Compassionately getting away

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 11 – Year B

July 19, 2015

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

It's been almost two weeks since my family and I returned from our vacation. It was the first vacation we've had as a family for several years. It was good to get away, to spend time together. But, as often happens, we returned from the 'break' more tired than when we left. And for the last two weeks we've been trying to catch up on the life that got piled up here, the laundry that needs to be done, the appointments and commitments that had to be scheduled for after our return. We just got back from a break, and could use a break from the work that the last break created.

When I was younger (and single with no kids) one of the joys I had in life was being able to get away by myself. I could jump in the car and drive, and in just a little bit I could be alone. I could walk into my apartment, lock the door and it would be just me and my cat until I decided to walk outside again. When I left work at the end of the week, it was actually possible for me to have the whole weekend to myself if I wanted to. Now, that's just a dream. Maybe after the kids have grown up and moved out on their own, it might happen. But now, no. There is almost always something demanding my attention, requiring me to leave my solitude and be with others.

That hour or two late in the evening after the kids have gone to bed has become a sacred time for Missy and I. It's time for just us. We can actually talk, we can relax, put aside the cares of the day. We can ignore the piles of laundry, the stacks of dirty dishes, the bills that need to be paid. For just an hour or two, the world can be kept at bay. Of course, the next morning it all comes crashing back down on us.

Do you ever feel like you can't have a moment to yourself? It's a feeling that most of us in our society can relate to. It seems almost impossible to really get away, to find a place by yourself. You have to work at it. You want some time alone: you have to get away, shut off your cell phone, figure out how you can create a space between you and the world. Does that mean going away from the city? Does it mean pulling the drapes and locking the door? It takes work to be alone. And, when you try to be alone, and the world suddenly invades your solitude, it can be frustrating, annoying, infuriating; it can even make you more than a little mad.

I don't know how many times I've found myself sitting on the couch in the fall, watching football, having a little time to myself on Sunday afternoon. Then the kids come running in. If it's just to make noise, or annoy me with a story or a question, I often get a little short with them. But, if they come running in crying, or bleeding, or hurt in some way, it could be best football game in history and I would turn away to respond to their need; out of duty, out of love, out of compassion. My own wants and desires set aside, so that I could address their needs.

Our text from Mark, seems rather out of place. It follows our reading from last week where Jesus hears of the beheading of John the Baptist. We read in our text that the apostle's give Jesus a report of their foray into ministry and that Jesus wants to get away with them for a while. Then we skip completely over the miraculous feeding of the five thousand and the story of Jesus walking on water! Our text picks up again after they have arrived on the other side of the lake. We skipped over two of the most powerful and amazing stories about Jesus. It makes no sense; or does it?

Often, when we think about Jesus, we think about the incredible things he did: the miracles, the feeding of thousands of people with just a few scraps of food, transforming water into wine, walking on water; the miracles. What we sometimes look past are some of the other things Jesus did: listening, caring, welcoming, having compassion. We focus on the god-like miracles, and look past the things that we could perhaps achieve on a good day. I think our lectionary, the schedule of weekly readings we follow, skips passages to help us to see that we can be Christ-like to our neighbors, even though we may not be able to walk on water or feed thousands of people out of a 'to go' bag, we can be compassionate.

So what is compassion? The word we have in Greek (σπλαγχνίζομαι – splanchnizomai) is rooted in the word for guts . So, compassion is that feeling we get in our guts. We see something, and our guts are wrenched, are hearts are torn, and we feel the need to reach out, to do something. That's compassion. The crowds surround Jesus, seeking healing and wholeness, and he has compassion on them. He sensed their pain and need and entered into it. That's the other part of compassion, the part we get in English. Compassion is a compound word, it has a prefix - “com”, which means 'with', or 'together'. The passion part comes from the Latin understanding 'passion', - to suffer. Compassion is to enter into another persons life, to identify with them to the level that you suffer with them, that their pain, their need becomes your own.

If we look around our community, around this great big ball on which we all live, we can all see many things that punch us in our gut, that makes our hearts ache, that causes compassion to flower in our souls. All of us are responding to that compassion that is created in our own ways. We may be volunteering our services, we may be collecting donations, we may be financially supporting different efforts, we may be spending time on our knees in prayer. We are doing things. Because, that's the other part of compassion. Compassion isn't just a feeling, it's a doing. It's a doing that we are individually doing, and it's a doing that we are called to as a church, as a community of God's people.

We all know that Zion is a small church in numbers. We cannot do the same service projects and mission outreach of some of the larger congregations in the area. Serving hundreds of meals each week like the Urban Mission is simply not possible for us. Putting together a Vacation Bible School program that would be open to dozens of children would be nigh on impossible for us. Making a call for a special offering for a mission in Central America, and being able to send tens of thousands of dollars in response to that call is a pipe dream. No, as a church our ability 'to do' will be different than what other churches may be able to offer. So what can we offer, how do we respond compassionately to the needs in our community as a church?

We can offer our welcome. We can welcome people into our midst, into our church, into our community of faith who have not been welcomed elsewhere, who have felt the sting of rejection or exclusion. Right now in this country there is a lot of conversation about marriage, specifically about the recent ruling that two people of the same sex have the constitutional right to marry. Here at Zion, the vote was made over two years ago that we would welcome and embrace people regardless of who they loved. Part of that welcome will be offering them the opportunity to covenant with their loved one in marriage, here in the church. It's part of our extravagant, compassionate welcome. It's part of our practice of trying to minister to, to welcome others as Jesus did.

Jesus ministered to all people. He accepted everyone who would love God. He associated with and ministered to the most scorned and lowly persons of his time. Many of these people had chosen or found themselves in occupations or activities disdained by most of the people. They had made lifestyle choices that put them in disrepute. If he would love those who lived in unpopular circumstances created by their own free will, wouldn’t he have loved those born with identities beyond their choice? I think so! It was never recorded how he felt about homosexuality. We can only guess how he felt based on the inclusive message of love and acceptance in his ministry. In a world forever full of violence and hate, how could he not fully accept his brothers and sisters living and loving in committed same sex relationships?

We all would love to live in a world free of hate and discrimination. Right here in Steubenville, today, most of us would say, of course, anyone who wants to worship with us is welcome. Then why do mainline churches need to have labels like the Open and Affirming of our UCC, Reconciling Congregation Program of the United Methodists, Reconciled in Christ of the Lutherans, Welcoming & Affirming Baptists, etc.? Why can’t we simply be judged by our actions and forget the labels?…. The reason is we must have the courage to say to those outside our church and within our own community that not all Christians are exclusive; not all Christians are judgmental; not all Christians discriminate and preach hate. Our church, Zion United Church of Christ of Steubenville, celebrates our human diversity. We believe in social justice. We need to tell our message loudly and clearly to our neighbors…. And, sometimes, we need to remind ourselves just what we stand for.

We are a place of welcome for all people. Young and old people. Single and married people. Tattooed and pierced people. People with purple hair and people with no hair. People we totally understand, and people who leave us feeling confused. People that are straight, people that are gay, and people every place in between. People who fit our understanding of being men or women, and people that are creating their own gender identities. People that are poor, and people that are financially comfortable. People who grew up in the church, and people who have never stepped into a church. People who have never said a swear word in their entire life, and people whose language would make a sailor blush. We are a place of compassion, where we strive to understand and feel in our guts what it is the other person feels. We are a place of welcome, where you do not need to be alone, where you can get away from the struggles of this world and find the hope, wholeness and welcome that we all desire. Will our message of love and acceptance be a beacon of hope…or will our silence be just another insult? Unconditional love of all people is our charge and our challenge as we walk in the compassionate path of Jesus Christ. May we be that place where people can be touched by God, and made whole. Amen.