Gospel: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
There’s a subtext of vulnerability found in today’s passage from Luke. The 70 sent by Jesus to go out ahead of him are sent with the admonition to carry nothing with them on their journey: no purse, so no money; no bag, so no other clothes; no sandals, so bare feet on a rocky road. They’re sent with the warning that there’s a real possibility they’ll face hostile reactions and rejection from those they encounter.
Vulnerability in this passage from Luke is not a feeling that’s new in the scriptures; it’s something found throughout the Bible and experienced by multiple generations of those who came long before Jesus and these 70 missionaries (and certainly by the many generations who have come since, up to today). There was the vulnerability of those enslaved and exploited by pharaoh in Egypt as they worked for little and were mistreated by many. There was the vulnerability of those forcibly removed from their homes and their nation, sent by the conquering powers of Assyria and Babylon to live in exile in unfamiliar lands.
In our Sunday adult forum series on the prophet Micah we’ve discussed the vulnerability of those with little who had their lands seized by others with wealth and power. We’ve looked at the vulnerability of those who suffered under the oppression of leaders in the northern and southern kingdoms of Israel who abdicated their responsibility to act as righteous and just rulers – those who had forgotten the reminder of what constituted righteous rule from the prophet Isaiah: “Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; defend the fatherless, plead for the widow.”[1]
And it doesn’t end with the Old Testament. Consider the New Testament and the ministry of Jesus. Remember the instances of the vulnerable living with illness and with no resources for treatment, no one to care for them, and a society that largely turned its back on them: the blind men at the Temple and at the side of the road, for instance, or the hemorrhagic woman who reached out to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment, or those suffering with leprosy. Think of the vulnerability of all who lived under the oppressive Roman regime and the financial and bureaucratic burdens imposed by Caesar and governor and with no recourse other than to continue praying for a messiah. And consider the vulnerability of Jesus himself, a man born into a low economic class, who never had much, and who was stripped of what little he did have – including his life – when lifted to die on the cross.
As we return to the gospel reading it’s easy to picture ourselves as those Jesus sent ahead of him and certainly those who continue to be sent. I’ve preached in past years on the idea that together we, in today’s world, are the 70. We see ourselves as the vulnerable apostles going out to receive the hospitality of others and talk about the love of God, or the worship and work in the community of St. Stephen’s, or what the Episcopal Church is all about. We encounter those who are curious and want to know more; we encounter those who are polite but disinterested; we encounter those who want nothing to do with us. Yet as followers of Jesus, we must keep moving forward.
But I want to offer a further reminder about our continuing responsibility to receive those who come to us, and how we should respond. You all certainly know what to do and how to do it, but it’s important to remember we can’t assume those coming to us are doing so from a place of confidence or strength. They may very well be carrying their own brokenness or vulnerability. They may bear the scars of a modern-day reliving of what the vulnerable in centuries and millennia past experienced: victimization by the unrighteous or those abusing their power or position; physical or emotional exile; illness for which there’s either been no helping hand extended or help that comes at a cost beyond their resources.
Our outreach work certainly reaches the most vulnerable. Those utilizing our little pantry come to it from a place of vulnerability. The families at local elementary schools we serve with Thanksgiving meals each year receive them from a place of vulnerability. Those who are given one of our prayer shawls are often wrapping those physical signs of love around the vulnerabilities they carry within them. Our support of organizations such as Miriam’s House, and Interfaith Outreach Association, and Meals on Wheels touches in a small way the vulnerabilities of the unhoused, the unfed, and those feeling unloved.
It’s also important to remember one other thing: when we put ourselves out there to help others, we’re bringing our own vulnerabilities. The wounds of others are matched by the scars we bear. The fear weighing down those who approach is matched by the fear we overcome in going to meet them. Those coming to us feeling that life has been a series of losses are met by those of us bearing news that we – and God – want them to continue striving and continue trying, as we do in the face of our own setbacks, and to do so knowing they’re not alone.
The well-known author and podcaster Brené Brown had this to say: “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage.”[2] That’s what we’re called to do and what others coming to us want from us: simply show up. Show up when no one else will. For those of us who like certainty and the ability to see how things are going to work out, approaching without being able to promise any of that might be our vulnerability – and that’s okay. We still show up for them; we still walk with them; we still live as their strength when they don’t have their own. And who knows: out of all of what we try to do for others, they may end up being the strength we didn’t know we needed.
Even as we wrestle with our own vulnerabilities and fears, may we be strengthened by God’s call to go to the vulnerable and outcast, which in the words of William Stringfellow is “an echo … of the gospel itself.” As he wrote,
the Christian is to be found in his work and witness in the world among those for whom no one else cares – the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the misfits, the homeless, the orphans and beggars. The presence of the Christian among the outcasts is the way in which the Christian represents, concretely, the ubiquity and universality of the intercession of Christ for all.[3]
Amen.
[1] Isaiah 1:16-17.
[2] Brené Brown. Excerpt from Rising Strong, featured in Parade, September 4, 2015. Retrieved from https://parade.com/420360/parade/excerpt-from-brene-browns-rising-strong-the-physics-of-vulnerability/.
[3] William Stringfellow, “Street Law.” Excerpt from My People is the Enemy, in A Keeper of the Word: Selected Writings of William Stringfellow (Bill Wylie Kellerman, editor).