How many of you go the State Fair? I always look forward to it as a wonderful time to relive great childhood fun. This year, I thought that sensation would be even better because of Toytopia—a featured display of historic toys. I entered with eager anticipation, but then I was surprised. Standing in front of the Lionel train set, a powerful sadness overcame me and went to my very core. I knew where it came from. Here’s the story:
When I was a kid, we moved 4 times or so. On one of those occasions, someone dishonest was involved at some unknown stage of the process: the packing, the storing, the moving, who knows. Anyway, they stole a few key items. Just a few, so as to minimize the chances of detection. They got away with it; it took us quite awhile to get everything unpacked, and by the time we realized what had happened, it seemed too late to complain successfully. Whoever it was had a good eye for value. We lost our red Flyer wagon. They took my brother’s Lionel train set, … and my baseball cards. Do you know what I had? I had a 1961 Topps Roger Maris. That was the year he broke Babe Ruth’s record. That card was so special. Do you know how much bubble gum I had to buy to get that? It was special, and it made me feel special to have it. So, it was crushing to lose it. The sadness was so great it could come back and haunt me 45 years later.
You just heard the Gospel, so you know Jesus desperately wanted to save me from that pain. He wanted to save all of us from unhealthy attachments that can get between us and abiding joy. Knowing that is not the same as absorbing it though, is it? It is darn tough to avoid getting attached to things. And we aren’t always helpful to each other. I’ll make a confession. A few weeks ago, Dean Baker preached about coming back from a short vacation obsessed with motorcycles and all terrain vehicles. I have been encouraging him, because if he gets one, I get vicarious thrills without even spending any money! Far from being of help, I tell him where he can get a good deal.
I think this may be why Jesus warned we might need to separate ourselves from those near and dear in order to pursue discipleship. Thankfully, we have an extended family, some of whom can be helpful role models from across the centuries. Paul is one in today’s Epistle. We don’t know how this runaway slave came into Paul’s service, but he did. And he became a key source of comfort to Paul. Paul didn’t have to send him back seeking lawful emancipation. He could have swept the issue under the rug. But he did send him back. Paul took the one thing (apart from God) that gave him comfort in life, and released it into God’s care, leaning only on God for his comfort. He gave everything to God. Is that something only saints who end up in stained glass windows can do? It sounds so difficult.
We tend to get sloped shoulders when we hear Jesus’ invitations, thinking that’s more than I can do, that’s more than I can bear. Consider Jesus’ invitation to take up our cross and follow him. We hear that as the weightiest of burdens. So we use the phrase to describe the weightiest of burdens—intractable problems that leave us hopeless. If an essential person in our lives (at home or at work) causes us endless grief, we say, “I guess he’s just my cross to bear.” If we have a health problem that defies cure, we may call that our cross to bear.
But when Jesus said, “take up your cross and follow me,” he could not have meant that we are supposed to suffer forever, solemnly accepting intractable problems with hopeless sloped shoulders. We can know that. Do you know how we can know that? Something just dawned on me this week that you probably noticed before. Jesus did not carry his cross around in circles forever. Do you see the point here? Jesus did not model that taking up your cross means suffering forever in hopeless despair. He carried his cross to Golgotha. He was raised upon it. It was awful. AND it was over in three hours. That’s the key part. It was over in three hours, and the doorway opened to a new life, refashioned by God to achieve the design of creation.
That must be Jesus’ wish for us in today’s Gospel. We are endlessly creative with our attachments: We may cling to a dysfunctional relationship because we are afraid of being alone. We may cling to a habit or addiction because we can’t imagine being happy without it even though at some level, we know we are unhappy with it. And even attachments to things in and of themselves harmless or even good (like baseball cards) can become unhealthy if we fear their loss or grieve their loss unduly.
Jesus must want us to carry all these things, like he carried his cross, to that place where all is released to God’s care, to that place where God, the master potter, can make us new, to the place where Resurrection can happen.
Today, we are invited to come forward and receive anointing for healing. You may wonder. Am I supposed to come forward thinking that all my physical ailments can be corrected? That I’ll have 20/20 vision, and no back pain, and no disease? We don’t know whether that will happen. We do know this: God, the master potter, can envision a life for us that is better than anything we know to desire or pray for. Carry your cross, carry everything that blocks you from fully inviting that life forward today. Carry it forward, but whatever you do, do NOT carry it out that door. Leave it with Jesus.