During seminary, a seemingly endless stream of tornadoes swept through Alabama and Southern Tennessee, including Monteagle Mountain, my seminary, Sewanee, was located. And while we missed out on the majority of the devastation, we were without power for a few days.
Not too long in the big picture of things, but I was surprised at how challenging I found it to navigate everyday activities because I had no access to the internet and was worried I’d run out of battery for my phone.
Actually, I wasn’t just surprised, I was a little embarrassed. I’ve grown so accustomed to these devices – neither of which I had even 20 years ago – that it was unsettling to have them taken away so abruptly.
All of which reminded me how much I find the experience of being out of control so unsettling. Whether it’s storms or illness, household emergencies or governments around the world upending people's lives, all kinds of things unsettle our plans and snatch control from us. And, at least for me, that rocks my world.
Maybe that’s why some many of us work so hard to keep control of those things that seem under our power. And maybe, this also explains some of the reactions to Jesus’ resolute journey to the cross.
In today's Gospel reading Jesus is bumping up against a slew of folks who are just flat out angry at other people for being different from them. I used to think this was a passage featuring “Cranky Jesus,” the Messiah in a bad mood, maybe sinuses or something.
But then I started thinking it's not really Jesus who's cranky, but maybe all of us being put off our stride by the fact that the Messiah seems to actually be focusing on some other issue instead of getting behind all our self-centered hating on others.
First, he runs into the Samaritans, who see that Jesus “has set his face to go to Jerusalem,” and so they decide not to have anything to do with him. They like the idea of Jesus, of a disrupter, as long as he disrupts what they want disrupted. As long as he disrupts the lives they want disrupted.
But they get all bent out of shape when he won't join the party, so to speak. They have expectations of Jesus that he is not meeting and when his resolution to march toward the cross – for everyone – upsets their plans, they reject him.
The disciples, in turn, get bent out of shape with the Samaritans with an over-the-top request: they want to call down fire from heaven to indiscriminately destroy the Samaritans. I mean I know that Jews and and their neighbors did not get along, and the disciples were apparently not above ethnic prejudice, but yikes! Seems like some things never change, y'all.
Then there are all those others. They are eatin' what Jesus is servin'. They are loving the Sermon on the Mountain talk about justice and equity. About treating others with dignity. And they are all for it...as long as someone else lays it all on the line.
They’ll follow Jesus, as soon as they’ve dealt with family emergencies or made their good-bye tour with their friends. And who can blame them? You need to get your ducks in a row before you make such a decision to actually follow-follow Jesus.
Surely Jesus can't expect us to drop all our plans and follow him now! We can wait and see if he gets scooped up by Roman or Temple goons first. We can catch up if the momentum shifts his way.
All of which brings me to the same unsettling question that a seminary professor asked once: Does Jesus make a noticeable difference in your life? Do the grace, mercy, and love of God outweigh your plans and shape your life, or do you bend your faith to fit the life you’ve already planned?
If I'm honest, I think that I, along with many of us, will often identify with the latter option because I have such a strong desire to control my life, to make sure I'm safe and happy, clearly well-fed, out of harms way, head down, not snatched up, and did I mention safe?
I am desperate to maintain some semblance of order in this chaotic and confusing world. Like I said, I need to get my ducks in a row before I take a risk. That's reasonable
Yet Jesus, in this passage, is clearly not willing to concede: he demands that his mission come before all of my plans, even those that seem most reasonable.
And I think it's because he knows that we really aren’t in control, that it’s an illusion, and that a tornado, or illness, or loss, or war or injustice or case of mistaken identity, or any one of a hundred other things may dash our hopes as well as our plans and bring us to ruin.
Not it's tempting to say that I think that all we need to do is hand control over to Jesus, that it's a choice between me being in control or him taking the reigns of the plow, so to speak. And that if we do, those ducks will finally be in a row, everything will happen as planned, there will be the right amount of rain and the right amount of sunshine, and life will be perfect.
But I'm not so sure.
Think about it: Jesus doesn’t go to Jerusalem to assume command or take charge. Rather, he goes to Jerusalem to leap fully and completely into an out-of-control life and come out the other side.
So perhaps that’s the promise of the Gospel – not that we can be in control, or even that God will be in control, but rather that God is willing to give up control and join us in this out of control chaos, hold onto us as we take risks, go with us as we fight the good fight, and bring us to the other side.
That may not always seem like all that much of a promise, but after a few days without power … or a few years of world chaos and strife… at least it sounds real and sincere...and truly loving.
I mean, look around: So many people invest a lot of time, energy, and money thinking they are in control. But, quite frankly, the world is still a terribly chaotic and unsettling place.
So maybe, just maybe, the deepest calling of a disciple of Jesus isn’t to be in control but rather to give up the illusion of control once and for all,
…..to take some risks, and to throw ourselves into this turbulent life, fighting for a world that God loves so much,
…..trusting that God will join us in the fight and will hold onto us through all the ups and downs, and bring us in time to the other side.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s what faith is. And when we, like Jesus’ first disciples, fall short yet again, then all we can do is give thanks that Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem not just for us but for everyone.