“Take a Break” – Sermon on July 22, 2012
July 22, 2012
Scripture: Mark 6: 30-34 & 53-56
The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure, even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.
When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.
Sermon: Take A Break!
by Rev. Doreen Oughton
Our reading this week picks up from 2 weeks ago, after Jesus had sent the disciples out two by two, with nothing but one tunic, sandals, and a staff, to preach and heal and cast out demons in his name. The twelve are back from their mission trips, bubbling over with news of the great and wondrous works they wrought in their travels. Jesus listens, and recognizes that they need time to replenish. He offers them a chance to retreat on the boat, to get some rest, to be together and with God. Jesus knows how much he has needed his time apart, his desert days – off praying and listening to his Abba. Many of the scripture commentators I read this week waxed poetic about Jesus’ words to his disciples – “Come away and rest awhile.” One of the lectionary psalm suggestions for this week is the 23rd Psalm, with its line about the great Shepherd that “makes me to lie in green pastures, and leads me beside still waters.” So there was lots of reflection about the importance of taking time apart, taking respite, going on retreat.
Now I love this message, and you won’t hear me arguing against the need for retreat, but this message only makes sense in the context of this scripture passage if we stop at the second line of the reading. Because if you read on, you see that, though a retreat was intended, it didn’t happen. Instead, a crowd followed the boat, clamoring for encounter with the great and wondrous works of Jesus and his disciples. And Jesus, upon seeing the great crowds, is overcome by compassion. His compassion for the needs of others trumps his desire for respite. And maybe he doesn’t just leave his apostles to take it easy while he goes off and teaches. No, they stay with him. The reading today skips over 18 verses, and part of what is jumped over is when the disciples point out to him how late it is getting, how he’d better send the crowd away to find sustanenance. Jesus tells them to feed the crowd themselves, and with the help of Jesus and God, they feed over 5000 people. Not a very good retreat. Not a great message about the importance of rest and relaxation.
I would guess that many of us can, or could at one time, identify with this. I would guess that many of us have been challenged by having to pull ourselves together to take care of this one more thing, this one more person, this one more situation that just can’t be let go right now. A year or so again there was talk of planning a retreat for our church, but when it came time to schedule a date, there was too much going on for people. And it wasn’t just busy work – projects or work deadlines, it was important caretaking work – a spouse having surgery, a parent who was failing, a child too young, or with too many special needs, to be left behind. Sometimes we just can’t in good conscience retreat.
It isn’t always easy to discern when we ought or ought not take needed rest. Sometimes the sheep are not without a shepherd, you just think your way of shepherding is better, and continuing to strive is more about your own ego than about meeting the need of another. I think of my transition from my work as a therapist into ministry. Good counseling relationships can be very deep, very hard to let go of. It was heady stuff to have clients tell me no one else could help them as I had, clients practically begging me to continue seeing them somehow, some way. I played with the idea of trying to do both – keep a small counseling practice as I developed my skills in church ministry. But I realized there were plenty of good therapists out there. I realized how much more exhausting it would be to try to do both, and I let it go.
But sometimes we are, maybe not the only person for a task, but by far the best one. Can anyone else take the place of a mother or father when a child is very ill? Can a surgical specialist really refuse to do an urgent surgery when she knows the patient can’t afford to travel across the country or across the ocean to see one of the other few surgeons with enough experience and skill to be successful? Can you really drive by the person lying injured on the road at an hour or location where others might not pass any time soon? Sometimes, as much as Jesus wants us to get away to rest, he wants more for us to get involved in caring for people who are suffering. I believe that Jesus wants our compassion to trump almost everything.
And this also is a hard teaching, because if our eyes are open, we will see suffering people all around us. If we do not pass them on the street, we hear about the suffering of our neighbors and co-workers, we read in the paper or hear during joys and concerns about tragedies near and far. And there is almost always something that can be done – money donated, visits to be made, hands-on help opportunities, letters to be written. And really, as important as it is to experience and act out of compassion, we truly cannot do everything. We are not able, no matter how much we desire to, do it all. So again we are faced with a task of discernment.
Have you heard the story of the person walking on the beach, which is just covered with starfish that have washed ashore? Coming from the other direction is someone walking also, but bending over every few steps. The person wonders what the other is doing, then realizes the bending is to pick up a starfish and toss it back into the ocean so it can stay alive. What a joke, the person thinks, and says as much as the other nears. “What do you think you are doing? You can’t possibly think you can save all these starfish. Why waste your energy? What difference does it make?” The other person bends and picks up another starfish, throws it into the sea, and says, “It makes a difference to that one.”
I like this story not only for the obvious message that making a difference even for one or a few is still making a difference, but also for the serenity of the starfish saver. I think of the mindset of the person who looks at the beach and sees only overwhelming need, who seems to even be resentful of it, refusing to think about the fate of the starfish, refusing to get involved, mocking the person who does. Contrast that with the starfish thrower. I wonder if this person is on retreat, out for a leisurely walk on the beach, and then notices all the starfish. Maybe this person is even struck by their beauty, maybe bends down to pick one up out of curiosity and wonder, then realizes that they won’t survive on the shore. The person doesn’t scramble about like crazy, trying to devise a method of getting as many as possible into the sea as quickly as possible, but moves along at that sacred pace, bending and tossing, saving what is at hand, right there, in arms reach, maybe offering up a prayer for those out of reach. It feels like a sacred walk, a walk on holy ground. It occurs to me that whether we are away on retreat – time apart to pray, to rest, to be with God; or whether we need to stay engaged, responding with compassion to the suffering we see, we have the capability to find peace no matter what.
I’ve been using the word sacred, and we might consider the meaning of that word. The dictionary lists several definitions, including “set apart for the worship of a deity,” “worthy of religious veneration,” and “made or declared holy.” We think of sacred objects – those things that lead us to an experience of worship, such as the chalice, the cross, the scrolls. We think of sacred places – the temple, the cathedral, the Haj. The notion of sacredness as set apart, separate from day-to-day ordinary living, can lead us to imagine it is attainable only by getting away from “real life.” We go on retreats, or set up a little home altar in which we can set aside an hour or so for meditation or prayer, hoping that these things bring us closer to the divine and help us find peace. And they do. Again I affirm the importance of taking time out, especially to pray and just be. Some people are very disciplined about taking a chunk of time for daily devotions, some take regular retreats of several days, and some separate themselves completely form secular life to devote years or even a lifetime to a life set apart.
But what if all we need to set apart in order to experience peace and sacredness is a moment, just a moment of heightened awareness, a moment to make our own declaration of what is holy? We might see how God is with us constantly, and we can draw on that sacred presence for moments of peace and wonder at any time. Too often we lose sight of the sacred within the ordinary because we become too goal-directed. We see the need around us, and set about our tasks with grim determination. We see the beach covered with starfish and either turn away or develop a plan, trying to do what must be done as quickly as possible so that we can have our time of rest. Is it possible instead to combine compassionate response with a sense of peace? Can we attend to those in need while maintaining a sense of sacredness, of resting in God? I think we can. I think we must, for I think this a powerful way to be sustained in the work of ministry we all do.
In order to do this, one must develop a certain mindset – one of curiosity, observation, and non-judgment. It means letting go of agendas, and goals, even the goal of getting time away for oneself. It is a mindset of openness to whatever comes before you, with a willingness to respond, but not a compulsion to fix. It doesn’t mean you never set goals or make plans, only that you are willing to roll with things as they unfold, even if they don’t unfold according to plan. Instead of getting caught up in whether this is bad or problematic or not the way it should be, practice that mindset of curiosity, observation, and lack of judgment.
Let’s take a moment to try this right now. I know we are in a place that is easily seen as sacred and beautiful, so I’m going to ask you to take an object that is more ordinary – maybe something from your purse, maybe an item of clothing, or your own hands, or a hymnal. Look at it and try to see it in a different way than you have before, with no expectation of it, no judgment of it. What do you see, what does it feel like if its something you can touch. Think of descriptive words rather than judgmental words. Is it hard, soft, rough, smooth, shiny. Maybe wonder about its history, where it came from, how it came to be here in this moment, how many others may have touched it, noticed it. Can you imagine God being part of it? Can you get a sense of the divine in it in any way? Can you declare it holy? Can you see how it helps to connect you to the beloved community?
Consider this exercise a mini-retreat, a moment set apart to try to experience God. Whenever you are overwhelmed, tired, tempted to turn off your compassion in a quest for self-preservation, see if you can take such a moment to be present to the divine that is in every moment. See if you can view whatever comes between you and your rest not as a problem to be solved, but perhaps an interruption by God, and a chance to encounter the divine in a different way than you anticipated. May it be so.
