“The mission field starts here.” This is the sign that greets parishioners of a church I recently read about, as they go out of their sanctuary or parish hall into the parking lot. The mission field starts here, right on the other side of our doors. Of course, our churches have a long history of overseas evangelism. The Episcopal Church was especially active in the American west, during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. These days young people often go on “mission trips,” short-term forays to remote places in Appalachia, Haiti, Honduras, and elsewhere. And you have heard me preach more than once about our need to care for our sisters and brothers in other countries, to find that one square inch where we can make a difference in their lives. I still believe in that square inch, and Jack and I are still trying to make a difference in the lives of children in a square inch of Haiti. But what of the world on our doorstep? What of the people who share this neighborhood with us? How do we care for them?
In today’s Gospel reading, we hear Jesus’ answer to that question. You remember that Luke’s overarching goal in this section of the gospel narrative – and really in the whole gospel – is to teach people what it means to be disciples of Jesus. In this poignant story we have a powerful lesson in discipleship.
Jesus has gone abroad with his friends. They are on a “mission trip.” They have gone into the territory “opposite Galilee,” i.e., the territory on the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee, which, of course, is not a sea, but a big lake. However, this word “opposite” is not just a geographical allusion. Luke is reminding his hearers that Jesus has ventured into gentile territory. Jesus is daring to minister to those who are culturally and religious “opposite” to him. Jesus is risking ritual defilement to preach the good news to those whom observant Jews regard as unclean and off-limits. Worse yet, as soon as he sets foot on shore, Jesus is accosted by someone who is as unclean as a person could be in the ancient world. The man who meets him is demon-possessed – or mentally ill in contemporary terms – and beset by multiple ills. He is dirty, naked, homeless, and violent. Worst of all, having been cast out by polite society, he spends his time in the most unclean possible place: the graveyard. Make no mistake: pious, polite people do not associate with this man!
But Jesus does. Jesus accepts the man. He asks his name. He listens to the man. By his very attention Jesus transforms the demon-possessed man. Can’t you imagine the astonishment the man’s neighbors must have felt – to say nothing of the man himself – when they found him in his right mind, fully clothed, sitting at Jesus’ feet, begging Jesus to allow him follow Jesus? Can you imagine the fear his neighbors felt when they saw reversed their whole sense of who this man was – to say nothing of the herd of pigs spooked by the change? No wonder they wanted Jesus out of there! And what was Jesus’ reply to the transformed man? Did he say, “Follow me,” as he had said to so many others? No, he said something unexpected. He said, “Return to your home and declare how much God has done for you.” And the man did indeed proclaim that message throughout the city.
Now can you guess what Luke’s message was for his hearers and for us? Luke has given his hearers and us two models of discipleship, both focused on caring for others. In the first model, we have Jesus himself. Jesus has gone abroad. He has gone into the overseas mission field. He has a taken a “mission trip.” And he has cared for someone – and doubtless others like him – whom he encountered. The early church, as it ventured far beyond Israel, and those through the centuries who have crossed international borders in Jesus’ name, have followed Jesus’ direct example. And I repeat: we too have a responsibility to support Episcopal Relief and Development, other aid organizations working overseas, and any square inch of need that speaks to our hearts. We too are charged with encouraging our elected representatives to craft aid formulae and farm bills that benefit all of God’s children. And there’s nothing wrong with “mission trips,” so long as they also educate us on the realities of poverty and sensitize us to our own complicity in unjust systems.
However, there’s another way for us to go to the “opposite” side. As baptized people, we are charged to proclaim God’s love in broken and desolate places. When we take Christ’s Body and Blood into our own bodies, we implicitly commit ourselves to follow him into the mission field. Where do we find that mission field? All we need to do is cross our own parking lot. There are people right here who need our ministry and care. There are people in communities who right this minute are homeless. They sleep on park benches, in doorways, or in alleys. In the winter, they search out heat vents. They forage in dumpsters and gather under bridges. Some may be addicts. Karla Miller tells the story of how, on a frigid winter night, on the upper west side of Manhattan, she came upon a woman lying stark naked on the sidewalk near a Crate and Barrel store. The woman was strung out on drugs, shivering, and begging for money for the next hit. Like all well-trained New Yorkers, Karla averted her eyes and walked around the woman. But as she did so, she wondered what Jesus would have done had he been there.
Most of the homeless people in our communities are not addicted. Many more of them bear a strong resemblance to the Gerasene man in that they are mentally ill. They cannot live a normal life, hold a job, provide for their basic necessities, or even access healthcare. Unclean and unwelcome in our communities, they risk assault, rape, and murder. Just as we don’t know how the Gerasene man became possessed or so profoundly mentally ill, we don’t know the stories of most of the homeless people who wander our own cities and towns. But they are still our neighbors, and we can still minister to them.
A few years ago, our Diocesan Convention met in a hotel opposite Trinity Church in Columbus. That particular convention was unique in that delegates were asked to spend Saturday morning engaging in hands-on mission in different venues. Trinity has an active ministry to homeless people. After hearing from a woman who had come off the streets with the help of Trinity parishioners, several of us spent the rest of our time filling shopping bags with blankets, warm clothing, and non-perishable food. All would go to street people in need. Just west of downtown, St. John’s Town Street also ministers to street people. Every Sunday, their rector celebrates the Eucharist in a vacant parking lot. Afterwards, parishioners pass out sandwiches. Could we do that? Would any of you be willing to help me minister to homeless people in our community through a street church?
Of course we already have two viable ministries very close to home – one right across the street and one right in our own parish hall. These ministries serve real people with real needs. Our Dry Bottoms diaper ministry could certainly use additional help. Right now, we also need donations of either diapers or funds. More important is Loaves and Fishes. The people who come into our parish hall are not homeless – although I’d guess some of them live in substandard housing at best. They are not for the most part mentally ill. Most of them are not outcasts. But they are people with real needs, needs for fellowship and concern, perhaps even love. They are people who need to hear from us what God has done for us, and how much God loves them. And they need to hear those messages not in pious words or formulaic prayers, but in our presence, in our attention to them as people. We are all much blessed by those of you who work hard in the kitchen or scurry around serving. However, our diners have one more need – and for some of us it’s even harder to meet that need than is cooking or serving. Our diners need fellowship. How about the rest of you? Can you leave your comfort zone, cross to the opposite side, and come listen to people’s stories? Can you learn their names? Can you sit and eat with them, extend the hand of friendship, and, through your very presence, concretely demonstrate God’s love? Can you share with them what God has done for you? Can you hear what God has done for them?
We are all God’s beloved children. We are friends and disciples of Jesus. Our mission field may be on the other side of the world. It may be on the other side of the street. It may be on the other side of the office or store. Or it may be on the other side of our church building. Jesus says to all of us, “The mission field starts here.”
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