Sunday, April 28, 2019 | 8:00 a.m.

God’s Wild Investment

Lucy Forster-Smith
Senior Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 150
Matthew 28:16–20

The continuing miracle of Easter is that we may become in our ordinary lives beings of extraordinary witness to Christ so that we may give something that the world needs: power and the love of the risen, living Savior Jesus Christ. That is the vocation of ordinary people, and it happens to people just like ourselves.

Peter Gomes

In a very poignant book about ministry in small-town Vermont, pastor Garret Keizer tells of conducting an Easter vigil in his tiny congregation. Only two people show up for the service. As he lights the paschal candle and says the prayer, he writes, “the candle sputters in the half-darkness like a voice too embarrassed or overwhelmed to proclaim the news: ‘Christ is risen.’ But it catches fire, and there we are, three people and a flickering light in an old church on a Saturday evening in the spring, with the noise of the cars and their winter-rusted mufflers outside. The moment is filled with ambiguities,” he continues, “of all such quiet observances among few people, in the midst of an oblivious population in a radically secular age.” He concludes, “The act is so ambiguous because its terms are so extreme: the Lord is with us, or we are pathetic fools” (Garret Keizer, A Dresser of Sycamore Trees: The Finding of a Ministry, p. 73).

The disciples who were summoned by the women to that unknown mountain in Galilee must have wondered if they were pathetic fools. As they made their way up the trail they must have been rehearsing all they had experienced—Jesus’ crucifixion and burial is fresh in their mind, hearts broken, souls wounded, the secured the tomb. They had heard the Jewish leaders had gone to Pilate to make sure the tomb was sealed so there would be no chance that the body might be stolen and a rumor of resurrection could run rampant. Then there were the women coming to the tomb, the guards shocked and passed out after witnessing an angel who rolled back the stone, and then there was the appearance to the women on the road and Jesus directing the disciples to a mountain.

As they made their way to that mountain, they must have been trying to make sense of the days before and wondering what was ahead. Indeed, going up any mountain offers perspective, but for those who had traveled with Jesus, mountains are alive with power and possibility. They’d been there when he gave the Sermon on the Mount; they knew he was tempted by the devil on a mountain; the transfiguration, yes, that too was up on a mountain. Now when they arrived at the mountaintop, the resurrected Christ met them there. The awe-struck worshiped him, and some of them doubted. To that mountain they brought their awe, their wonder, and they brought their doubts and uncertainty. What happens then? They were met. Period. They bring it all to that mountain, the wonder and worship, the doubt and concern, and in that moment, with lumps in their throats and shaking in their boots, they received more than they could dare to dream or hope. Were they pathetic fools sitting in front of a sputtering candle or daring disciples, ready to strap on their boots, head down the mountain with all authority given to them to baptize, teach, and follow the living Christ?

I think it is important to recognize a couple things that are at play in this tail-end episode in Matthew’s Gospel. First, we must not forget that Jesus’ commission upon that mountain was addressed to a sad, little, diminished band of eleven disciples. Eleven, not the three in Vermont, but even so, anyone in their right mind would see that it is almost comical, these words, the eleven, the whole idea—quite preposterous indeed. But rather than looking into the empty hands, the spent spirits, the doubts and uncertainties of those disciples that arrived at the top of the mountain, Jesus held before them the crazy dream of a world where the realm of God shows up when disciples heal, when broken hearts are mended, when children are fed and the old ones are honored, where the deepest life of the creation shimmers in the eyes of the most cynical. Handing a very small band of disciples the task of making disciples of the world is vast, subject to ridicule, disproportionate to the capacity.

So to this beleaguered band of disciples comes the second reality: it is a tall order, Jesus gives. Upon that mountain they are charged with something that is utterly impossible. “All authority” is what Jesus leads with. Really? A crucified Jesus, a Jesus whose ministry evolved to this point: eleven followers, who had betrayed him and had abandoned him at the ninth hour. This little group of fence-sitters—some doubting and some adoring. Yes, this is very group to whom the authority is passed. These are the very ones who hiked up the trail to the mountain and were asked to strap on their boots and bring in the lost, the lonely, the frightened. These are the ones to whom an impossible task is given, asking them to rely completely on God’s mercy and strength. They glimpse the Promised Land, but it is their promise, accompanied by Emmanuel, God with us in Jesus, that sends them down the mountain to baptize, to teach, to remember.

Eleven disciples and their leader stand there, those who had not exactly made friends with the powerbrokers, to go to all nations, not just their own, to teach, to baptize, to instill and equip for a life of service. A very assured leader gives the charge, he who would not let the swamp dampen his passion for life because he loved the world completely. Even at the very end, the order was tall. The community must step up and step out! He who stood with suffering at his back looked into the faces of the road-weary disciples; he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his ongoing presence would not disappoint them or any they touched.

And that is the third thing about the text: They are not alone. “I am with you always,” he says. If there is any stunning news that arises from the tomb it is the news that we are not alone and that God is with us to the end. No matter the stress we are under, no matter the anxiety we hold, no matter how many times we doubt (if not the resurrection or Jesus’ presence) but ourselves, Jesus is there to the end. Even with the stress and suffering that arises from our lives, Jesus has commissioned us to baptize, to teach, and to gather in community for the sake of deep and astonishing life.

Do you know what is even more remarkable? We are given companions for this journey. They are those who are in the pews with you this morning. They are the fourth graders who will receive their Bibles today. They are the confirmation students, the eighth graders who are stepping forward into church membership this morning at 11:00 a.m. They are the Cornerstones and the TwentiesThirties; the Center for Life and Learning exercise class participants and the ones who pray with you after the service or in the hospital. Yes, you are not alone. And the explicit promise is that no matter what arrives in your life, Jesus’ promise is sure: I am with you always, to the end of the age. Sometimes the touch of God’s grace and bold assurance comes when we least expect it.

In public theologian Diana Butler Bass’s book Grounded, she shares a story about travel and unexpected community. Diana was waiting for a late afternoon flight when the gate agent came on the loudspeaker saying that the flight would be arriving late. As the others who were waiting for the flight made their way to the restaurants and bars, she and one other middle-aged man stayed in the gate area. She had been aware of the man before, but as she looked at him she noticed that he looked very distraught or ill. Diana wondered if he needed help. She approached him and offered to get him something. Responding to her kindness, he began to sob. “I buried my wife this morning and now I am going home to nothing.” He slumped over bearing the weight of the grief.

Diana wondered if he wanted to be alone, but rather than stepping away, she asked him to tell her about his wife. For the next half hour he told her about this wife, the illness that finally took her, the fact they had no children, that his wife was his best friend since high school. He had taken her to be buried near where they grew up. After a simple graveside service, he said good-bye to her.

Diana got up to bring him some water, and as she returned to him, she whispered to the gate agent that the man was in grief having buried his wife that day. The agent said they would take care of him.

Once on the plane, everyone seemed to have found out about this man’s mourning. The flight crew offered him seating in an area of the plane that was a bit more solitary. A crew member escorted him aboard, treating him with great courtesy. And when the plane landed,

some silent agreement formed between the [other passengers] to let him exit first. Instead of the usual rush and urgent calls on cell phones, everyone stood quietly, forming two lines of respect, and as he walked down the aisle toward the cabin door, some nodded gravely as he passed; others reached to him gently, and the pilot took the man’s hand and they descended the steps. On the tarmac there was a private car dispatched by the airline to deliver him home. (Diana Butler Bass, Grounded, pp. 256–257)

The compassion and care of all of those to this fellow traveler in life was offered as a cup of cool water.

Friends, we are called to community by the great challenges and call to discipleship that is promised through Jesus on that mountaintop. At times of great transition, whether in our own lives, the life of community, or in the planetary life, we are more tuned in to the powers that awaken. As we hear the call of Jesus to go to all nations with the power of the living Christ in our hearts, our hands, our minds, to bring good news to this world, may we know that we are truly loved and trusted by God to take up a holy commission for the sake of the world.

The lips of the German poet Goethe tremble with truth for our time, for this day as we stand grounded in our lives and hitching our wagon to a star, when he says, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” Indeed, the boldness is the unrelenting call to justice, the boldness of a daring act, and the boldness of God to never let go of the people who let go of God, to plant a vision of hope, future, and life in the heart of the ones God loves. Be bold in listening to God. Be bold in your reaching, daring hope to find its way in every step you take from this day onward, living as Easter people. And as you go your way, pause, get ready, and recognize the One who meets you on the mountaintop with grand readiness for your arrival, who accompanies you to the grand vistas of this very universe! Amen.