I am the oldest child of three, the oldest daughter. As a child, perhaps particularly between the ages of 7 and 11, I was very talented at thinking that these descriptors meant that I knew it all, that I was rightfully in charge of my siblings when my parents weren’t in the room, that I could boss or order them around—and perhaps more satisfying to me at this age, tattle on them when they didn’t follow my directions or do what I said or what mom or dad had said. There are a lot of somewhat embarrassing family home videos of my siblings and I, where this skill set of mine is on clear display. Telling my siblings where to go, what to do, using my ‘mom’ voice. And really, what I thought I was doing at the time was caring for my family—making sure my siblings didn’t go astray, making sure my parents knew when my brother and sister were up to something they shouldn’t be doing, helping to keep them (and myself) out of trouble. I took myself, and this role, very seriously.
So, this story from the Gospel today, where the disciples come to Jesus, kind of tattling on other people, taking their own perceived understanding of Jesus very seriously, feels a bit uncomfortably familiar. They come to Jesus, as they have discovered someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name, but the disciples get upset, and tattle, because this person has not been following them, the text doesn’t say Jesus, it says them, the disciples.
Jesus very quickly addresses this: Don’t stop them, he says. Whoever is not against us is for us. In a moment, he discourages the disciple’s tendency to engage in an exclusionary understanding of how Jesus should be followed, and who should be the ones following. He goes on, in language that is admittedly challenging, to name the importance of ridding ourselves, separating ourselves, from the things that would threaten the wellness and wholeness of this faith community—that is, the exclusion of others, especially the marginalized, or seeking a culture entrenched in ideas of we-are-better-than, or only-one-right-way, or greatness or dominance. Jesus’ language around salt and fire are a reminder that both are used to preserve what is essential to something: I think of trees, jack pines, whose seed pods only open because of fire, a way to ensure their regrowth. Or that salt preserves, pickles, meats—but also gives flavor so that not everything tastes or is experienced in the same way. The same is true for human beings: We each follow God in a variety of ways, ways that God meets and invites for the use of our diverse gifts.
Old Testament passage, a passage from Numbers, echos a similar story to that of the Gospel. Moses is a little fed up with the Israelites, who are mourning their lack of extravagant things to eat—all they have is this manna from God. Moses goes to God and says, I can’t handle these people all by myself, how am I supposed to find enough food to make them happy, this is too much for me to carry, I think you should probably just kill me. A little dramatic, but this is how overburdened Moses is feeling.
God responds to Moses by asking him to gather seventy elders, and bring them to the tent, which was a place away from the rest of the Israelites. Here, God puts his Spirit within them, and the elders then receive this gift to prophesy. But two men, Eldad and Medad, did not go with the others to the tent. They stayed in the camp, a more common or shared area. And yet, they still received this gift from God and began prophesying in the camp. And in this story too, Joshua, taking himself very seriously, comes and asks Moses to stop them, and Moses says ‘no—all God’s people are to be prophets in their way, all have God’s spirit within them. This is how it should be!’
You may or may not know that this diocese, the Episcopal Diocese of Northern Michigan, has kind of been an outlier of sorts within the Episcopal Church for some time. Due, in part, to the UP’s smaller populations and congregations, less ordained folks—that is priests or deacons—finding their way here to the UP, this diocese engages in a ministry model called mutual ministry. If you were to narrow what that means down to a sentence or two, this means that ideally, congregations function not as communities gathered around a minister, but instead as ministering communities. Lay folks share in the responsibility of upkeeping the community, they are not volunteers, they share in the ministering to and with one another. You might wonder—but wait, that isn’t that groundbreaking. And you’d probably be right. But the wider church, historically and culturally, has done an awful lot to make our communities hierarchical, revolving around the clergy in charge, rather than recognizing and receiving the abundance of ministerial gifts that all people have to offer. Here, we try in small and big ways to unlearn that, to see abundance within the people who sit in our pews, and not by how many sit in our pews. And sometimes the wider church finds us a little odd for that. We are a little like Eldad and Medad.
But as both the Gospel and the Old Testament readings remind us today, we need this variety of approach to evangelism, to hospitality, to sharing the good news of God. When Jesus encourages his disciples to have salt in themselves, it is an invitation to recognize their gifts for ministry, to create a Jesus centered community, seasoned with the exact abundance of gifts, talents, personalities, quirks, and callings of those who live out God’s word of ministering to the world together.
To close, I want to share a bit from the work of Wes Frensdorff. The piece is called The Dream, and this work has been foundational to the shared understanding of how ministry is done in this particular place:
“Let us dream of [ …] A church in which worship is lively and fun as well as reverent and holy; and we might be moved to dance and laugh; to be solemn, cry or beat the breast. People know how to pray and enjoy it— frequently and regularly, privately and corporately, in silence and in word and song. The eucharist is the center of life and servanthood the center of mission: the servant Lord truly known in the breaking of the bread. With service flowing from worship, and everyone understanding why a worship is called a service.
Let us dream of a church in which the sacraments, free from captivity by a professional elite, are available in every congregation regardless of size, culture, location or budget[…]In which the Word is a sacrament too, as dynamically present as bread and wine; members, not dependent on professionals, know what's what and who's who in the Bible, and all sheep share in the shepherding…
A church affirming life over death as much as life after death, unafraid of change, able to recognize God's hand in the revolutions, affirming the beauty of diversity, abhorring the imprisonment of uniformity…
A church without the answers but asking the right questions; So deeply rooted in gospel and tradition that, like a living tree, it can swing in the wind, and continually surprise us with new blossoms.
Let us dream of a church with a radically renewed concept and practice of ministry […] Where […] all together know themselves to be part of the laos—the holy people of God. A ministering community rather than a community gathered around a minister.
Let us dream of a church so salty and so yeasty that it really would be missed if no longer around; where there is wild sowing of seeds and much rejoicing when they take root, but little concern for success, comparative statistics, growth or even survival. A church so evangelical that its worship, its quality of caring, its eagerness to reach out to those in need cannot be contained. A church in which each Christian [is] gifted for ministry; a crew on a freighter, not passengers on a luxury liner.
And finally, let us dream of a people called to recognize all absurdities in ourselves and in one another, including the absurdity that is LOVE, serious about the call and the mission but not, very much, about ourselves, who, in the company of our Redeemer can dance and sing and laugh and cry in worship, in ministry and even in conflict.”
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