Wolves and Baggage, the Marticulation Sermon by the Rev. Charles James Cook, Class of 1974 and Professor of Pastoral Theology, delivered in Christ Chapel on September 6, 2005

"[Once upon a time] I saw Jesus in watercolor, framed, on the walls. We Sunday-school children sat in a circle and said dimly with Samuel, 'Here am I.' Jesus was as thin as a veil of tinted water; he was awash. Bearded men lay indolent about him in pastel robes, and shepherd boys, and hooded women with clear, round faces. The River Jordan, the Sea of Galilee - it was all watercolor; I could see the paper through it. The southern sun, the Asian sun, bleached the color from thick village walls, from people's limbs and eyes. These pastel illustrations were as exotic, and as peculiar to children's sentimental educations, as watercolor depictions of lions and giraffes."

"We studied the Gospel of Luke. In that world, people had time on their hands. Simon Peter, James and John dropped their nets and quit their two boats full of fresh fish: 'And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.' They had time to gather at the side of the lake and hear harsh words. They had time to stand for the Sermon on the Mount and the sermon on the plain. A multitude followed Jesus and the twelve into a desert place belonging to the city of Bethsaida. The day wore away while Jesus spoke to them of the Kingdom of God; then he had his disciples feed them - about five-thousand - on five loaves of bread and two fishes, which Jesus blessed and broke, looking up to heaven." One feels that Luke, to this point, is the most reasoned, calm, plausible and orderly Gospel. Who wouldn't want to recreate such a scene, identify with it, and perhaps attempt to create a vocation that will emerge from such an environment?

The scene that I just described isn't from my own childhood experience, but from the life of the remarkable writer, Annie Dillard. Her memories of her own Sunday School provide an apt description, if the truth be known, of what most of us were given, in one form or another, as an introduction to the Christian religious life. Pastels and watercolors, depicting pleasant scenes between the Master and his followers; the teacher and the obedient pupils. It is, of course, an interpretation; perhaps born of our own desire to have whatever faith we can muster on those terms. It is an interpretation that has power, long beyond childhood, and this glossing of the story can be found in naves and sanctuaries of all denominational flavors, shapes and sizes. Perhaps that is why the late Albert Mollegen once remarked, "Too often, the church meets people where they aren't and takes them where they don't want to go!" The pastels must give way to more vivid colors. It is the role of a theological seminary to begin that process.

In hearing the story of the sending forth of those seventy un-named missionaries, we realize that Luke's narrative has gone from calm and orderly to anything but. It is now delightfully wild. "Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road." The commissioning is severe. At least in Mark's version, shoes are allowed. Whatever sense we make of this, one message is clear - this ministry and mission, this work of following Christ, demands that we travel light; leave the baggage behind us.

And then there is that line, spoken almost as an addition; an aside. "I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves." Jesus speaks this warning from his own experience - he has been there and knows all too well that living for the reign of God is not always received with enthusiasm and appreciation. Bishop John Elbridge Hines, the founder of this institution, once closed his sermon with this statement: "Why would those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, who walk in his way, think for a moment that what happened to him will never happen to us?" After leading the Episcopal Church through the great movement for justice and racial equality, John Hines knew all too well about wolves. Even wolves in sheep's clothing.

This evening, at this matriculation service, as we gather for another long season of study, prayer, community participation, and hopefully, play -- I would ask that we reflect for a moment on what it might mean for us to travel light in this place. What baggage do we need to leave behind us? The baggage that I'm referring to may come in many forms, and yet if we are unable to lay it down, the burden will be too great for us to effectively serve -- whatever the circumstance or situation. Perhaps it is the burden of previously being an insider, one of the experts, one in the know and in charge -- now, coming to a new place and opportunity, the inside suddenly looks like the outside. That's okay -- Jesus didn't call people to be insiders, at least on the world's terms. Perhaps it is the burden of thinking that everyone else is smarter than you are -- you're the only one who doesn't know. Now that's one that is worth laying down for a long time. After all, by the time you finish reading St. Augustine, you'll realize that you're not alone. Perhaps you don't feel pious enough, spiritual enough, you've never levitated, or made a trek to a monastery…well, you've come to the right place. You can lay those fears aside -- and take on something new. Whatever new things and perspectives are ahead, they are likely to surface if you listen more than talk, and if you can accept the fact that you don't have to become someone you're not meant to become.

A word about wolves. Jesus was right -- they're out there. They were there before you came to seminary and they'll be waiting for you the very day you commence. Ministry takes a good deal of wisdom and savvy to be effective. One of my favorite New Yorker cartoons is one that depicts two owls sitting on a tree branch. One owl says to the other: "You may be wise, but you lack tree smarts." Hopefully a sufficient amount of wisdom and tree smarts, what Jesus tried to impart to his followers, will be just the recipe to help you deal with these wolves. The engagement here of theory and practice will certainly aid in this endeavor. One other thought: It will probably take all we can muster to prepare to deal with the wolves out there, without having to worry about devoting unnecessary energy to fending off the wolves in our own house. Dedicating ourselves to becoming a flock rather than a pack will help us live together.

Travel light. Lay down your burdens. Look out for wolves. Why, in God's name are we, of all people, here? Who can possibly do this work? A final thought from Annie Dillard:

"For who can believe in the Christians? They are, we know, by hindsight, suddenly not at all peripheral. They set out immediately to take over the world, and they pretty much did it. They converted emperors, raised armies, lined their pockets with real money, and often did dreadful things large and small, century after century, including this one. They are smug and busy, just like us, and who could believe in them? They are not innocent, they are not shepherds and fishermen in rustic period costume, they are men and women just like us, in polyester. Who could believe salvation is for these rogues? That God is for these rogues? For they are just like us, and salvation's time is past. Unless, of course…

"Unless Christ's washing the disciple's feet, their dirty toes, means what it could, possibly mean: that it is all right to be human. That God knows we are human, and full of faults, all of us, and we are God's people anyway and the sheep of God's pasture."

So…listen to Christ's words.
Travel light. Lay down your burdens. Be open to something new.
Watch for the wolves. Be wise. Be tree smart.
Christ's mission awaits our response.

Resources:
Dillard, Annie. The Annie Dillard Reader. "The Book of Luke".