Every time I encounter this gospel in the Sunday readings, I’m reminded of this sad fact: I would have been a terrible apostle.
I just can’t pack light.
For years, my wife and I came down to Florida for vacations. The weather forecast would be sunny and 90 degrees. But shorts and flip flops weren’t enough. I’d pack a hat and boots and a rain poncho and umbrella and a sweater. Would the air conditioning be too cold? Maybe. Gotta pack a sweatshirt, just in case. Maybe I needed a sport coat if we go someplace nice for dinner. Do I have a pair of dress shoes?
I once had the experience of arriving at the airport and finding that my suitcase weighed too much. I had to open it at the counter and start moving things into my carry-on … which then became too heavy to carry, so it became a drag-on.
And now I find myself facing this gospel once again, and Jesus’s simple words: “Take nothing for the journey but a walking stick.”
No food, no money. Not even a carry-on for a raincoat and a toothbrush.
How did the apostles do it? The answer is: What they were carrying didn’t need a bag.
They only brought what was absolutely necessary and essential — what was carried in their hearts and, as one saint reminds us, also carried in their hands.
Several years ago, I met a journalist by the name of David Van Biema. He works for Time magazine and has written extensively about the life and legacy of Mother Teresa. He told me people were always coming to her and asking for advice. What can I do be become more holy? What is the most important spiritual lesson you can give me?
She would look at them and say, “You already have it.” And she would take their hand. “It’s all here. In your hand.” And she would touch each of their fingers. “Five fingers. Five words. You. Did. This. For. Me.” She explained: “You have the gospel in your hand. You have it with you where you go. Every time you look at your hand, remember that. Live that. That is everything.”
“You did this for me.”
“Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
By leaving behind everything else, the first followers of Christ had to rely only on what really mattered.
First, they had faith. As I mentioned a couple weeks back, the gospel readings these weeks have repeatedly talked about faith. Jesus was preparing his followers for this moment. They needed to have faith in God, in Christ. Faith in his teachings — the words and work of an itinerant rabbi who performed miracles and calmed storms and reshaped the way they thought, the way they lived, the way they loved.
And second, they had his astounding message. The Good News. They were sent to announce a call to repentance, to offer healing, and to proclaim hope. They brought their experiences as eyewitnesses to all that Mark described, the episodes we’ve been hearing about. The calming of a storm. The healing of a woman who simply believed and reached out her hand. The resurrection of the daughter of Jairus.
Think of the stories they had to tell.
One commentator has written about this passage:
“They brought the King’s message. They also brought the King’s mercy. They brought help and healing. That remains the Church’s task today and every day.”
Our task is to live those five words: You did this for me.
God knows, our world desperately needs that. It needs to be reminded of God’s unceasing loves.
It is a world that needs to be reminded of “Emmanuel.” God is with us. The one who was born on Christmas morning still lives.
This is our message and our mission. If it sounds daunting, remember this: we don’t do it alone.
There’s a reason, I think, why Jesus sent his followers out two-by-two. For one thing, of course, it was for safety and for companionship.
But it was also a reminder that we don’t travel the Christian road alone. We go with others, for others. And we got with the fire of the Holy Spirit lighting our way and burning within us.
As we prepare to receive Christ himself at the table of the Lord this Sunday, we remember that our work doesn’t end when we sing the last notes of the recessional hymn and head into the parking lot.
Our mission is just beginning.
I say at the end of every Mass, “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord with your life.” What does that mean?
We leave here, carrying the Eucharist we have received, Christ within us, into the world. We set out to give glory to him with what we say, what we do. Because we have him within us and we just can’t keep him to ourselves.
Last year, I visited a parish in St. Augustine. On the inside of every door, there was a plaque with a message — the last words people see before they leave the church.
“Entering the mission fields.”
Well, so are we.
Remember that today.
We have work to do. And we have the tools to do it.
In our lives as Christians, as heralds of the gospel, we don’t have to worry about overpacking or stuffing too much in the suitcase. We have everything we need. It’s up to us.
In every sense imaginable, it’s all in our hands.
How will we use those hands to glorify the Lord with our lives?
