Practical Discipleship
Fourteenth Sunday Scripture Readings
In Luke’s gospel passage this morning, Jesus gives some practical advice to his disciples. First, let’s take a quick look at the mission of these disciples as Luke presents it. There are discrepancies among the various ancient manuscripts from which these texts are taken. Some, like ours, set the number of disciples Jesus called at seventy. Others set the number at seventy-two. Those latter texts relate this group of disciples to the seventy-two elders that Moses chose as his assistants, community leaders, and judges in the Book of Exodus [18:21-26]. Later on in the same narrative, these elders went up the mountain of the Lord with Moses and Aaron and had a personal encounter with God. [Exodus 24:1-11] It seems to me to be an improbable coincidence that Luke tells us about the commissioning of Jesus’s disciples almost immediately after describing the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain. Consciously or unconsciously, because of the parallelism between Moses and Jesus—regardless of whether there were seventy or seventy-two disciples—the number is clearly symbolic.
Now, concerning the mission of the seventy-two itself, Jesus sent them on ahead in pairs to prepare the people for his arrival in their towns and cities. That was their purpose. What were they to do there? “Cure the sick…and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God is at hand for you.’” I always interpreted being “at hand” as though it were nearby, as in “just around the corner.” I think it’s better to think of it as in “when you’re sewing, it’s good to keep a pair of scissors at hand.” In other words, ready and waiting for you. And the sign of the presence of the kingdom of God, ready and waiting for you, is healing—physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. Therefore, the disciples were sent to heal. These seventy-two served as Jesus’s advance team, heralding the reign of God breaking into each community, manifest in the coming of the Master himself.
The seventy-two were the people whom Jesus sent to prepare the way for him, and the mission they were sent on was to proclaim this manifestation of the reign of God. Jesus also gave them instructions on how to prepare themselves for their mission and how to conduct themselves as they carried it out. What he told them is precisely the opposite of what we would have expected if we had been one of those called and sent. How far would we be comfortable travelling without our wallets or purses, without our luggage, without an extra change of clothes, and—God forbid!—barefoot? Furthermore, hotels and restaurants were out of the question. They had to crash on strangers’ couches, and every meal would be potluck. By demanding this, what was Jesus’s point? We humans lie to ourselves and to one another all the time, and it’s as true now as it was then. We lie by continually inventing false needs.
How often during the day do we say to ourselves or to others, “I need to…”? I need to vacuum the living room. I need to do a load of laundry. I need to go shopping. I need a new iPhone… I need a new car. In fact, none of these things are needs. We only pretend they are to deflect responsibility away from ourselves. You see, if I need something or need to do something, I’m compelled. My choices are limited. I’m not at fault. Someone or something else is responsible, and not I. Do you want to stop lying? Then replace the word “need” with the word “want,” and see how much more accurate that feels. I want to vacuum the living room. I want to do a load of laundry. I want to go shopping. I want a new iPhone… I want a new car. When we say that we want instead of need, responsibility for our actions returns to us.
My friend, Dennis, was struck by this concept and wanted to see what effect it might have on his life. He bought a small whiteboard and attached it to the side of his refrigerator. He then took an erasable marker, drew a line down the center, and titled one column “wants” and the other, “needs.” When he started out, his needs column consisted of a rather long list of items. Then, one by one, he meditated on each item, questioning how important it really was to him and what the consequences would be if he didn’t get or didn’t do that item. In most instances, the consequences were insignificant, where the cost of fulfilling that so-called need exceeded the value of what he sought. So, over they went into the “wants” column. That way, it shifted from a necessary to an optional expense. Once he saw that, some items dropped off the list entirely, since he couldn’t justify that unnecessary expense. My question to you is, do you need a whiteboard on your refrigerator?
Isn’t that the lesson that Jesus was teaching the seventy-two? He sent them off with only the barest of necessities. And therein lies his next lesson. Many of the things we put on our “needs” list are only there because we choose to see ourselves as our own saviors. I call it the illusion of being General Manager of the Universe. It’s the illusion of being indispensable. What would happen to me if I didn’t do this or get that? Everything would fall apart…and then I’d die. We say, “Thanks, God, for pointing me in the right direction, but don’t worry, I can take it from here. After all, I need to do this or to get that myself. I’ve got this.” In effect, Jesus was asking his disciples to reevaluate what they considered necessary. He was telling them that their only true necessity was faith—that is, trust—in God. Likewise, when we have things that are actually necessities in our “needs” column and there seems to be no way to satisfy them, that’s when real trust in God should kick in. I firmly believe that God will always take care of whatever is a genuine need.
There’s a corollary to our habit of lying to ourselves to turn our wants into needs. That’s when we embrace our refusal to commit ourselves based on these made-up needs. Just imagine some of those seventy-two disciples coming up to Jesus and saying to him, “So sorry, Lord, but I just can’t go on your mission today. I can’t because I need a new tunic. I can’t because I need new sandals. I can’t because I need to finish my work. I can’t because I need to go to the beach with my spouse.” Our lying to ourselves about false needs leads to lying to ourselves and to others about being responsive. The operative word here is “can’t.” It’s usually preceded by the word, “sorry,” as in “Sorry, but I can’t help you with that.” Again, we pretend we’re victims of a powerful and unforgiving force outside of ourselves. Yet, if we were honest, most times we say, “I can’t,” we actually mean, “I won’t.” How does “Sorry, but I won’t help you with that” sound? Somehow, “sorry” just doesn’t cut it when we take personal responsibility for our refusals. If we want to stop lying—and lying is always an option and not a necessity—then, unless we are physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or morally unable to fulfill a request, we shouldn’t use the word “can’t.” There’s no shame in simply saying, “That doesn’t work for me,” or “I’d rather not.” That’s taking responsibility for our decisions.
When we come right down to it, there’s only one thing that Jesus asks of his disciples,“At that time the Lord appointed seventy-two others
whom he sent ahead of him in pairs
to every town and place he intended to visit.” and that is to do what we must to the extent of our abilities. What we cannot do goes into our “needs” column. Everything else stays with our “wants.” For those very few things that are genuinely critically important needs, we approach God for them with unshakable trust, as Saint Paul wrote, “My God will fully supply whatever you need in accord with his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. To our God and Father, glory forever and ever. Amen” [Philippians 4:19-20]
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