Travelers - Not Settlers.

Luke 9: 51-62

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face 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 towards 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?’ 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 plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’

I have always loved the passage: “…but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Even as a child those words fascinated me and I remember drawing a picture of it but it wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that I began to get a glimmer of how profound the words were. What started to seep into my consciousness was that this world was not Christ’s true home - and it isn’t my true home either. It was Peter who said, “Beloved, I urge you as aliens and exiles to abstain from the desires of the flesh (false self) that wage war against the soul (true self).” (1 Peter 2:11)

Aliens and exiles. Strangers in a strange land. This world is not where we came from or where we belong and somewhere along the way it is imperative that every Christian grasps this. What we possess and accomplish in this world is not ultimately who we are. We are not here to settle, to make our mark, to carve out a niche, to find security and be comfortable; we are pilgrims and nomads passing through on the way back to the place where we belong. As we traverse over the desert terrain and help others along the way to get home too, the question isn’t what we gain; it’s what we lose.

Not too many people would argue with me when I say it’s a difficult and often lonely journey but there are certain things that make it even more difficult and lonelier than it already is. Picture two people walking through the desert. The first has prepared for an arduous and long journey. The pack sack on the shoulders is immense, full of all sorts of clothing, extra heavy boots, equipment, shelter and tools that might possibly be helpful on such a trek. Not only did this person start out with an impressive array of equipment but all along the way, helpful people have added to the load: arcane maps, unusual compasses, special water bottles, nutritious food, journals full of explicit dire warnings…so much ‘stuff’. Watching the pilgrim, you notice that the weight of what is being carried makes it very difficult to achieve much movement through the deep sand. If one could peer into the thoughts of this traveler one would notice a lot of frustration, regret, fear and innate weariness. The traveler would constantly be trying to drink from the mirage pools of the future while trying gain sustenance from chewing on the dead past, the good and the bad. This pilgrim is actually not traveling much at all. He just thinks he is because he thinks he’s got the appropriate load for a journey. Even though he struggles mightily with the load, it’s a familiar load. It’s a load he calls his own and on which he rests his head.

The second pilgrim has very little – no packsack and no huge loads of food and equipment, preferring instead to trust the desert to provide what is needed when it is needed. The feet are shod with light sandals. To this pilgrim or nomad, the desert is alive with vital life signs. Food and water appear in unexpected places and the pilgrim knows that it is crucial to be paying attention because it’s so easy to miss the ruah wind whispering directions for the moment and pointing out the subtle but awe inspiring signs of God’s amazing presence everywhere. This traveler steps lightly over the sand and though the journey certainly has its difficulties, an unnecessary load does not bring him to a standstill.

Jesus had no possessions. I'm not talking now about just material possessions. He did not lay claim to or hold onto anything in the past nor did he grasp for assurances for the future. He did not need anyone to recognize him as someone important and worthy of respect. He ministered to people because he loved them not because he had a need to show off his value. He had no need to rain fire down upon a people who did not approve of him or support his mission. He set his face toward Jerusalem to embrace his death, not just for those who were committed to him and supported his mission but also for the unreceptive, the unbelieving and the closed off Samaritans of the world.

Christ didn’t reach for a secure spot to call his own but walked in unburdened trust that he would be sheltered when he was in need of shelter and would be fed when he was in need of food. “My food, my tools and my shelter – my home – is to do the will of the one who sent me on this desert journey.”

This is an incredibly tough journey but it’s a thousand times more difficult when you’re conflicted about who you really are, what you really need or want and where your home really is. When Jesus said, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” he wasn’t being harsh and uncaring. I suspect he knew that the man who said, “First let me go bury my father,” was not wholly committed and, once back home, would most likely lose the inspiration he had found in Christ’s presence. The man would bury his father but then maybe decide he should plow his fields, get married as was expected of him, raise some children and generally take care of business. He would always mean to get back to Jesus and would always tell himself, "When this stage of life is over I can be more committed and have more time to serve the Lord." Eventually, though, the clamors of normal life would make him mostly forget about  that charismatic man he ran into on the road to Jerusalem. He would become one of the dead busy dealing with the dead and burying himself in a dead life. 

Life has a way of doing that. It burdens us with false ideas of what is essential to the journey. It makes us forget our True Selves and forget that this world is not our real home, even though we’re called to care for it with respect and love. It’s so easy to gather far more than is needed and feel needy for far more than is gathered until the journey becomes a treadmill in the sand.

"Christ says ‘Give me all. I don’t want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You." (C. S. Lewis. Mere Christianity)

You. Simply you. The unloaded, unsettled You. Who are you? What are all the perceptions, expectations and things you have accumulated in your life that seem to define you but actually only bog you down in the desert sand? What is the part of you that is absolutely alien to this world? Who is the You that will cross over that final horizon to your true home when everything in this world falls away? There is no doubt about it. It will all fall away like a pile of debris. All your accomplishments, doctrines, opinions, defenses, frames of reference and self-definitions will be like ashes in the wind. Only one thing can accompany you back home: love.

The choice is whether you are going to settle down with a load of heavy debris on which you can lay your head or whether you will travel light with love…

…like Jesus.