Trinity 1, 14 June 2020    Sermon by Revd Caroline Risdon

Matthew 9.35- 10.1; 5-15

Let us pray…
 
Loving God we give you thanks for the gift of your word, the grace of the sacrament and the fellowship of your people. Amen.
 
Todays' Gospel reading is rich in imagery. We could dwell on the image of the sheep without a shepherd; or the harvest being plentiful but the labourers being few; or even the image of disciples going out into the world but taking nothing with them. Jesus recognises that the people around him are pushed and pulled in all directions. In his compassion for them, he gives authority to his disciples and sends them out to declare the good news, and offer people the hope of a new beginning.
 
My attention has been captured not by the sending out but by the destination. Jesus commands his disciples to go, not to the Gentiles or Samaritans, whom we can understand as those who have never heard the good news. Surprisingly, Jesus says:  “But go rather to the lost sheep of Israel.”
 
This strikes me as especially relevant to our current context where we are grappling with the consequences and daily reality of systemic injustice.
 
When we hear a Gospel passage like today's, where Jesus sends out his disciples, we automatically place ourselves in the role of the disciples. The active participants; the ones who can offer something to the world.
“But go rather to the lost sheep of Israel.”
 
Try as I might, I have not been able to look at images of George Floyd being knelt upon by a police officer. Perhaps I am not very brave. I have found it unbearable to think that this man was mistreated and killed because of the colour of his skin. And that is the bare truth. Nor can I imagine living with the constant fear of being treated that way myself because I share his skin colour.
Now is the time to recognise ourselves as the 'lost' ones.
 
How can our faith speak into this situation? Into our 'lost-ness'?
 
Our faith is not about ignoring or avoiding man’s inhumanity towards man. We do not shy away from the death or trauma or destruction of the world around us because we have each known death and trauma and destruction. Our faith allows us to shine a light on those dark places and say, even in the presence of this pain and this suffering, there is hope.
The hope we have starts in many ways with death. The death of Jesus, which seems each Good Friday to be so unbearable, so hopeless, so enduring and complete. We experience the emptiness of Holy Saturday- the inbetween times. And then, finally, with the breaking of dawn, we realise that Jesus has risen from the dead.
 
So our faith is marked by Jesus’ death; we carry that death at the heart of our faith. And through his death, comes the sure and certain knowledge that not even death can separate us from the love of God. This is the miracle; the good news; the hope. Not even death can separate us from the love of God.
 
Please hold this truth close to your heart. You have been lovingly created by a generous and forgiving God and, as such, you have your place in God's kingdom. Within the love of God we find, not only an equality, but also our inherent value. And there is nothing that can separate us from that love.
 
As a child of God though, we need to be brave in addressing all that we have created which does not uphold the honour and dignity and value of our brothers and sisters in Christ.
 
“But go rather to the lost sheep of Israel.”
 
I urge you to do all that you can to challenge racism and discrimination. This starts with honest and realistic self awareness. Not that we are looking to be bowed down with guilt and paralysed into inaction. Rather, we are looking to be truthful- we are all part of the current system that privileges the few over the many. And, if we are in a place of privilege, we are called to act. We are to be the midwives, to bring to birth the equality and justice God offers all. This will not be without cost or difficulty. Please God we may be found willing to act.
 
AMEN.