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The Gospel according to Luke 10:1-12, 16-20

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You see, yesterday, we ordained a bishop. Yesterday was a time for putting on our Sunday best to witness the ritual ceremony of consecration, the laying on of hands by many bishops upon one kneeling man in a plain white robe. Yesterday was a time to vest the man in the white alb in garments of red and gold, to give to him the symbols of his high office – a Bible, a ring, a cross, a shepherd’s staff, a stole, and a precious mitre for his head. As John Neil Alexander, Ninth Bishop of Atlanta, stood before the cheering, applauding, welcoming congregation, he briefly leaned his head against the crook of the staff and heaved a hugely visible sigh.

What did that sigh of Bishop Alexander’s mean? I wondered. Perhaps it was just a releasing of the tension of the moment. Maybe it reflected a sense of the profound responsibility he is facing. Silently, I asked, where might he take our church? Our church here in the Atlanta diocese is depending on him to articulate our identity and purpose for now and for the future. Then my mind began to wander.

How far the Christian church has come from its birthing at Pentecost to this gorgeous, opulent ceremony in July of 2001. In my mind, I traced history backward to the time before the church was even formed, when Jesus sent out seventy believers as strangers to impose on the hospitality of townspeople to announce that the Kingdom of God was near.

The instructions that Jesus gave to the seventy were clear, simple, and held a note of urgency. He told them to pray for more believers like themselves to do this ministry. Jesus told them to go out unarmed, with no baggage -- not even an extra pair of shoes -- and to greet no one on the road. He told them to bid peace to the household of any house they entered, and, if the peace was shared by anyone there, it would rest on them. If hospitality was refused, the believers were to move on. He told them to stay in one place, to eat whatever food was given to them, and to cure the sick if they were welcomed. If they were rejected, they were to shake the dust of the town from their feet and move on to the next town. In either event – welcome or rejection – their message would be the same: "The Kingdom of God has come near to you."

Giving in to my gypsy mind, I had a fleeting little fantasy that, if Bishop Griswold were to give the same instructions during his sermon, there probably wouldn’t be seventy Episcopal believers there in the Cathedral of St. Phillip who would skip the delicious food prepared by the Episcopal Churchwomen and start out along the road to College Park, Sandy Springs, Kennesaw, or Duluth, knocking on the doors of strangers to witness to their faith. Today, you see, there is something about the commissioning of the seventy that makes us feel uncomfortable. Why do we feel like that? Is it that knocking on the doors of people we do not know isn’t "socially acceptable?" My very Episcopal mother used to say that. Is it fear? Are we afraid someone might shoot us before we can say a word? Is it guilt that we aren’t doing what the Bible tells us to do?

We’re all followers of Jesus – sure we are, but the mission of the church has come to be regarded as something that only a few specially called professionals carry out. One has to be "called" to be a missionary -- to do the mission of the church. Only a couple of churches (such as the Mormons and the Jehovah’s Witnesses) still send out members on mission, sharing their faith from door to door. Most churches don’t do that anymore.

Times have changed between Jesus’ sending out the seventy and the ordination of the Ninth Bishop of Atlanta. Our world is shrinking, with jet travel and T.V. news, the Internet and e-mailing and instant chats by computer. In America, we are many cultures and many faiths. What is good and right for me may not even be available to my brothers and sisters in the Third World. Often we feel frustration in the presence of language barriers alone. We think that if we shout more loudly we will be understood better. We feel confusion about cultural differences. There is poverty here at home today and it will be here tomorrow, as well as illiteracy and violence. It is easier to feel apathy and become resigned to these problems than to do something about them.

There must be a dialogue about what we, as Christians, can offer to people who do not share our culture and our faith. There must be a dialogue about how the church can act to alleviate problems that won’t go away. The dialogues must be initiated by the church and carried out by the church. It is impossible to read Luke’s account of the commissioning of the seventy and not grapple with these questions. There are no easy answers, and each generation must come to new avenues of obedience that are effective and appropriate for our times and faithful to Jesus’ teachings. Our new bishop’s first pastoral visit (today) is to Emmaus House, where these issues will come alive for him.

On the other hand, Jesus’ commission to the disciples might be a good guide for the new models of mission and church identity that changing times require. First, it tells us that there’s plenty for the church to do. There is more work to be done than there are people to do it. The commission affirms the importance of prayer in support of the church’s mission. It demands active participation of each believer. The work of the church is not the calling of a select few, but is the ministry of us all. That’s what we mean when we talk about the priesthood of the laity. Each of us can give to it in our own way and in the context of our own spiritual journey as we live out our baptismal covenant. Jesus’ commission warns of the dangers that believers face: "I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves." By this metaphor, Jesus advises innocence, vulnerability, and non-resistance as means of turning aside anger and danger. That reminds me of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Gandhi. Jesus calls for singularity of purpose and he specifies the purpose of the mission: "Say, ‘Peace to this house’ and ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’" The host, not the guest, sets the context for the disciple’s witness -- disciples do not seek to impose their own cultural background on others. The commission recognizes that the disciples will not always succeed: "[When] they do not welcome you. . . , " but advises believers to persevere. Jesus assures the disciples that God’s redemptive mission will be fulfilled. Evangelism is not about us, after all, but about telling the good news of Jesus. The church can be guided in every generation by principles such as these. Parts and pieces of the church might change continually, but its basis in God’s redeeming love will remain constant.*

On second thought, I don’t feel so overstuffed from that rich feast of a ceremony yesterday. In fact, I’m feeling eager to be a part of our diocese as Bishop Alexander begins his ministry here. And I’m curious to see what definition he will bring to the church and how he will bear witness to our Lord. You know what? I just figured out what that big sigh was all about. He was just taking a deep breath before getting down to work.