Sermon, Proper 8, Year C

That's some homecoming the word of God gives us today. With two-thirds of the story of Luke's Gospel left, the Son of God decides that he must die, and tells his wannabe followers that they will share his homelessness. There is perhaps no word that can give us such peace, or longing, as that word, "home." To be in that place where we can exhale, rest, relax, vegetate, feel safe: What more do we long for in this world than to be in that place where we are at ease and unguarded? But if that's how we conceive of "home," then home is an escape, a temporary respite, which we must always leave. Or it is some place that we imagine is better than where we are. Things always look better in our imagination. Wherever we are, so long as we are with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, there is our home.

And so, "Jesus fixed his face firmly towards Jerusalem," where he fully expected to die. Jerusalem was his home, of course. Remember when he was 12, and his parents couldn't find him in Jerusalem for three days, until they looked in the Temple. Remember his reply to their worries: "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" So, when Jesus fixes his face firmly towards Jerusalem, he is coming home, to die. We're only a third of the way through the Gospel of Luke, and he's already given away the ending, and it's not quite what we would call a happy ending.

Luke's statement of Jesus's journey to Jerusalem is not meant to be taken literally. He still has a lot of teaching to do along the way. And Luke doesn't go to the trouble of detailing the exact path that Jesus takes toward Jerusalem. That's not the point. The point is that to get to the Resurrection and ascension, you have to go through the crucifixion. There's no short cut to the happy ending. Jesus's purpose is to die. And if we are to share in his Resurrection then we too must die our little deaths. Getting outbid for the car or house you wanted: not getting the job we want: not getting our way in the group when the group must decide something. But Jesus understands that all our daily deaths only bring us closer to our true home: eternal life with the risen Jesus wherever we are in this world, and in the next. Whatever disappointments meet us on our way must not keep our faces from being firmly fixed towards Jerusalem.

Of course, not everyone gets it. Some imagine that to follow the Messiah, the heir to King David's throne, is the guarantee of an easy life of privilege. "I will follow you wherever you go," an over-eager wannabe disciple tells Jesus. Really, Jesus says. You realize, don't you, that if you come with me, you'll be in worse shape than a fox or a bird. At least they have a home. You won't have one with me. But then again, floods can drown the fox in his hole, and winds can blow down the trees in which the birds make their nests. So you can cling to your flimsy shelter. Or you can follow me, knowing that by the world's standard you will be homeless. But in truth you will be home wherever you go; because wherever you go, I will be with you, on the way to the everlasting home that is waiting for us.

So here we all are, home, at least for this morning. Here we all are, our separate journeys converging here at this moment, because we all have been blessed to call Christ Church in Albertville our church home. Some of us have gone on to make homes elsewhere. For some of us, this is our current home. But wherever we have gone, we have not needed holes or nests. We have had Jesus, who has no place to lay his head and is able to walk alongside us wherever we go. And so here we are, brothers and sisters in Christ; and so we will always be wherever we go. And wherever we go, Christ Church will always go. And so we will go, until we arrive at our own Jerusalem, and our own Resurrection. And waiting for us will be the homeless Son of God, who has always been with us. Then, we will be home, forever.