An Elliptical Glory: Hands on the Plow (proper 8C)

Hands on the Plow

Homily delivered Third Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 8; Year C RCL)
26 June 2022; 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. Said Mass

The Rev. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Medford, OR

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21; Psalm 16; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62

God, take away our hearts of stone

and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

[[Since it’s on everyone’s minds because of the Supreme Court decision on Friday, it might be helpful to simply repeat here the official position of the Episcopal Church on the matter of termination of pregnancies. Our position has been clear from the mid 1990s, when General Convention approved a resolution that, after a lengthy discussion of the sanctity of human life, the joy and blessing of children, and how serious a thing abortion is, says the decision to continue or end a pregnancy “must be a matter of personal conscience,” and concludes:

“We believe that legislation concerning abortions will not address the root of the problem. We therefore express our deep conviction that any proposed legislation on the part of national or state governments regarding abortions must take special care to see that the individual conscience is respected, and that the responsibility of individuals to reach informed decisions in this matter is acknowledged and honored… the Episcopal Church express[es] its unequivocal opposition to any legislative, executive or judicial action on the part of local, state or national governments that abridges the right of a woman to reach an informed decision about the termination of pregnancy or that would limit the access of a woman to safe means of acting on her decision.”]]

Jesus has hardened his face, set his jaw, and started on the final trip—the one to Jerusalem, where he knows he will probably die. He goes the most direct route, through Samaria. Local Samaritans, hearing that Jesus is headed for Jerusalem, the capital of their enemies, refuse to welcome him to stay overnight. “Why should we welcome one of our persecutors? Why provide hospitality for this racist, this oppressor?” The disciples get angry in their turn. Jesus, after all, has been more welcoming and tolerant of the Samaritans than anyone else around. “Can we call down fire from heaven upon them?” they ask Jesus eagerly.

The intersection of politics, ethnicity, and religion has always been a hot topic, fraught with deep emotion: We hear expressions of such tribe-driven emotion almost daily, from all corners. In the words of Stephen Stills, “A thousand people in the street, Singing songs and they carrying signs, Mostly say’in, "Hooray for our side.”

In our normal, messed up way of doing things and thinking, we deny our common humanity. We focus on tribal, religious, ethnic, class, or political division. There are, to be sure, legitimate grievances and complaints between groups and people. But what I am talking about here is our tendency to avoid honest, fair-minded addressing such hurt and pursue in its stead a default tribal loyalty where my group can do no harm, and their group can do no right.

“Can we call down fire from heaven! Punish them!” The disciples here want justice. But they tar all Samaritans with the same brush, just as the villagers have tarred Jesus and his disciples as Jewish oppressors.

“Call down fire from heaven!” They have in mind the prophet Elijah, the star of today’s Hebrew Scripture. Elijah not only stopped the rain for three years to bring people back to God, he also called down fire from heaven on the soldiers of Ahaziah, King of—where else?—Samaria, when he turned Elijah away from Yahweh and sought Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, instead (2 Kings 1).

Elijah overshadows much of Jesus’ life. When people in his hometown question his lack of local miracles, he says, “No prophet is honored in his home town… There were many widows in Israel then, but Elijah was sent only to the [foreigner] widow in Zarephath in Sidon. There were many lepers in the time of Elisha, but none was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian” (Luke 4:24-27). Luke introduces John the Baptist as a forerunner of Jesus by saying that “he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah” (Luke 1:17). Herod reacts to stories about Jesus’ mighty acts by thinking Jesus is either John the Baptist or Elijah come back to life (Luke 9:7-8). On the Mount of Transfiguration, it is Elijah, along with Moses, who appears and tells Jesus of his need to go Jerusalem to accomplish his “Exodus” from this world (Luke 9:31).

But Jesus departs from the example of Elijah. He scolds the disciples for wanting to burn down the Samaritans. His calling is to proclaim God’s liberation, not to punish those who reject him. Earlier, sending his disciples out, he tells them to react to rejection by simply moving on: “dust off your shoes and be on your way” (Luke 9:5). Then when a disciple wants Jesus to silence a healer who uses Jesus’ name in exorcisms but is not one of his followers, Jesus says simply, “Let him do as he wishes. If he’s not against us, he’s with us” (Luke 9:50). No fire from heaven for Jesus.

For him on the way of the cross, the model prophet is not Elijah or even Moses. It’s Jonah. The Book of Jonah is read in its entirety in synagogue on the Day of Atonement, and was clearly important for Jesus. Though the prophet at first runs away because he just can’t bear bringing repentance and salvation to people who hate him, and is brought to accept his call only by miraculously surviving being swallowed by a great fish, though even near the end of the story he whines about the burning sun, the dead gourd bush, and having to preach at great personal risk in the big city, Jonah ultimately finds compassion for its inhabitants and follows through. He offers with boldness God’s grace to the people of Nineveh, and they turn to God. When people ask Jesus for a sign, he says he can give no sign to them at all, other than the sign of Jonah. Suffering in love even for those who despise him, Jonah brings them to God. His is a sign of hope: after three days in the belly of the Great Fish, he comes back to life.

Jesus does not call down fire from heaven like Elijah. He does not, like Elisha, send she-bears to kill rude teenagers mocking his bald pate (2 Kings 2:15, 23-4). Like Jonah, he proclaims the gracious forgiveness and love of God, even if it means his death. He proclaims it to those who reject him: the sign of Jonah indeed.

Jesus calls his followers to follow his way of self-sacrificing compassion, the ultimate escape from tribe and party. Earlier in this same chapter of Luke, after Peter affirms his faith that Jesus is Messiah, Jesus tells him that being Messiah means suffering and dying. And he says that all who follow him must also take up their own cross as well.

That’s why in today’s reading, Jesus seems so harsh to the would-be follower who begs for a day or so to bury his father. That’s why he won’t let another even say farewell to his loved ones. Elijah gives Elisha time to say farewell and settle things. But Jesus knows the way of suffering and compassion is so hard that you must set your face toward your goal, and not look back: “Let the dead bury their dead; keep your hand on the plow.”

This is a sharp contrast from the scene last week, when Jesus tells the Gerasene demoniac whom he has healed “You’ve suffered enough. Go back to your loved ones and family and share with them the grace God has shown you.” Jesus has hardened his face. He is on the way to Jerusalem. And he expects us to be on the way with him.

That’s why he says, “Keep your eyes forward, and your hand on the plow. No turning back and no regrets!”

Jesus is saying we must replace our particular loves and obligations to larger ones. We must be willing to put aside tribe, family, nation, and all other special obligations to look for serving all, and welcoming all, especially those who hate us, those against whom we may have a grudge.

But we all inevitably run into compassion fatigue. And it is here, I think, that all of us, at one time or another, loosen our grip on the plow and look back. Jesus in Gethsemane certainly had second thoughts and doubts. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. did too.

In the middle of the Montgomery Alabama bus boycott in early 1956, he lost hope. The boycott was not working, and seemed to be falling apart. Early in the evening, an anonymous caller had growled out, “If you aren’t out of this town in three days, we’re going to blow your brains out and blow up your house.” King couldn’t sleep, and drank coffee most of the night. This is what he later said happened:

“. . . I bowed down over that cup of coffee . . . I prayed a prayer and I prayed out loud that night. I said, ‘Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I think the cause we represent is right. But Lord I must confess that I’m weak now. I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. And I can’t let the people see me like this because if they see me weak and losing my courage, they will [too]’” (Samuel Freeman, Upon This Rock, 143).

The words of the African American spiritual, based on today’s gospel, came to him, “Keep your hand on the plow, hold on, hold on.” And things turned around.

Sisters and brothers, it is hard to be kingdom people. It is hard to follow Jesus on the way of suffering compassion to Jerusalem. It is easy to regret what we have had to give up for Jesus. It is easy to let our fatigue distract us, and leave is whining under the gourd bush like Jonah. It is easy to let the prospect of the cross cow us, force us into timidity. But we must not lose hope. We must soldier on, follow Jesus, and give to all the sign of Jonah—compassionate service despite it all.

Keep your hands on the plow. Hold on, Hold on.