You can only be two things in this life we share. It is simple to say, and Hamlet says it best in act 3 scene 1, “to be or not to be, that is the question.” You either you “are”, or you “are not.”
Push on that a little more and there is the reality for each of us, we “are”, we “be”, we “now”, we “the present”. Then we will not “are”, not “be”, not “now”, become “the past”. It is the core of our existence, to be. And it is the whisper in our ears, “momento mori” remember dying. On these two poles spin our living.
In his book, God and Empire, John Domminic Crossan relates the logic of Jesus’ work in the world very succinctly, “heal the sick, eat with those you heal, announce the Kingdom of God’s presence in that mutuality.” That is what we heard about last week. Jesus sends his disciples out two by two. He asks them to heal and exorcise demons. He then asks them to stay and be fed, staying and being with those healed people who welcomed the pair of disciples.
The story of the sending of the disciples becomes famous enough that the upper echelons of the society hear of it, most notably the king. King Herod hears the rumors about Jesus. He hears that Jesus is John the Baptist resurrected from the dead. That Jesus is Elijah, ringing in the end of the world. That Jesus is a prophet like the ones old. All of these rumors swirl in the ear Herod, who decides for himself that Jesus is indeed John the Baptizer, the person he had murdered.
Herod is wrong by the way, and we know that. We have been following the story and know that Jesus is not the resurrected John the Baptist. However, the ministries of the two men are at one time similar, they both are showing the powers of the day where they are wrong, and John and Jesus are both bringing good news to the poor. They both have a significant following, and John and Jesus each make very powerful people very nervous. And we know that both will be killed for that. Then we see that they are distinctly different in their ministries. Mr. Crossan points out the “John [the Baptist] had a monopoly, but Jesus had a franchise”
A person had to go to John, only John, to be baptized. John set up his baptizing shop by the river, and it was there that the crowds went. I would make sense that if you wanted to stop that activity, if you feared John’s disciples and the crowds that followed him. If you thought that his ministry might indeed want to change the society by force, then you would need to kill John. Kill the leader, cut off the head of the organization and the organization dies with the head.
But Jesus does it differently. He empowers his disciples with the ability to heal and to feed. If you want to know Jesus, look at his followers. If you killed Jesus, then his work would continue on without him. By design, Christianity is not the work of the leadership, Christianity’s brilliance is in those disciple who went out two by two. Crucify their leader, publicly humiliate their saints, martyr their beloved, but you will never kill the fundamental message they proclaim, God is about healing and feeding.
Over the next few weeks you will hear this message over and over again. You will see that when multitudes are brought to Jesus and his disciples for healing, when five thousand people are fed, after these amazing events, Jesus will tell his disciples, “you do it.” You heal them, you feed them, I will go away, but the Kingdom of God will continue. I will go away and come back for you, but in the meantime you have work to do. We have been doing that work ever since.
The church is its best when it goes back to its basic call, heal and feed. Make whole and make full. Touch and give. However those words enter your mind, your call, my call, our call to work is found in the most difficult and yet most honorable call to heal and to feed. How we do that is up to us, but we have a model for success. We are told to go in pairs out into the world. We go out with a partner to do only two things, heal and feed.
Too often in modern day church life I hear people talking about church growth. I will hear people say, almost in a panic, “We have to grow the church, we are loosing members. No one comes to church here anymore.” And the truth is we have been in a decline as a denomination of Christianity for almost forty years. It has been a steady decline for us, not dramatic, just steady. This Episcopal Church we share and love has seen more people leave it than join it in the last four decades. Where they go is a matter of debate.
Many in our society just do not go to a church. Who could blame them? In the busy world we have constructed for ourselves, with our eighty hour work weeks and our multi-tasking blackberry’s and I-phones and you add traveling sports teams and our children’s activities, who would want to come and sit on a wooden pew for an hour or so? Who would want to come and sing songs from a blue hymnal and pray prayers from a red book? Who would want come and then walk up to the front of the room to receive flat bread and port wine from a person in a long white robe? Who would want to do this? Who would do this especially when the language is a bit archaic and the outfits a bit too regal? We do not look like anything people do normally. We look a bit silly really when you think about it. I look strangely out of place in my white robe and green stole at the Jack-in-the-Box ordering two tacos for 0.99! “Who are you?” they ask,”Mr. Ireland?”
I love my church, I love my vocation as a priest, I love going to church. I happen to like the blue hymnal and that red book. but look at us? Where are we? We desire to help, help raise children, help people handle loss. We desire to proclaim Jesus’ message of healing and feeding to the whole world, and yet on balance only a handful come to worship with the good Episcopalians each week.
Then we get nervous when we see mega churches like Mr. Osteen’s or Mr. Young’s. Flashy websites, big parking lots, arena seating, millions spent on the choir, staff members on the ready, schools, people flocking to these parishes. Our General Convention is going on right now, a once every three-year meeting of the national church. But we are not big news unless we are fighting, and we are not fighting. Thirty one Million people tuned into watch Michael Jackson’s funeral. Pages of blogs and news articles have been written about him, twitter crashed the day he died, but our little side of the Christian pond has received little or no notice. Is it that I think too much of myself? I think that we are important. We are important, our voice and our views are relevant. We have been a voice to help change the society for the better. And our voice is needed. Isn’t they? Isn’t what we say and do relevant to the society that we find ourselves in? Are we doing good work in the world?
No. The truth is we are not relevant, and we are not news worthy and much of the work that we do is ignored.
Good.
The disciple went out in pairs to heal and feed, not because they would get their name in the paper, or because million of people would come to their funeral. They did not move out two by two to heal the sick and feed the hungry with the express written intent to get the attention of King Herod. John did not go out into the wilderness preaching repentance to make a lot of money and live in a big house. Jesus did not plant his church in a place where the parking lots were nice, and the seating comfortable. Jesus did not ask his church to wear vestments and have flashy websites with catchy vision statements and nicely marketed core values. Jesus did not get the attention of the world though an ad campaign, or rumor, or because he and the disciples were fighting and it made the front page of the Jerusalem Journal. Our glory is not about numbers, and our success is not measured in bank accounts and bottom lines. These may be important earthly pieces of our work, but they are not what makes us great, or stand out, or get attention, or any of the things we think might be important. We are not in the business of making headlines, or getting attention. We are not in the market to be marketed, or sell shares or do any of that which society deems so important.
What we are to do, and what we end up coming back to in each generation is healing and feeding. I would add risk to that. Healing. Feeding. Risking. These are the things we do. And we do them, not for coverage, we do them for Jesus because he told us to do them. I am a Christian because I believe in Jesus’ message of salvation. That salvation is not my own. The salvation of Jesus is done for others. Our work is for others, not for ourselves.
As long as we are leaving this church and looking for the ill and infirmed, the old and sick, the lost and the forgotten we do what we are suppose to do.
As long as we are leaving this place and looking to feed the hungry, feed their stomachs and their spirits, feed their hopes and starve their fears, then we are doing what we are suppose to do.
As long as we are risking our lives for the Gospel, risking our place in the society in order to do justice and love mercy then we are doing what we are suppose to do.
As long as we are doing this work and risking our lives in the face of a wicked world, then we answer the call to Christ. As long as we are doing that, who cares about the rest? Jesus called you by your baptism into this ministry. Jesus asked you to go, even if the world kills you, you are to go. Amid the darkness, we are to go in tandem. They may ask for our head on a platter, or our body on a cross, but the message of the kingdom of God will out live the rulers. You either “are” or you “are not.” In the middle time you are called to heal and to feed. “So shines a light in a weary world.” We are that light, we are that healers, we are that feeder. No we go. Amen.
Mark 4. 35-41
“Do you care that we are being ruined?” I said, “Do you care that we are being ruined?” I say again, “Do you care that we are being ruined?” And getting up from being asleep, looking at the storm and looking at me, then looking back at the storm, which was all around us. Then looking back at me, the one who woke him up, he said,
“Peace, be still.”
“Hush, be silent.”
“Quiet, be not a word.”
And the sea was quiet.
Do I care that you are being ruined? You asked me if I cared that you were being ruined. Did you really wake me up to ask if I cared that you were being ruined? Am I not in the same boat as you? Would not your ruin mean ruin for me also? Who do you think I am? Why would you assume that I would allow you, allow us, to be ruined? If you think this storm was bad, hide and watch what comes next. It will take more than a simple tempest trick of weather control to get us through the next three years, and you think I would let you perish? What? I would lead you out of the bondage of Egypt only to die in a desert? What? I would ask you to come with me, leave all that you have behind, walk away from your families, only to be as some sort of cruel joke where I drown you in a stormy sea. You of little faith. Give me a break will you?
When I was first ordained I got into trouble with the Bishop, it happens. I didn’t do anything nefarious, nothing illegal, or immoral or insane, just kind-a dumb. But I was in trouble none-the-less. After three years for seminary, and a long discernment process, I thought here it is, the end before it began. I thought that this ordination thing was about to be over for me. The truth of the matter was that I should not be a priest. I should have not gone to seminary. I should have stayed in place and not risked. Besides, who am I anyway to be a priest? I do not fit that mold. My field work supervisor once said, “You know when people look at Sean, your co-worker here at the church, they see a priest.” And his silence to me was deafening and the implication dug deep into my soul. “Right, Sean is a priest, I am not.” And then the prophecy was coming true, I was in trouble with the Bishop, waiting for a month to meet with him. A long month of March 2001, at then end of that month the Bishop would say the words I knew I would hear, “Patrick you are not a priest. Thank you for your time.”
I still did my job. I was still a deacon. I did my work, but always with a kick in my gut. It is hard to admit when you are weak. Especially for me. And it is difficult to discern when to tell you all these stories about me and my family, but we are family now, and so this is your story too, a story of vulnerability and the grace of God.
When people have power over you and your life the vulnerability you feel is palpable. In that awful month of March 2001 I broke. The voices in my head were yelling at the top of their lungs. I am always amazed at my ability to self accuse, and self loath. I am better now, but then I was not. Worry, anxiety, newly married, car payments, rent, the future, my identity, who I was, all of this was in question. “Is he a priest or not?” “Will we ordain him or not?” And the pressure became too great. And in the shower one morning I fell to the floor and began to sob.
Naked and crying, crying in a way that you may or may not know. Crying for the last five years, fearing failure and feeling abandoned, crying in that way that we sometimes do because there are no words and we are overcome. I sat there in the running shower sobbing when the water was turned off and a hand lifted me up set me on the bed and covered my naked self with a towel and then said to me, “it was going to be ok.” Peace be still, hush be silent, quiet, not a word.
A life changing moment. My wife Allison found me and held me and told me it was going to be ok. Since then, in so many ways and moments, her actions to me have been my actions to others. It was not about the power over me, I was no longer frightened by it, my faith suddenly was uplifted by what mattered. In that moment I found God working through the life of one person to another. God found in the people ministering to people. Be they a friend or a wife or a clergy, ministry to each other in the darkest moments, in the middle of the storm, is reminder of what faith is to be about.
Eric Clapton sings:
Lately I've been running on faith/What else can a poor boy do? But my world will be right/When love comes over you. /Lately I've been talking in my sleep/I can't imagine what I'd have to say/Except my world will be right/When love comes back your way/I've always been/One to take each and every day/Seems like by now/I'd find a love who cares just for me/Then we'd go running on faith/All of our dreams would come true/And our world will be right/When love comes over me and you.
Someone asked me this week about my faith and where it comes from, and over time I have come to believe that I have faith in God, since God had faith in me first.
Trust is implied in faith. Trust in the other entity that he or she will come through on their end of the relationship. God trusted me first when I was given my life. It was as if God said, “here you go, here is a life, it is yours, let’s see what you do with it.” I believe that the initial trust was done by God to me. The question for me is would I then return the favor and trust God with that which is God’s own? For me, it is simple God trusted me first, therefore I trust God.
And I do. Time and time and time again, when I think the oil is running out, or that the situation has no solution, or that I am surely lost, and confusion and failure are immanent I remember that what Jesus reveals is that God is in the boat too. God is in the boat, in the storm, in the path of ruin with us, Emmanuel, God with us. And, as St. Paul said, if God is for us, who can be against us?
It is true, lately I have been running on faith, what else can a poor boy do. Because I know, I have seen it, felt it, lived it, naked and seemingly alone, you are lifted up and covered up by someone you love, and in their words of comfort you hear the voice of God.
It is important to realize that what we proclaim in this faith of ours is that Jesus is the Son of God. What is revealed in the person of Jesus is that God is more than a creator. God is an actor too. The story of the raging sea, the frightened disciples and the “not in a panic” actions of Jesus reveal that we are in the storm with God. We are tethered to God in our creation and when we realize this truth, we proclaim it in the way we live out our faith. There is no need to panic. If God trusts you with a life, why would God not be with you in that life? We are not alone, ever.
Ever, always, always there appears out of no where a sense of the divine, be it in the storms at sea or in the storms of living, we are found in our weakest moments yelling do you not care that we are perishing, that the priesthood you called me to is falling away, that the disease is killing me, that the life you gave me is in ruin? Do you not care, are you asleep, what are you doing? Peace, be still, God put his faith in you, now you are called to put your faith in God. Peace, hush, be quiet and know that God is good. Amen.
“Peace, be still.”
“Hush, be silent.”
“Quiet, be not a word.”
And the sea was quiet.
Do I care that you are being ruined? You asked me if I cared that you were being ruined. Did you really wake me up to ask if I cared that you were being ruined? Am I not in the same boat as you? Would not your ruin mean ruin for me also? Who do you think I am? Why would you assume that I would allow you, allow us, to be ruined? If you think this storm was bad, hide and watch what comes next. It will take more than a simple tempest trick of weather control to get us through the next three years, and you think I would let you perish? What? I would lead you out of the bondage of Egypt only to die in a desert? What? I would ask you to come with me, leave all that you have behind, walk away from your families, only to be as some sort of cruel joke where I drown you in a stormy sea. You of little faith. Give me a break will you?
When I was first ordained I got into trouble with the Bishop, it happens. I didn’t do anything nefarious, nothing illegal, or immoral or insane, just kind-a dumb. But I was in trouble none-the-less. After three years for seminary, and a long discernment process, I thought here it is, the end before it began. I thought that this ordination thing was about to be over for me. The truth of the matter was that I should not be a priest. I should have not gone to seminary. I should have stayed in place and not risked. Besides, who am I anyway to be a priest? I do not fit that mold. My field work supervisor once said, “You know when people look at Sean, your co-worker here at the church, they see a priest.” And his silence to me was deafening and the implication dug deep into my soul. “Right, Sean is a priest, I am not.” And then the prophecy was coming true, I was in trouble with the Bishop, waiting for a month to meet with him. A long month of March 2001, at then end of that month the Bishop would say the words I knew I would hear, “Patrick you are not a priest. Thank you for your time.”
I still did my job. I was still a deacon. I did my work, but always with a kick in my gut. It is hard to admit when you are weak. Especially for me. And it is difficult to discern when to tell you all these stories about me and my family, but we are family now, and so this is your story too, a story of vulnerability and the grace of God.
When people have power over you and your life the vulnerability you feel is palpable. In that awful month of March 2001 I broke. The voices in my head were yelling at the top of their lungs. I am always amazed at my ability to self accuse, and self loath. I am better now, but then I was not. Worry, anxiety, newly married, car payments, rent, the future, my identity, who I was, all of this was in question. “Is he a priest or not?” “Will we ordain him or not?” And the pressure became too great. And in the shower one morning I fell to the floor and began to sob.
Naked and crying, crying in a way that you may or may not know. Crying for the last five years, fearing failure and feeling abandoned, crying in that way that we sometimes do because there are no words and we are overcome. I sat there in the running shower sobbing when the water was turned off and a hand lifted me up set me on the bed and covered my naked self with a towel and then said to me, “it was going to be ok.” Peace be still, hush be silent, quiet, not a word.
A life changing moment. My wife Allison found me and held me and told me it was going to be ok. Since then, in so many ways and moments, her actions to me have been my actions to others. It was not about the power over me, I was no longer frightened by it, my faith suddenly was uplifted by what mattered. In that moment I found God working through the life of one person to another. God found in the people ministering to people. Be they a friend or a wife or a clergy, ministry to each other in the darkest moments, in the middle of the storm, is reminder of what faith is to be about.
Eric Clapton sings:
Lately I've been running on faith/What else can a poor boy do? But my world will be right/When love comes over you. /Lately I've been talking in my sleep/I can't imagine what I'd have to say/Except my world will be right/When love comes back your way/I've always been/One to take each and every day/Seems like by now/I'd find a love who cares just for me/Then we'd go running on faith/All of our dreams would come true/And our world will be right/When love comes over me and you.
Someone asked me this week about my faith and where it comes from, and over time I have come to believe that I have faith in God, since God had faith in me first.
Trust is implied in faith. Trust in the other entity that he or she will come through on their end of the relationship. God trusted me first when I was given my life. It was as if God said, “here you go, here is a life, it is yours, let’s see what you do with it.” I believe that the initial trust was done by God to me. The question for me is would I then return the favor and trust God with that which is God’s own? For me, it is simple God trusted me first, therefore I trust God.
And I do. Time and time and time again, when I think the oil is running out, or that the situation has no solution, or that I am surely lost, and confusion and failure are immanent I remember that what Jesus reveals is that God is in the boat too. God is in the boat, in the storm, in the path of ruin with us, Emmanuel, God with us. And, as St. Paul said, if God is for us, who can be against us?
It is true, lately I have been running on faith, what else can a poor boy do. Because I know, I have seen it, felt it, lived it, naked and seemingly alone, you are lifted up and covered up by someone you love, and in their words of comfort you hear the voice of God.
It is important to realize that what we proclaim in this faith of ours is that Jesus is the Son of God. What is revealed in the person of Jesus is that God is more than a creator. God is an actor too. The story of the raging sea, the frightened disciples and the “not in a panic” actions of Jesus reveal that we are in the storm with God. We are tethered to God in our creation and when we realize this truth, we proclaim it in the way we live out our faith. There is no need to panic. If God trusts you with a life, why would God not be with you in that life? We are not alone, ever.
Ever, always, always there appears out of no where a sense of the divine, be it in the storms at sea or in the storms of living, we are found in our weakest moments yelling do you not care that we are perishing, that the priesthood you called me to is falling away, that the disease is killing me, that the life you gave me is in ruin? Do you not care, are you asleep, what are you doing? Peace, be still, God put his faith in you, now you are called to put your faith in God. Peace, hush, be quiet and know that God is good. Amen.
Mark 4.26-34
I am not sure what it means to be “the greatest” any more. I used to. When I was little, to be great meant to be powerful, like the Bionic Man. The Bionic Man was truly great. He could run very fast, lift heavy things, see very far. There was a sound that he made when he did his bionic thing. I used to make that sound when I would run. It is a mechanical sound, as if all the tiny wheels and cogs, the electrical wires and the nano batteries that made the bionics in the bionic man work began to whir and spin and hum. The sound was like this, “chun-chun-chun-chun, dun-dun-dun-dun, chun, chun, chun, chun, chun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, and it would alternate pitch as the muscles contracted and relaxed. The Bionic Man would do great things with his power, save people, defeat the bad buys, subvert the evil plot, and all in an hour’s time.
In the opening credits, the line reads, "Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster."
Steve Austin, the Bionic Man’s name, became the bionic man after a tragic plane crash. And the rest of the time between 1974 and 1978 was history. Boys across the country had Steve Austin dolls, with little fold back skin that revealed the inner workings of the bionics. I would spend my time at school drawing small patches of bionic wire and then taping them to my arms and legs. These were my own crude bionic designs, imitating Steve Austin’s true bionic design, bionics that made me powerful on the playground, more powerful than David Hartwell. David wore Star Trek uniforms to school and would try and use the Vulcan grip thing on us. But his powers were no match for our bionics.
It is funny to me, The Bionic Man. A TV show. Steve Austin was played by Lee Majors. It was based on a novel “Cyborg” by Martin Caidin. All of the core values that our society holds dear were wrapped up in it. In the Six Million Dollar Man story, we find the power of the human mind able to create a technology that improves upon the imperfect human being. Steve Austin is made better, stronger, faster by the work of the human mind. He uses his new power for good, for the betterment of his fellow humans who are admittedly lesser beings without their own bionics. As a boy I wanted that strength, that power. Boys go through a super power phase, brought on, I believe, by a repression of the truth, the reality of powerlessness. At some point in our development we realize the truth about ourselves, an inescapable truth, a true powerlessness that comes with our creation. We have brains, and muscles, and ego, and will. These are truths about us. And there is a hidden truth to the Bionic Man, a truth that they do not get to in the hour long show, the truth of the man part. His technological better half is still hobbled by his frail and perishable man half. Death comes for us all, and we have no power over it, it has power over us. We live underneath it, aware of it, repressing it, fantasizing that it does not exist. Or, that we can somehow beat it by creating a technology that will surpasses the dying. But the truth is we won’t. This is a hard lesson to learn, and many of us learn about it too early. When death comes for us and those we love it is always shocking that we are so vulnerable, so weak, so powerless. Like a little boy imitating a TV show, which is imitating a science that the culture wishes existed. Botox, steroids, plastic surgery, lipo suction, humanity redone, made better, stronger, faster, power filled. All of this is to say nothing about our love of money and the collection of financial power. All of these later turn to dust at the end of the day. The earth spins without our help, and time moves without our assistance. As created things we are dual in our nature. We are at once fantastic to behold, and at once fragile and fleeting. Power and powerlessness combined in every newborn child.
In his teachings, Jesus makes an observation about the way things work. Jesus paints a distinction between the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of this world. For Jesus, the Kingdom of this world was manifested in the Roman Empire. The Romans represented the power of the day. They held sway on the lives of everyone in Jesus’ world. Land use, food, shelter, all of the needs to stay alive, were held in the power of the Romans. They were fond of saying of themselves, “Pax Romana.” The Peace of Rome. But this peace was forged out of violence. The peace was kept in check through fear. A Roman legion would wipe out all things in its path. Step out of line, stand up to this power, and you and yours would be gone, erased from the earth.
The Kingdom of God was the opposite. The Kingdom of God was about peace as well, but peace that did not come from violence or fear but from love. The parables in Mark point to a new kingdom, a place where violence and fear do not exist. A place of safety, of salvation, a banquet where there is too much food, too much fellowship, too much God. This Kingdom is not found in the kingdom of this world. The Kingdom of God is found in your heart, your soul, in your love. Deep within each of us is the power of God. Jesus reveals this time and time again. The power that will last and be the greatest is the power of God in the smallest thing imaginable, something small like a mustard seed. Set it in a place and watch it grow to a place of greatness. And all that it does with its greatness is provide a place where others may come and take shelter in it.
"With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade." These words in Mark are from words in Greek that literally say, “ a shrub plant which starts so small, becomes so mega, that the birds of heaven can pitch their tents in it.”
The power of God is a mystery. Even Bionic men and women are fleeting. All of us are fleeting, but we have a power that is endowed within us. We do not need anything, except to look deep within us and realize it. The kingdom of God does not create power that is used over people, the Kingdom of God creates power that is used for people. It takes us and makes us into places where the birds of heaven can pitch their tents, find shelter from the sun, rest from the day and realize safety during the night. There is no need for us to alter our bodies to find the power in the Kingdom of God, we need only to alter our vision in order to see the power of God working through us, doing more than we could possibly imagine.
Here is a vision of the Kingdom of God for our time. We are that place. Those who were before us nurtured it to create a place for others to pitch a tent. We are a place to provide shade and safety to anyone who would find it. Like the mustard tree which set in place so the birds of the air find it, and when they do, they find a place of shelter, a place of solace. We are that place. We are set in place, set here on the street, welcoming any that would come our way. We do not need to be Bionic to save the world. We do not need to alter ourselves in anyway, what it means to be the greatest is answered for us. Anything that welcomes the children of God is the greatest.
And we do that. We are a mega church without being mega. We are Bionic people, with out needing to be bionic. We do not imitate TV, we live in a reality of the power of God. We need to only look inside our hearts to find it. Our bionics come not from human hands, they come from the divine call. The heroes of our Gospel story are the people who decided to plant a church here. They each nurtured it in their own day. The goal was and is to create a place where the heavenly birds can pitch their tents. In our living and in our dying we are the people of God. We strive each day to make the Kingdom of God appear now. We do this out of love, aware of our frailties, and loving in spite of ourselves. We need to be no greater than a simple mustard plant. We need no other calling than to be a place of shelter for whoever might find their way into our shade. Amen.
In the opening credits, the line reads, "Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster."
Steve Austin, the Bionic Man’s name, became the bionic man after a tragic plane crash. And the rest of the time between 1974 and 1978 was history. Boys across the country had Steve Austin dolls, with little fold back skin that revealed the inner workings of the bionics. I would spend my time at school drawing small patches of bionic wire and then taping them to my arms and legs. These were my own crude bionic designs, imitating Steve Austin’s true bionic design, bionics that made me powerful on the playground, more powerful than David Hartwell. David wore Star Trek uniforms to school and would try and use the Vulcan grip thing on us. But his powers were no match for our bionics.
It is funny to me, The Bionic Man. A TV show. Steve Austin was played by Lee Majors. It was based on a novel “Cyborg” by Martin Caidin. All of the core values that our society holds dear were wrapped up in it. In the Six Million Dollar Man story, we find the power of the human mind able to create a technology that improves upon the imperfect human being. Steve Austin is made better, stronger, faster by the work of the human mind. He uses his new power for good, for the betterment of his fellow humans who are admittedly lesser beings without their own bionics. As a boy I wanted that strength, that power. Boys go through a super power phase, brought on, I believe, by a repression of the truth, the reality of powerlessness. At some point in our development we realize the truth about ourselves, an inescapable truth, a true powerlessness that comes with our creation. We have brains, and muscles, and ego, and will. These are truths about us. And there is a hidden truth to the Bionic Man, a truth that they do not get to in the hour long show, the truth of the man part. His technological better half is still hobbled by his frail and perishable man half. Death comes for us all, and we have no power over it, it has power over us. We live underneath it, aware of it, repressing it, fantasizing that it does not exist. Or, that we can somehow beat it by creating a technology that will surpasses the dying. But the truth is we won’t. This is a hard lesson to learn, and many of us learn about it too early. When death comes for us and those we love it is always shocking that we are so vulnerable, so weak, so powerless. Like a little boy imitating a TV show, which is imitating a science that the culture wishes existed. Botox, steroids, plastic surgery, lipo suction, humanity redone, made better, stronger, faster, power filled. All of this is to say nothing about our love of money and the collection of financial power. All of these later turn to dust at the end of the day. The earth spins without our help, and time moves without our assistance. As created things we are dual in our nature. We are at once fantastic to behold, and at once fragile and fleeting. Power and powerlessness combined in every newborn child.
In his teachings, Jesus makes an observation about the way things work. Jesus paints a distinction between the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of this world. For Jesus, the Kingdom of this world was manifested in the Roman Empire. The Romans represented the power of the day. They held sway on the lives of everyone in Jesus’ world. Land use, food, shelter, all of the needs to stay alive, were held in the power of the Romans. They were fond of saying of themselves, “Pax Romana.” The Peace of Rome. But this peace was forged out of violence. The peace was kept in check through fear. A Roman legion would wipe out all things in its path. Step out of line, stand up to this power, and you and yours would be gone, erased from the earth.
The Kingdom of God was the opposite. The Kingdom of God was about peace as well, but peace that did not come from violence or fear but from love. The parables in Mark point to a new kingdom, a place where violence and fear do not exist. A place of safety, of salvation, a banquet where there is too much food, too much fellowship, too much God. This Kingdom is not found in the kingdom of this world. The Kingdom of God is found in your heart, your soul, in your love. Deep within each of us is the power of God. Jesus reveals this time and time again. The power that will last and be the greatest is the power of God in the smallest thing imaginable, something small like a mustard seed. Set it in a place and watch it grow to a place of greatness. And all that it does with its greatness is provide a place where others may come and take shelter in it.
"With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade." These words in Mark are from words in Greek that literally say, “ a shrub plant which starts so small, becomes so mega, that the birds of heaven can pitch their tents in it.”
The power of God is a mystery. Even Bionic men and women are fleeting. All of us are fleeting, but we have a power that is endowed within us. We do not need anything, except to look deep within us and realize it. The kingdom of God does not create power that is used over people, the Kingdom of God creates power that is used for people. It takes us and makes us into places where the birds of heaven can pitch their tents, find shelter from the sun, rest from the day and realize safety during the night. There is no need for us to alter our bodies to find the power in the Kingdom of God, we need only to alter our vision in order to see the power of God working through us, doing more than we could possibly imagine.
Here is a vision of the Kingdom of God for our time. We are that place. Those who were before us nurtured it to create a place for others to pitch a tent. We are a place to provide shade and safety to anyone who would find it. Like the mustard tree which set in place so the birds of the air find it, and when they do, they find a place of shelter, a place of solace. We are that place. We are set in place, set here on the street, welcoming any that would come our way. We do not need to be Bionic to save the world. We do not need to alter ourselves in anyway, what it means to be the greatest is answered for us. Anything that welcomes the children of God is the greatest.
And we do that. We are a mega church without being mega. We are Bionic people, with out needing to be bionic. We do not imitate TV, we live in a reality of the power of God. We need to only look inside our hearts to find it. Our bionics come not from human hands, they come from the divine call. The heroes of our Gospel story are the people who decided to plant a church here. They each nurtured it in their own day. The goal was and is to create a place where the heavenly birds can pitch their tents. In our living and in our dying we are the people of God. We strive each day to make the Kingdom of God appear now. We do this out of love, aware of our frailties, and loving in spite of ourselves. We need to be no greater than a simple mustard plant. We need no other calling than to be a place of shelter for whoever might find their way into our shade. Amen.
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