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(2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14; Ps. 77:1-2, 11-20; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62)

            This morning I’m going to share with you something I brought home with me from the ECCT pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  And it was a pilgrimage: that’s the way our bishops conceived it from the start, over a year ago.  It was not a sight-seeing tour, it was not a vacation.  We had fun, but it was overwhelmingly a time of focus, and concentrated attention; thanks to the leadership of Bishop Ian and Bishop Laura, who were both with us, and to our guide, a Palestinian Christian named Iyad. We began our days at 7 – except the three days we started at or before dawn – we joined for prayer after breakfast; from then until lunch we were on the go exploring something from the life of Jesus, then the same in the afternoon; a few days there’d be an hour or two of free time before dinner; there was almost always a speaker after dinner, by which time most of us were running on fumes; and we’d close the day with prayer.  It was a very full schedule, but I’m quite sure that, to a person, we wouldn’t have had it any other way: it was a gift, and we loved every minute of it.   

So here’s what I brought home, and I’m showing it to you this morning because it relates to something in the gospel reading we just heard. This is an icon.  Over the past year or so I’ve been learning a little bit about icons, and about the spirituality around them.  Icons are flat pictures, usually painted on wood, usually depicting Christ, or Mary, or one of the saints. They’re very common in the Eastern church, used in prayer and meditation.  During one of our free periods in Jerusalem I bought one, at a little store which was just up the street from where we were staying and had been recommended by our guide Iyad,.  It’s a painting of Christ as the Good Shepherd. I looked at a number of different icons; but as I was considering which to buy, and talking with the man who owned the store, a Palestinian Christian in his 70’s, at one point he said to me: Before you buy it, you have to love it.

            And I saw there was one I did love.  In this picture, I could see a relaxation to the way Jesus’ arms look as he holds on to the lamb; which reminded me strongly of how I always felt holding on to my kids’ ankles when they rode on my shoulders. You can see how naturally his arms hang; what effort he’s expending (which isn’t a lot) is in his hands, in the grip (I remember that too.)  And in some way, you get the impression that the lamb is grounding him, providing stability for him: because there’s a relationship here, of love and devoted service. I remember that feeling too, from carrying my kids that way.  (I miss it.)

            But of course what’s most immediately striking about the picture is Jesus’ gaze – you could call it a stare – directly at the viewer.  This is common to most icons that I’ve seen.  Jesus looks somber, even stern.   And the Western response – accustomed as we are to saintly depictions of Jesus, full of love and joy and fulfillment (which is not wrong) – is instinctively wary: is Jesus scolding me?  Right from the get-go?  Why?  What have I done?

            Now, I’m certainly no expert on icons. But having been around icons a little, and trusting the fact that for centuries the Eastern church has used them as a regular part of spiritual practice, I see something else.  I see Christ looking at me and saying, I’m talking to you here.  Yes, you.  What do you see in this picture?  What it does it say about yourlife?  And what are you going to do about it?  I’m offering you a step into larger life: a step into the kingdom of God.  Just be aware that following me is at some point going to mean leaving what’s familiar to you: at some point, taking you away from your happy place.  But you can be sure that whatever discomfort you might feel is nothing compared to what you will receive.

            And this is where it relates to today’s gospel story.  

            Today’s passage, from Luke’s gospel, begins with these words: “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  The words “taken up” are a literal reference to Jesus’ ascension into heaven: that is, at the end of the life of Jesus Christ on earth, including his resurrected life.  So the phrase “the days…for Jesus to be taken up” refers to all the events which culminate in his ascension: his final conflict with the religious establishment, his arrest, trial, crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension.  Luke is talking here about that whole sequence of events.  And he tells us that when those days “drew near”, Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (The Greek literally means “hardened his face to go”.)   So it’s clear Jesus knows that what he’s heading into is not going to be pleasant, and he knows it’s going to end in his death.  But he knows this is his mission: this is what God has given him to do; so he resolves to do it: he sets his face.  Sometimes, facing the truth, and acting on it, takes resolve.

            And right away Luke gives us examples of what this means.  Someone tells Jesus, I’ll follow you wherever you go; and Jesus famously answers, Foxes have holes and birds of the air have their nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.  Meaning: if I have nowhere to lay my head, and you’re going to follow me wherever I go – figure it out; and be clear about what’s involved in following me.  
Jesus says to someone else, Follow me (Jesus wants us to follow him; he just wants us to do it with our eyes open); and this man says, Lord, first let me bury my father (something any of us would want to do – it’s obeying a commandment.)  But Jesus answers him, Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.  Jesus refers to those who don’t recognize  the kingdom of God – who do not recognize real life, true life, among them – Jesus calls those people “the dead”.  This is hard core.  This is the Jesus of the icon.

And then finally a man tells Jesus, I’m going to follow you, but let me say goodbye to the folks at home first.  And Jesus tells him, No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.  In the act of plowing, once you’ve started you have to keep your eyes on the ground in front of you to make sure the furrow stays straight: you can’t look behind you.  Once you’ve started on this way – this work – this mission – you can’t look back.  The truth is the truth, all the time.

Now.  This passage we heard today is in chapter 9 of the gospel of Luke.  There are fifteen more chapters to go, the bulk of the gospel, we still have that in front of us, in Luke’s telling of the whole story: all the parables of the kingdom, the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son; healing stories; the resurrection: all the good news of Jesus Christ.  This is the truth which we  joyfully proclaim, and joyfully try to live by.  But we do that in the knowledge that it’s not always going to be a comfortable experience, in a world gone wrong – a world that is often indifferent or hostile to the message we bring – and a gone-wrongness that we’re certainly part of.

But – with Jesus – we set our faces toward Jerusalem.  We see the world the way it is.  We do not flinch at the parts we don’t like: especially at our own brokenness.  We are not sightseers here.  We are not tourists.   We are pilgrims, trying to live in the truth, always in the knowledge of God’s goodness, and that God is carrying us on God’s shoulders.  What more is there to say?  Thanks be to God. 

(Acts 2:1-21; Ps. 104:25-35, 37;Romans 8:14-17; John 14:8-17, 25-27)
 
            Good morning, Sam.  Obviously I know you can’t understand anything I’m saying right now, so you go right on looking around or sleeping or fussing (you almost certainly won’t be alone in any of that, here this morning); but someday maybe you’ll be able to read it, so I’m going to speak to you, as I speak to everybody else here, which is an appropriate thing to do: because today, you become the newest member of our church.  That is St. John’s, New Milford; that is the Episcopal Church; and – of course – most importantly of all, that is the body of Christ: all the faithful people all around the world – past, present, and future, in their infinite variety – we who follow Jesus Christ as our Lord and our Savior.  And I’m going to try to say a little something about what that means, because we keep growing into the understanding of that all our lives.

            I’m going to start with a little story.  Becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church involves a process of formation that takes about three years.  It happens in stages, and there are exit ramps along the way (you can bail, or you can get nixed.)   When I was about two years in there was a study session one day at Diocesan House in Hartford.   There were two ordained leaders, and eight or nine candidates, who were all at different stages of the process.  We were working on the baptismal covenant in the Prayer Book, line by line, talking about its meaning.  

            One of the candidates there was a guy I’d seen several times at group sessions like this one.  He was not quite as far along the pipeline as I was, and I have to confess something to you, Sam (one of the things we do here is confess our sins): even though I barely knew him, I didn’t like him.  I thought he was vain, arrogant, and frankly a bad advertisement for the church.   And that was mostly because of the sense of superiority he just seemed to exude, not simply his own, but what he saw as that of our church, in a badly misconceived way. And at one point that day he made a comment about some particular thing in the liturgy of baptism that was in that direction, and I spoke up: I said, I have to say that sounds kind of exclusive to me.   And he instantly answered – very emphatically – We are exclusive!  We say, This is what we believe!  And he stabbed the prayer book with his finger.

            Well.  I didn’t take it any further; it wasn’t the right time, and I wasn’t sure exactly how to articulate what I thought.  I never saw him again after that day; I don’t know what happened to him.  Probably he’s a great priest in another diocese somewhere, on his way to being a saint.  But I did think about it afterward, about exactly what our disagreement was, and this is what I came up with: as Christians, we do say what we believe (we Christians), but that doesn’t mean we’re exclusive.  It means we’re trying to be specific, as far as that’s possible.  And there’s a big difference between saying, This is what we believe – if you don’t agree, there’s the door; and saying, This is what we believe: it’s all about the love of God that is in us and among us, and we believe that that’s true for everybody; so come join us, as we try every day to see what that means about how we should live our lives.  And if there are things you don’t understand, welcome to the club: let’s work on it, and maybe we can help each other (I’m serious.)

            To show something about how this works, I’m going to take a little example from the beginning of the baptismal liturgy, which we’re going to do in a couple of minutes (I know you’re excited.)  It’s the part that’s called the “Examination of the Candidate[s]”.  There are six questions the priest asks of the candidate for baptism (or his or her representatives, don’t worry).  The first three ask the candidate to “renounce” specific things: “Satan, and all the spiritual forces of wickedness”; “the evil powers of this world”; and “all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God.”  Modern ears are very suspicious of that language: it sounds like bogeyman stuff, mythology that’s a throwback and that nobody believes any more.  It also sounds threatening and manipulative: the language of power, using fear.   (It’s actually not about fear, at all – I’ll get back to that in a minute.)

            But in fact what these questions actually ask us to do is to turn away from the illusions this world is constantly offering (and they can be vary attractive ones), illusions which divert us from seeing the truth, and therefore from the true fulfillment of who we really are: who God created us to be: one human family living in joyful communion with each other.

            Those three questions asking us about what we are to turn away from are followed by three about what we are to turn toward: “Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?”  “Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?”  “Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?”  The answer that the Prayer Book gives to those questions is simple: “I do.”  
But the truth is that – if we have our wits about us – we keep finding out just what those questions – and that answer – mean, our whole lives long: the questions present themselves, new and fresh, every day. And I can tell you, Sam, from my personal experience, that when I stay turned in the direction these questions ask me to – even in my ignorance and confusion – by the grace of God, it works out; and life is better, and fuller, and more real: because these questions direct us to the truth.
And the basis of it all – and what we’re doing here with you today – is expressed in a verse we heard today in the passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans – to the church that he has recently founded there, so he’s talking to new Christians (maybe not quite as new as you, but still new); as we heard: “For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption.”  We are all children of God.  In Christ, we know this; in Christ, we have received this spirit of adoption: the knowledge that God embraces us all as God’s children.  Paul says this in the very next verse: “When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God….”

So we are free: we are no longer slaves to the illusions this world is always offering about what’s really real.  So we need not fear; because we know the truth.
It’s not that we don’t lose sight of this sometimes: that we don’t backslide, that we don’t make mistakes.   We all do.  But we have this home to come back to: we have this Jesus Christ to remind us, and refresh us, and renew us.  This is why we call Christ our Lord, and our Savior.  Isn’t that great?  Welcome, Sam, and may the peace of Christ always be with you.  Thanks be to God.

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