Sermon-The image we all carry

The Son of a Migrant from Syria, Banksy, 2015

A sermon given during the Sung Eucharist at St George’s Bloomsbury on Sunday 7th July 2024 and St Mary Le Bow on Thursday 11th July 2024, the Sixth Sunday after Trinity (Proper 9) based on the text of Mark 6.1-13. 

Last Friday morning’s newspapers contained a litany of MP’s who lost their seats in the General Election – which must be a bruising experience, no matter how mentally prepared you are for it by the polls. 

Research by the London School of Economics from a previous general election found that around half of MP’s were elected to represent seats in their region of birth. The figure rises to over seventy percent of new MP’s where the seat changed hands and a candidate from a new party was elected to office. Local credentials – being seen to offer a “better local choice” – remains critically important for those campaigning to win a seat from an incumbent. As Liz Truss, Jonathan Ashworth and others found out to their cost.

Some years ago now, I was part of selection panels for those seeking positions in local, regional and national government, reviewing hundreds of applications and interviewing dozens of candidates. Part of me feels that the skills required for being an effective representative - understanding, empathising with and advocating for those in your ward or constituency - are not contingent upon some deep-rooted connection to a specific area. I would argue that an outside perspective can often be rather helpful.  Yet when it came to the crunch – and the selection panel made its decision - more often than not I too endorsed candidates with some form of local link - because, as proved at the ballot box time and again, this has particular appeal - at least amongst those most likely to vote.  

“Local lad makes good” is a powerful paradigm – an idealised image of political leadership that, as I discovered, can very easily become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

When it comes to Jesus Christ returning to Nazareth, “local lad makes good” is a bit of an understatement – to say the least. Today’s gospel reading begins by describing Jesus’s surprising reception in his home town.

Previously, we have heard how his preaching has attracted huge crowds. How his teaching has already drawn the ire of the scribes and the pharisees. How he has called tax collectors and fishermen to be his disciples. How he calmed a storm, healed countless people including a woman who couldn’t stop bleeding and a man possessed by demons that Jesus sent into a herd of pigs. And he’s raised a young girl from the dead.

Surely the people of Jesus’s home town have got wind of all this?  And yet when he begins to teach in the synagogue – presumably at their invitation – many who heard him were astonished. Perhaps being in his presence was even more astounding than his reputation would have them believe? 

Where has his wisdom and his power to heal come from? They ask.

Perhaps they had an inkling but were unwilling to believe it. Unable to entertain the idea that God could have become human in the person of Jesus Christ. The person standing in the synagogue right in front of them.

God is a working-class man. A simple carpenter working on construction sites in the nearby town. From an ordinary family. One of several siblings, none of whom were that remarkable. 

Despite his amazing acts of compassion, his abilities as a teacher that were even more astounding in the flesh, this local boy doing good was not the King, not the Messiah that the people of Nazareth had in mind. So strong was this mental image that perhaps no one could live up to it. Especially someone they thought they knew so well. 

They rejected him.

The gospel records how even Jesus - who knows the thoughts of all our hearts – felt bruised by their reaction. He was dismayed by their unbelief. 

But rather than responding with signs and wonders that might convince the townsfolk of his true identity, Jesus responds with words and acts of compassion. Quoting what appears to be a proverb, and healing those who are suffering most – before he leaves.

In the second half of today’s gospel reading, Jesus sends off the disciples two by two, ordering them to take nothing. No money, no food - just a staff, sandals and a cloak. No baggage whatsoever.

They are to go from house to house, living as guests. Accumulating nothing along the way. Carrying nothing that might look familiar to those they meet. Nothing that could identify them as coming from a particular area or trade or economic status.

Nothing even that could mark them out as ambassadors for Christ.

Nothing, that is, except their words and acts of compassion. Their ability to call people to repentance, to preach the good news and to bring healing and comfort to those who are suffering. 

Jesus knew they would still face rejection. He had been rejected. He knew his messengers would be too. 

He tells the disciples that if in any place they are not made welcome, or their word falls on deaf ears, they are to turn on their heels and leave - to walk away - just as he did in Nazareth. 

We all have preconceived ideas about who we expect to see in particular roles. These can be so strong, so powerful, that we create systems and structures that enable them to become self-fulfilling prophecies. Creating the world in our image.

Like the people of Nazareth, sometimes our expectations can be so well rehearsed, so familiar, that nobody we meet can ever live up to them.

The disciples were sent out stripped of status – carrying nothing that could be used as a means by which to judge them – except the gifts they had been given by Jesus. Their acts of compassion. The Good News they shared. 

How often have we have encountered such anonymous agents of our salvation?

How often have we rejected Christ when he has approached us in them? 

How often have we been complicit in building a world which lifts up those who fit our vision - while failing to recognise the work of Christ in those who don’t?

When we do those things, we deny the reality that God took on human flesh and lived among us, died for us and rose again. We deny the reality that his spirit is at work in all of those around us who have received it. We deny ourselves the opportunity of really knowing Christ.

The gospel calls us to set aside all our baggage before we are sent out to follow in Christ’s footsteps. To reject our deep rooted prejudices and to be recognised by and to recognise in others acts of compassion, healing and reconciliation; the image of Christ, which we all carry.

May we permit God to form us in his image rather than attempting the reverse. 

So that we may find our true home among the litany of God’s elect. 

Image : The Son of a Migrant from Syria, Banksy, 2015. The mural reminds us that Apple founder Steve Jobs was the son of Syrian migrants