Love’s Labour’s Lived-Sermon Preached by Jennifer Hudson

May only God’s word be spoken and may only God’s word be heard. Amen.

The first time my mother brought me to work, I hid in a corner. I was quite young at the time, probably around nursery school age, and my mother was working part-time as a bookkeeper for a small insurance agency. What sent me hiding was neither the stale musty scent of papers nor the fact that the layout of the desks resembled a citadel. No. What seemed more formidable was the sight and sound of my mother’s co-workers leaning over me and smiling and cooing. I didn’t like the attention. I mean, what do you say to a bunch of adults who are oohing and ahhing over you? Go away? In retrospect, I realize those oohs and ahhs were expressions of welcome. But the fuss at the time had made me feel self-conscious and vulnerable. It wasn’t until later that that shy and quiet little me would later evolve into a more comfortable third grader who landed her first role in the school play and even had to sing solo. As intimidating as it first was, I began feeling comfortable stepping into the spotlight, maybe because the focus wasn’t on me per se; rather, it was on the story I was helping the group to tell through song and action. Each of us in the cast, coupled with the work we did on that stage, were necessary for giving life to the whole of the production. 

Stepping into the spotlight, telling an honest story, requires vulnerability. And it can be intimidating to face the possibility that what you say and do might be rejected. Maybe even expose you to harm. I imagine this is how the seventy might have felt in the passage from Luke this morning. Jesus is sending them out to various towns and places he plans to visit. And they are to go heal and cast out demons and, by doing so, spread the good news that the kingdom of God is near. That God’s healing and love is for all. It’s a radical message, and one that might not be accepted. To make the seventy even more vulnerable, Jesus doesn’t send them as one ensemble cast from place to place. Rather, he sends them in pairs. That means just two at a time to a specific town.

Why would Jesus do that? Why would he send them “out like lambs into the midst of wolves”? They have no props. No possessions. No armor. Just themselves. Just Jesus’s instructions. What happens if their work gets questioned or rejected? What if there’s violent opposition to their work? Can a pair really take on a household? A town? Doesn’t that make them as defenseless as a little kid hiding in a corner? Wouldn’t there be strength in numbers? And what if among any of the seventy there might be women, or eunuchs, or other social misfits of first-century Palestine whom Jesus includes in his circle? How might they be received in the towns where they’re to be doing God’s work? Wouldn’t they be especially vulnerable?

It’s worth mentioning we are told that all seventy return with joy, so they must have been successful in their mission, which also means they must have been welcomed by whomever they visited. Luke doesn’t tell us anything about who the pairs visit. We don’t know if the pairs are met with  any oohing and ahhing.  Or yelling. Luke just has Jesus warning of the risk involved in stepping onto the stage and spreading the kingdom in both word and deed. Of proclaiming release to captives (Lk 4:18). Of telling and demonstrating God’s story of love, compassion, and healing with honesty. And you know something? You know why their mission results in joy? Each pair isn’t alone. They have each other, of course. But they also have something else.

Where two or three are gathered, there God is (Matt 18:20). They have God. God works through them. God gives them not only authority to heal and cast out demons, but also protection. God has their backs. And, most importantly, God is the energy at work in them.

“Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.” (Lk 10:16).

We’re living in precarious times. Divisions are pronounced. Marginalized groups are more vulnerable than ever before. We’ve witnessed in our own country people exercising their right to free speech only to be met by the presence of armed forces. In some countries, people have been executed for speaking truth to power. Really when you think about it, the idea of stepping into the spotlight and attesting to and living out the Gospel values—values such as welcome, and hospitality, and love, and mercy, and compassion, and justice—grows beyond daunting when violence and vitriol trumps basic civility and respect.

So what would Jesus have us do? What role does he wish for us to play? Do we gather in large groups in case we meet with opposition to our proclamation of the Gospel values? Do we go in pairs? Do we sing solo? [PAUSE] I think Jesus invites us to decide our role, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit and the Gospel values in mind. I think no matter what role we play, we must enter onto the stage with grace. No matter our role, we are called to demonstrate to others in word and deed that “the kingdom of God has come near to you.” No matter our role, we must take the risk and get vulnerable in giving life to and embodying God’s story—by letting the oppressed go free, by healing, by welcoming the stranger—because it’s in that vulnerability where God speaks, where God opens hearts, where God does wonders. It’s in that vulnerability where we are called to restore the human family to greater wholeness. It’s in that vulnerability we are to reach out our hands and say, “You belong.” Because in God’s kingdom, everyone deserves to be happy and whole. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a part to play. That is the harvest. That is the labor. Love’s labour’s lived.

My friends, the idea of casting out such demons as oppression, injustice, and hatred in today’s world can leave us feeling like lambs amid wolves. We might get stage fright as we step into the arena. But even when we feel scared or inadequate or unsure, God will give us the strength to do the work. I look at the example set by Bishop Marianne Budde and her sermon at Washington National Cathedral on January 21st. Whether or not you agreed with the direct addressing of a public official, Bishop Budde stepped up to that pulpit—which I can tell you from experience is a very vulnerable space—and she faced the possibility her message about mercy would be rejected. She has since received both death threats and letters of gratitude. God’s assurance that nothing will hurt us (Lk 10:19) doesn’t mean we won’t meet with opposition. Yet even in the face of rejection, as long we stay true to the Gospel values, as long as we continue to heal and cast out that which keeps us from unity, we can face the opposition. Each of us plays a special role in this work. Just like on a stage, we are part of the whole ensemble of the communion of saints, who enact and give life to a whole story. God’s story. The Good News of healing and restoration. The Good News of God’s radical welcome and all-embracing love. Stage fright may seize us when we sense pushback. We might want to go hide. Yet the show must go on. The story must still be proclaimed and lived. We can face the opposition with God’s help. And when we get some who ooh and ahh not at us, but at the wonder of the Good News we embody, God will be saying, “Bravo.”