4 Pentecost

June 25, 2023

 

Matthew 10.24-39

+ Probably the biggest pastoral duty I do is simply listening.

 

Listening to people who come to me, or call me or text or Facebook message me.

 

And I would say that the majority of people who are reaching are dealing with issues of deep and abiding fear.

 

Let’s face it, fear is a reality in our lives.

 

We just went through a major pandemic a few years ago.

 

There is a war in the Ukraine.

 

There was a very quick coup-attempt yesterday in Russia.

 

We ar enow entering into a very divisive political election season that, at moments, seems so absurd it could be from some parody.

 

But it most definitely is not.

 

It is a truly strange and uncertain time we are living in.

 

 

All of this reminds me very much of some of the petitions we find in a service in our Prayer Book we use only two time a year.

 

In our Prayer Book, beginning on page 148, we have something called “The Great Litany.”

 

I love the Great Litany!

 

I know some people do not like it.

 

It doesn’t quite encompass their own personal spirituality or theology.

But it does very much encompasses the Church’s theology, and gives voice to what generation after generation of Christians have actually prayed in their own lives.

 

The Great Litany, and especially the Supplication, which can be found on page 152 is a special prayer service which is often used “in times of war, or of national anxiety, or of disaster.”

 

It’s not a liturgy we, thankfully, use very often.

 

We use it on the first Sunday of Advent and the First Sunday of Lent here at St. Stephen’s.

 

And although some people find it ponderous or even theologically uncomfortable, it is meaningful, and let me tell you, it speaks volumes to us during difficult times.  

 

In times of anxiety, I have occasionally prayed the Great Litany privately here in church on an occasion or two in the past.

 

I prayed it following a very frightening election.

 

I actually prayed it a couple of times here in church during the pandemic.

 

And, going back, I prayed it following the 9/11 attacks in 2001.

 

Fear like that can be very crippling.

 

And, as you’ve heard me say many times, fear in this sense is not from God.

 

Fear is a reality and there’s no way around at it times, but it is not something we should allow to dominate our lives.

 

In a sense, that fear is possibly what Jesus is hinting at in our Gospel reading.

 

Well, there’s actually a lot going on in our Gospel reading for today.

 

There are layers and layers in our Gospel reading.

 

And some really fairly unpleasant things.

 

But essentially it is about our fear of doing the work of God—doing the ministry of Christ—and…about taking up our cross.

 

Certainly it seems all this is bound together.

 

Essentially, probably our greatest cross to bear is our fear.

 

A fear like I referred to at the beginning of my sermon.

 

A strange, overpowering fear that is hard to pinpoint.

 

A fear of the unknown.

 

A fear of the future.

 

A fear of all those things we can’t control in our lives.

 

Let’s take a moment this morning to actually think about the symbol of our fears—this thing to which Jesus refers today—the Cross.

 

And I say that because the Cross is a symbol of fear.

 

It certainly was to people of Jesus’ day.

 

It was an instrument of torture and pain and death.

 

It was the equivalent of a noose or a guillotine

 

There was nothing hopeful or life-affirming in it to them.

 

And yet, look at how deceptively simple it is.

 

It’s simply two pieces, bound together.

 

Or, as the our crucifix in the corner shows, it is a cross on which a  man actually died.

 

I love the symbol of the crucifix, especially.

 

I love it because, a bare cross can be sugar-coated.

 

We cover our crosses in gold and silver.

 

It become a quaint symbol that can be whitewashed and quickly become devoid of meaning.

 

And, in many cases now in our society, the cross is a symbol of small-mindedness, discrimination and oppression.

 

But the crucifix, as much as we cover it in gold or silver, it still is what it is.

 

It is a clear symbol that on that simple cross, some One died.

 

And died violently, painfully.

 

Someone suffered a pain none of us had ever experienced.

 

In it, gazing on the figure of Jesus who hangs there, we cannot deny what the cross is or what it represents to us.

 

For someone who knows nothing about Christianity, for someone who knows nothing about the story, it’s a symbol they might not think much about.

 

And yet, for us, on this side of Jesus’ crucifixion, the Cross is more than just another symbol in our lives.

 

It is a perfect example of how something that is a true symbol of death, destruction and fear can be transformed.

 

The story of the Cross is amazing in the sense that is as symbol of absolute terror and darkness can be transformed into a symbol of unending life, of victory over fear and death and despair. 

 

Jesus knew full well what the cross was all about, even before he was even nailed to it.

 

In our Gospel reading, he says,  “anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

 

He knew it was a terrible dark thing.

 

He knew what is represented.

 

And by saying those words, he knew the people of his day did not want to hear those words either.

 

Taking up a cross? Are you serious? Why would anyone do that?

 

Taking up the Cross is frightening after all.

 

To take up a cross means to take up a burden—that thing we maybe fear the most in our lives.

 

To take it up—to face our greatest fear—is absolutely torturous.

 

It hurts.

 

When we think of that last journey Jesus took to the place of his crucifixion, carrying that heavy tree on which he is going to be murdered, it must’ve been more horrible than we can even begin to imagine.

 

 But the fact is, what Jesus is saying to us is: carry your cross now.

 

Carry it with dignity and inner strength.

 

But carry it without fear.

 

And this is the most important aspect of today’s Gospel reading.

 

Jesus commands us not once, but twice,

 

 “Do not be afraid.”

 

“Do not be afraid.”

 

He isn’t saying that in some nonchalant way.

 

He isn’t just saying it flippantly.

 

He is being blunt.

 

Do not be afraid.

 

Do not be afraid of what the world can throw at you.

 

Do not be afraid of what can be done to the body and the flesh.

 

Do not be afraid of pandemics or racism or violence or crooked, criminal, treasonous grifters who pose as politicians.

 

Taking our cross and bearing it bravely is a sure and certain way of not fearing.

 

It is a defiant act.

 

If we take the crosses we’ve been given to bear and embrace them, rather than running away from them, we find that fear has no control over us.

 

The Cross destroys fear.

 

The Cross shatters fear into a million pieces.

 

And when we do fear, because we will experience fear in our lives, we know we have a place to go to for shelter in moments of real fear.

 

When fear encroaches on our lives—when fear comes riding roughshod through our lives—all we have to do is face it head-on. 

 

And there, we will find our fears destroyed.

 

Because of the Cross, we are taken care of.

 

There is no reason to fear.

 

I know that sounds complacent.

 

But there is no reason to fear.

 

Yes, there will be moments of collective, spiritual fear we will go through.

 

Yes, there will be a palpable fear we can almost touch.

 

Yes, we will be confronted at times with real and horrible fear.

 

But, there is no reason to despair over it  because—guess what?—we are not in control.

 

God is in control.

 

“Even the hairs of your head are counted” by the God who loves us and cares for us.

 

This God knows us intimately.

 

So intimately than this God even knows how many hairs are on our head.

 

Why should we be afraid then?

 

Because each of us is so valuable to God.

 

We are valuable to God, who loves us.

 

When we stop fearing whatever crosses we must bear in our lives, the cross will stop being something terrible.

 

Like that cross on which Jesus died, it will be an ugly thing of death and pain and fear  turned into a symbol of strength and joy and unending eternal life.

 

Through it, we know, we must pass to find true and unending life.

 

Through the Cross, we must pass to find ourselves, once and for all time, face-to-face with our God.

 

So, I invite you: take notice of the crosses around you.

 

As you drive along, notice the crosses on the churches you pass.

 

Notice the crosses that surround you.

 

Do not sugarcoat your crosses.

 

See them for what they are.

 

When you see the Cross, remember what it means to you.

 

Look to it for what it is: a triumph over every single fear in our lives.

 

When we see the crosses in our lives, we can look at them and realize they are destroying fear in our own lives.

 

Let us truly look at those crucifixes and see the One who hangs nailed to the cross.

 

Let us bear those crosses of our lives patiently and, most importantly, without fear.

 

We are loved by our God.

 

Each of us is precious to our God.

 

Knowing that, rejoicing in that, how can we ever fear again?

 

Let us pray.

Holy God, we do live in fear. We do avoid taking up the cross Jesus tells us we must bear in our following of him. Dispel from our lives these crippling fears, these fears that prevents us from living into our own full potential, from the fears that separate us from you, and help us to live fully into this world without fear. We ask this in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.