, sent out by rather unusual circumstances, but sent out none the less.  And so, our Gospel passage today is very appropriate.  Matthew chapter 10, beginning with the first verse, ending today with the 42^nd, is an instructional speech – from Jesus to his followers – followers who are being sent out.

At the end of his talk, Jesus says something very important, something that continues to define, even haunt, those called “Christian.”  He says, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me.”  Whoever welcomes you welcomes me.  Whoever welcomes you welcomes Jesus.  This is why we are sent out: to be Jesus in the world.

His work is now our work.  We are entrusted with his Gospel – the same good news that Jesus carried into Galilean villages two thousand years ago.  We are entrusted with a mission that was conceived in the heavens, formed in the heart of God.  We are entrusted with the unfolding salvation story – the most important story ever told.  And it is on our lips.  It is a tremendous honor. 

And a stunning responsibility.  One, perhaps, that has inspired more than a few locked up church doors.  It is easier to hide away and play Church than to wear a stigmata into the world. 

And yet that is what Jesus asks us to do: to wear his wounds, to bear his broken heart, to share his transgressive love out in public, everywhere we go.  Those of us who have been baptized into Christ, we have put on Christ, in hopes of becoming like him.

Whoever welcomes you welcomes Jesus.  Whoever sees you sees Jesus.  Whoever hears you speak hears the voice of Christ.  Whoever scrolls across your facebook posts scrolls across Jesus’ posts, right?  You have been marked by Christ, as Christ’s own forever in baptism.  You wear his brand.  You represent Christ in all that you do.  It is the heavy burden we carry when we are sent out.

But it also a great gift.  Who better to represent?  With whom would you rather be associated?  You are the body of Christ because Christ lives in you.  You carry him with you wherever you go.  Let that be the reason you strive for justice and peace, the reason you speak truth to power, the reason you love across lines and without reservation.  Let that be the reason you hold your tongue, the reason you break rank, the reason you sometimes stand alone.  Let that be the reason you get up in the morning and the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night. 

We are sent out to be Jesus in the world.  If you take that idea seriously, it will change the way you live in this world.  If you take that idea seriously, it will change the world. 

The world needs more Jesus.  It needs a Church that acts, and talks, and loves, and lives like Jesus.  It needs us to be that Church.  The world, the nation, the city need us to be that Church.  I want people to say about us, “Those folks at Grace and St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, they remind me of Jesus.”