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Sermon: "Baggage" by Pastor Jeremy Walloch, June 27, 2010 |
Luke 9:51-62: When the days drew near [19:29] for him to be taken up [ascension], he set his face [Is 50:7] to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” [2 Kngs 1:9-10] But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village. As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
Settling into my seat on the airplane, I saw a woman enter the aisle maneuvering a huge black bag. It could have easily fit two linebackers. It was ridiculous. I have no idea how she was able to board with it. She was pushing it and pulling it, forcing it into the aisle, as the captain and stewardess just shook their heads. Then she started it on down the aisle, slamming elbows in first class, spilling bottled water and chardonnay in her wake. Then she was into the cheap seats, bumping into everyone on the aisle, slowing down everyone behind her, trying to force this wide behemoth down the narrow way. Her hands were turning blood red, and you could see the veins and muscles straining out of her neck. And as she began looking up for her row number, I realized the inevitable: she is going to sit next to me.
So she stopped at my row, and looking at the bag I realized she needed all the help she could get. So together, with extra help from someone else, we were eventually able to get that gigantic, heavy, awkward bag up into storage. She took her seat and pulled out her planner, and I took my seat and pulled out a magazine.
“So what do you do?” she asked me. I took a moment. Whenever pastors answer this question, there are three typical responses: the first is a glowing comment about how great that is, the second is venting all the problems with organized religion and reasons they don’t go to church, and the third is silence. While I was actually hoping for the quiet, she started into option number two.
“Well, I don’t go to church because my family isn’t really into it. See, my husband was raised at this church that was always boring and never did anything. And now it takes a long time to get the kids ready to go anyway, and we’re so busy throughout the week, and the parking is always difficult, and I never really understand much of anything, I don’t get anything out of it -- it’s all just ridiculous. No offense,” she concluded.
“Oh,” I replied.
“See, the first problem is our house. We bought this beautiful two-level Colonial, but it is a slavedriver. My friends and most of our neighbors all watch HGTV, and their homes are all perfect, so our house has to be perfect too. The kitchen was fine, but it didn’t have stainless steel appliances, and they last a lot longer, and everyone has them now so we had to put them in. Then we built on an atrium, and then we landscaped it and painted it, but then that color was getting less popular, so we repainted it, and then we changed out all the lighting, and now I think we need to tear it all out and make it more environmentally-friendly.”
“Oh,” I replied.
“Then there’re our vehicles. I got a new SUV, but it only seats five, so whenever the kids’ friends want to go somewhere, we have to take two vehicles, and it doesn’t get the best mileage, and they depreciate so fast, and you wouldn’t believe how much the insurance is.”
“Oh,” I replied, and as I did I thought I heard an electronic chirp from somewhere above me.
“Then there’s my son,” she continued. “He’s 13 and you know what they are like at 13. He’s in 76 activities, so when we get back I need to pick him up from school and take him to karate, and then rugby, and then French club, and then pickup supper before 4H and his video game tournament.”
“They have tournaments for that?” I asked, and as I did I thought there was a chuckle from up above me.
“They have tournaments for everything. My daughter is Miss Roseville, you know, so she’s been in every tournament in our county. Now she has a P.R. engagement almost every day. She is guest judge at the livestock show next week, she’s signing autographs at the girl scouts meeting, she’s doing a photo op at the boat show—she’s so busy I honestly don’t know how she manages to keep up her wardrobe and get her facials in.”
“Oh,” I replied, though I’m pretty sure I heard a soft giggle from somewhere as I did.
“Well I need to get some fresh air,” she said, and she curtly stepped outside of the plane to have a quick smoke before she came back in and sat down.
“Then there’s my husband. He’s, well, you know, he’s, he’s a guy.”
“I should hope so,” I said.
“What? What I was saying is that he can’t stand doing the most simple things. When he gets home from work, all I want him to do is watch the kids, help with supper, do the dishes, take care of the yard and garbage, change the oil, install a new vanity, and stop wasting so much money.”
“Oh,” I replied without thinking, because I was focusing more on the grunt I heard from somewhere up above me.
“My life’s a lot of work,” she said.
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
“I’m busy with so much, that I can’t just sit at church all day Sunday and spend all week praying and reading the Bible. Everybody’s busy. Aren’t you?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” I replied.
“Well, aren’t you busy twenty-four hours a day?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Well, aren’t you exhausted all the time?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Well, this is your thing, so tell me what I should be doing,” she asked.
“Um, you probably don’t want me to answer,” I said, “how’s your coffee? You sure drank it fast.”
“No seriously,” she said, “what’s wrong with my life?”
“Well,” I started, jealously looking at the exit row as the plane landed, “it sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”
“Well, what should I do?”
So finally I just answered her: “You need to stop dragging your family around wherever you want them, and you need to set them free from being baggage, and just love them for who they are. But you need faith, you need to carry a cross around instead of your family and all your possessions. Once you stop making your family and possessions the center of your universe, you’ll find yourself free to enjoy them for who and what they are.”
Clapping erupted from the overhead compartment. I think I even heard a muffled, “You go!”
“See, when you don’t expect your possessions or job or family or friends to be the sole reason for your existence, you find yourself free to enjoy them for what they are. When you realize what they aren’t, you find out what they are: a gift from God, but not his replacement.”
Her face crumpled.
So I said, “May you come to love Jesus more than all the world. May you follow his advice more than that of your boss or neighbor, some commercial or even your mother. In so doing, may you set your face on the only direction from which real life is given.”
As the plane connected to the jet bridge, I got in line and started to get off the plane. After I thanked the crew, I glanced back and saw the woman. She was standing there in the aisle, frantically looking back and forth between her huge baggage and the narrow path laid out before her.
If you were in her situation, how might you respond?
Since we’re all in her situation, how will you respond?
Let us pray. Dear God, send your Spirit to fill us, guide us, and lead us. Help us turn from whatever distracts us from loving you and others. Keep us on the narrow path following Jesus. In His name we pray. Amen.
Copyright © 2010 Martin Luther Lutheran Church in Giddings, Texas. All rights reserved.