ON THE TRANSITIONAL BORDER

 Sermon preached by the Rev. Michael Anderson Bullock

[2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; 2 Timothy 2P8-15; Luke  17:11-19]

This is a sermon about transitions. 

It is now thirty-five years ago that I had a special teacher.  He was a rabbi who had the amazing ability to take significant ideas and observations and put them together into a larger and deeper insight than had been visible before.  A perfect example was in his teaching about times of transition.  His piercing insight into transitions was that they are the only times when real and meaningful change can be made.  It is in the scrambling and chaotic experience of transition that the hinges of what is in place have the capacity to loosen and reveal something new.   In this enlargement a deeper insight into what brings life can begin to emerge.

This insight about transitions also indicates that they have a certain “shelf-life”: that is, when the transition has moved as far as it is allowed to move (for there is always resistance to such change), there comes a point at which the loosened “hinge” resets and locks down again – until the next observed transition occurs and asks for a human response.[1]

It seems to be a part of human nature that we tend to abhor transitions, especially when what is pressed for change is a treasured – or at least familiar part of our lives.  We hate the instability transitions entail.  Consequently, the anxiety and fear transitional times create have the capacity to cause us to hunker down and cry out loudly for “getting back to normal”.  A very recent experience of this for all of us surfaced in the time of the Covid-19 pandemic.

In the face of the pandemic’s threat and in the face of the anxiety it created among us, it is easy to remember how unhinged our lives felt and how terribly anxious all of us were, to the extent that our sensibilities were to avoid (as much as possible) the unsettling chaos that accompanied the virus.  In all this, the common refrain was to ask when things would return to “normal”.

Yet, in spite of our anxious avoidance and fearfulness, we discovered (among many other things) the new high-tech vaccines that saved millions of lives worldwide.  We also discovered our ability to pivot from our planned routines into actions and attitudes that initially were unforeseen.  The most obvious example is the use of our on-line capabilities. Remember how initially we couldn’t meet in-person, and now virtual communication is an unmitigated necessity.  Because of this pivoting on our parts, our ministry and life are broadcast nearly every day to those beyond our walls.  The hinges of our old positions were unlocked; and even though at the time I can’t remember any of us celebrating the required changes, here we are now – in a new and unforeseen place and life.

As I say, we cannot image now doing ministry without being on-line, which is the reason this parish church just spent $7500 to replace a 35-year-old, unreliable system with a new audio system and on-line upgrade our broadcast capability.  This a tool that will last well into the next generations of this place.  Which is to say that where we are now is certainly not the result of our well-developed plan, but it is a function of our commitment to follow Jesus as God’s Christ and (to the best of our ability) to be the church in this place and time.  Who’da thunk it?!

So, it is important to say again that as of this fall you and I are beginning another transition. This transition began sixteen months ago with the Congregational Assessment Tool (the CAT).  The assessment of our church community indicated that we were healthy and poised to take additional steps toward a mature expression of being the church, Christ’s Body.  Many of us have seen the data in terms of viewing St. Philip’s at a historic crossroads.  This crossroads indicates that we have the opportunity to move from orienting our life around the issue of survival and moving into the new life of thriving.

At first blush, this sounds exciting and adventurous; and it surely is, except for the fact that this particular transitional change requires that we learn what it takes to “thrive” as a parish church and not simply survive.  What makes this transition hard is that we don’t have much of a track record for this new life to draw on, which speaks to the change required among us as a group and in us as individuals.  In any event, the vehicle that helps us approach this crossroads has been posed in a question: What do you see St. Philip’s being like in the next three years?

The most personal response from me is that within this period of time, St. Philip’s will have a new priest.  As such, you and I have irrevocably entered into a new transition with all that this shifting will entail for us both.  So, here’s another question: To what extent will we choose to acknowledge our anxiety and our fears over the forthcoming transition, yet still following Jesus as a faithful way to move into new life?

With regard to this question, I want to look at today’s gospel about the story of the “Ten Lepers”.  In particular, I want to pay attention to where the story locates Jesus and what this might have to do with us as we enter the changeover you and I are just beginning to face.

In a rather matter-of-fact manner, St. Luke informs us that Jesus was traveling “through the region between Samaria and Galilee”[2].  Remembering that all summer and now well-into the fall, we have been reading from the Gospel of Luke; and since we began with Luke’s chapter 12 (we are now in Chapter 17!), we have followed Jesus in his steady and climactic pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where in the cross he will reach the culminating point of his life and mission.  All along this long and purposeful travelogue, we have encountered any number of pit stops and opportunities to see Jesus interacting with those he meets “on the road”.  Yet, as significant as each of these “pit stops” is, they gain their clear meaning from the prism that is Jesus’ own transition: his impending cross.

So, in the very first verse of today’s installment, Luke tells us that Jesus’s journey brings him to the “borderlands” between Samaria and Galilee, the land “between” the Samaritans and the Judeans: the two rival, ethnic, religious groups who claim the same God but from different, oppositional vantage points.  Straddling this boundary between these two hostile historical camps, Jesus stands quite literally “in between” the two sources of irreconcilable tension.  Being present to the self-replicating pain of this toxic feud, Jesus presents himself as a bridge over the fearful gap – a bridge that brings the possibility of a transition from recycled “stuckness” to the surprise of new life’s birth pangs.  This is to say that Jesus’ cross is an embodied demonstration of how the fierce and fearful transitions in our lives can produce new and surprising life.

As I say (and not for the last time), you and I are at the outset of a big transition.  For me, I have begun a personal transition from what I have been and done for fifty years.  (And just when I was on the verge of getting it right!).  Can I -- will I -- stay open and receive what new (most likely unexpected) life will present itself?  And for your part of the transition, my process of leaving corresponds to your process of taking strides to be prepared to receive a new priest and establish a new partnership of faith and service.  For both of us, will we use this transition for new life; or will we let the hard challenges of this time of change imprison us in anxiety and fear?  If it is new life we seek, both of us will need to keep following Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem, specifically learning from him how to die to what we need to let go of and how to be faithfully and hopefully prepared to receive nothing short of resurrection life.

This is the quiet message of the first verse of the story of the “Ten Lepers.  The story begins as Jesus enters a local village to be confronted by ten lepers, who have learned to keep their distance, lest their “disease” be spread to unsuspecting people.  So it is that they cry out to Jesus by name: “Master, have mercy on us!”  How did they know Jesus?  Moreover, what did it mean for them to ask him for “mercy”?

In any event, Jesus immediately and unhesitatingly tells them to do what the Law of Moses indicated: namely, to go to the priest who could verify that they were clean and, thereby, suitable to be reintegrated into society.  With undoubted glee, they turned on their heels and headed for the local priest; and as they obediently followed Jesus’ directive, they were healed and made clean.

Then, Luke relates, that one of the ten turned from the others and returned to Jesus.  He prostrated himself at the Lord’s feed and offered his most heartfelt thanks for the “mercy” Jesus had bestowed upon him.  Only at this point does Luke let us know that this grateful one was a Samaritan, which spices up what Jesus next says: Were not ten healed?  Where are the nine?  Can none be found to come back and give glory to God except this outsider?[3]

Without waiting for an answer, the Lord spoke directly to the one from the “wrong” side of the border and laid out the unexpected transition: Get up.  On your way.  Your faith has healed and saved you.[4]

The simple (and, therefore, the thing that is easily overlooked) is that Jesus is not focused on who was grateful for his gift (although this is still important); nor is he demonstrating the need for “inclusivity” and it applies to “diverse” situations and people (although that too is important).  If we remember that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where he will be crucified and then raised from the dead, the message is that in Jesus (that is, God on our human terms) is present and working among us and for us – all.  This is to say that our understanding of this passage needs to move beyond the temptation to moralize about “inclusivity” and thankfulness (which are not erroneous to this story) but they can be vague, ethereal abstractions.  The point Luke makes in and through Jesus and this healing (specifically the healing of the Samaritan) is that he (Jesus) is not a vague abstraction.  Very concretely, the presence of Jesus is opening the possibilities for relationship with God beyond all tribal traditions and histories.  Holiness, the rooted reality of the God-life, now centers on Jesus.  And his “merciful” presence is the reason for any inclusion and all thanksgiving.  And it is in the cross that true and lasting life are specifically manifest.

Recognizing and receiving Emmanuel: God with us, is the actual reason for our gratitude and for our non-exclusive behavior.  Jesus is not an abstraction, a good idea; nor is his cross.

In this, our transition time, may we remember the truth of Emmanuel: God is with us (especially in the turmoil of transformation, and that gift of presence always brings new and surprising life – no matter what.  Because it is a life we need and cannot provide for ourselves.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

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[1] Edwin Friedman. From Generation to Generation.

[2] Luke 17:11

[3] Luke 17:18. The Message

[4] Luke 17:19. The Message