Never Theirs to Take

Luke 10:1–11 sends seventy disciples into the world with nothing but each other and a blessing of peace. Some will welcome them. Others will reject them. In this sermon, we face the sting of rejection and hear Jesus’ promise: your peace will return to you—because it was never theirs to take.

Transcript

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You're listening to The Word on Baker Street, a podcast from Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Bakersfield, California. Each week we share the good news of God's love through the sermons from our Sunday worship. Wherever you are on your journey, you are welcome here.

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The Holy Gospel according to Luke. After this, the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him and pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. And he said to them, The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into this harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say peace to this house. And if anyone is there who shares in that peace, your peace will rest on that person. If not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter into a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you, cure the sick who are there, and say to them, The kingdom of God has come near to you. But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, Even the dust of your town that clings to your feet, we wipe off in protest against you. And yet know this the kingdom of God has come near you. Whoever listens to you, listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me. And whoever rejects me, rejects the one who sent me. The gospel of the Lord. Let us pray. Loving God, may these words in all of our meditations bring us closer to you today. Amen. So whenever a lesson begins with after this, I'm immediately curious, well, after what? What came right before this? And if we look back, we actually see the lesson where Jesus and his disciples enter that Samaritan village, and the Samaritans there, they don't accept Jesus at all. They completely reject him and they tell him, you know, basically, get out, go on your way. And the disciples, they respond by asking Jesus whether or not they should rain down fire and consume them from heaven. Consume the whole village. Since when did raining down fire ever become an option? Fortunately for everyone, Jesus, he wouldn't have any of it, and they went on their way. The lesson today begins right after Jesus told his disciples, we're not raining down fire. That's not the plan. And he appoints 70, 70, so way more than the 12, to go into the towns ahead of him. I think he's kind of trying to get them to stake things out a little bit here, feel it out. And he gives them some very basic instructions on how to be a good guest. Jesus is like, okay, tempers were running a little bit hot in the last town, and so here's the plan. When you go visiting various places, stick together, greet people with peace, eat what they give you. They put, no trading up if you find a better spot. And then uh, if people don't welcome you, dust off your feet, shake it off, move on. No need to rain down fire. But still let them know the kingdom of God has come near to them. What really got me in this lesson today is when Jesus says, whatever house you enter, first say peace to this house. And if there's anyone there who shares in that peace, your peace is gonna rest on that person. But if not, it will return to you. And then if they don't welcome you, shake the dust from your feet, but still let them know the kingdom of God has come near them. Those are the verses that really stopped me cold. Peace is offered, peace is rejected, and then peace is returned. And some of you know that my mother-in-law, Lynn, she passed away recently, and um I've been preparing this memorial service for her, and Lynn was loved by practically everybody in Tehachapi. She was strong, tenacious, willing to help anyone, and she she really had this wicked sense of humor. She also had this like remarkable tolerance for people who disapproved of her family. Her service is this next Thursday, and this last week I learned that there are several people who are refusing to come to the service, not because of who Lynn was, but because of who I am. And you know, some don't believe women should be preaching, and others say, you know, it's it's the queer thing, and there are those who have told me outright that if I am presiding, they will not attend. And I'll be honest, that kind of rejection, it still sings. And it also gets me a little bit hot. I'll tell you, I can totally relate to the disciples here and the desire for fire. You know, when someone says, Lynn should be commended for tolerating such a sinner, and uh, we can't be abide by that heresy. And I wish I could rise above it. But all I'm thinking is, you know, hey Jesus, what about that fire? Right? Can we do the fire thing right now? Um just a little. I mean, it would feel so good to reply with some kind of scathing comment and rain down truth bombs on them from above. And in some small petty corner of my heart, it feels justified. But Jesus doesn't say let them have it. He doesn't say prove me wrong. He says offer them peace. And if they don't accept it, it returns to you. I don't know about you, but I it's not usually how I react to rejection. If I extend peace and it's rejected, I don't usually think, oh well, now that peace is resting peacefully back in my soul, gently on me. I'm more likely to think, well, what did I do wrong? Or, you know, what's wrong with them? And I alternate between wanting to like do the whole fire thing on them and fire thing on myself. I get obsessive and I replay the interaction and I write imaginary conversations in my head where I finally say the perfect thing. I tell myself stories, and some of them are heroic and some are not, and I I'll get frustrated. I mean, really, really frustrated with myself for giving them that much space in my head. Yeah, that's the crazy thing of it all. Not being able to let it go. Is it just me, or do we do we all have times when we give someone more space in our minds than they've earned? Or we let our peace become hostage to someone else's reaction? Or we let our self-worth be tethered to being liked or welcomed or accepted. And we tell ourselves that peace comes when our spouse is finally in a good mood, or the boss is giving us a little bit of positive attention, or our teenager stops making destructive choices, or our friends aren't mad at us, or maybe an ex finally admits that they're wrong, and the news cycle goes quiet, or maybe it's when the family drama settles down. But if peace only lives there, if peace only exists when everything is tidy and all of the relationships are warm and the comments are kind, and we're always going to be at the mercy of circumstances we can't control. Beloved, other people were never and are never the source of our peace. Jesus says peace is something that we carry with us. We offer it, and if it's not received, it wasn't wasted because it comes back. Because it came from God, not from them. And I wonder what it would be like to live like that, to trust that the peace that I offer, whether in the form of love or an apology or a sermon or even silence, is never wasted? What if peace is less of a feeling and more of a spiritual posture? And what if it's not something we have to maintain through emotional self-regulation and social performance? What if it's something that we were given from the start? Because here's the truth of it. You were formed by the breath of God. You bear the Imagio Dei, the very image of the Creator. That image can be bruised but not broken. It can be ignored but not erased. It can be rejected by others, but not removed by them. So when Jesus says, I'll give you authority, nothing will hurt you. He doesn't mean you'll never be wounded. He means you won't be defined by those wounds. He means the rejection we experience, it can't undo what matters. He means the betrayal and the silence and those cruel moments, the family that walks away, pews that end up being empty, or the internet that mocks and the vote that actually breaks your heart. None of it has the final word on your identity or your calling. Because peace doesn't die when it's rejected, peace returns. And that doesn't mean we get to be all self-righteous about things. Jesus says, you know, when they don't welcome you, shake the dust off, but tell them the kingdom of God has come near you to them. Even the ones who rejected you. Even the ones who mocked you, even the ones who refuse to come to your mother-in-law's funeral because of who you are. The kingdom of God has come near to them. And that's grace. It's not fair, it's not reciprocal, it's but it is for everyone. Even those who won't speak peace in return. Which also means that when we're the ones who fail to receive peace, when we're the ones who turn away, when when we ghost that hard conversation, when we wall ourselves off, the kingdom of God still comes near to us. Because the peace of Christ isn't a test, it's a gift. And that's the thing. The peace returns. What would it be like to believe that, to live as if no act of grace is ever wasted, to walk into every space with open hands and to walk away when necessary without any shame. And Jesus sent them two by two. And he sent them with no sandals, no money, no protection. But they had each other and they had this message of peace. Jesus knew that they would be vulnerable. He knew that they would be rejected. He knew that they would want to fight or that they would despair. But he also knew that they belonged to God. And the kingdom of God was near to the people they met, to them, and to us. You know, so if you're tired of being rejected, or you've been ghosted or blocked or unfriended or slandered, if you've if you tried to extend peace and have gotten nothing in return, know this. It's not a waste. Your peace was never theirs to take. And the kingdom of God has still come near. It's come near to you, to them, to this whole hurting world. So, beloved, share this peace. Not because the world will always receive you, but because Christ already has. Amen.

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Thanks for listening to the Word on Baker Street. If this message has spoken to you, share it with a friend. More sermons and reflections can be found at emmanuelbakersfield.org. May God's grace and peace be with you today and always.