Sermon for July 21, 2024

July 21, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 6:30-34, 53-56


As I first read the Gospel for this week, it seems that it’s very similar to many other Gospels. Jesus heals, and heals, and heals some more. He is hounded from shore to shore, as he is trying to find a place away with his disciples, who have also been out and about healing and healing and healing some more.

Yet instead of feeling irritated, he feels compassion. We’re used to having a compassionate God, but in the ancient world, a Divine being who has compassion for humans would have been rare. In the Roman pantheon we see gods and goddesses who have interest in humans, sure, but not compassion for them. On the contrary, Roman gods and goddesses used humans without any care at all for their wellbeing—there was Divine interest in humans, but it was for Divine purposes, which often did not end well for the humans involved.

I have spent time this week returning to this Gospel in between leading Bible study sessions for 55 middle school campers at Lutheridge. Don’t worry, I’m not about to say that the experiences have much of anything in common at all. The 55 middle schoolers were not likely to follow me if I was trying to get away to a more deserted place. They would have been happy to have more time in the pool if we canceled Bible study for the rest of the week.

I thought of Jesus and his compassion as I looked at the middle schoolers. In some ways, they, too, seemed like sheep. One of them would start tossing a scrap of paper at another, and soon, many middle schoolers started to fidget. My little flock of sheep did not lack for shepherds—in addition to me, they had counselors and family back home. But they had a restlessness that seems similar to what I imagine that Jesus saw.

I wish I could tell you that I responded to this middle school flock with compassion. I tried, I really did. I remember what it’s like to be in middle school, which may have added to my frustration, in my inability to help everyone see the wisdom of sitting still and leaving each other alone.

In the end, I developed compassion for us all, shifted strategies, and created activities we could do outside. We still responded to the Bible studies, but we did it outside, with skits and sidewalk chalk drawing and creating pictures or sculptures out of materials we found in nature. I saw a new level of engagement, and my mind went again to the Gospel.

Jesus has plans too—he hopes to get away to a secluded place with the disciples. He wants them to have time to rest and to eat and to decompress. But circumstances compel him to develop a different approach. It’s a lesson for all of us.

But it’s a complicated lesson. If we follow the model Jesus offers in this particular Gospel, we risk running ourselves ragged, until we’re just a burnt out husk, not useful to anyone. It’s not like if we push a bit harder, we solve all the world’s problems and then we can get our well-earned risk.

Jesus came to save humanity, but he also comes to give us back our humanity. When we think about the world’s problems, it’s easy to think in broad generalities. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the needs of people far away and the needs of our own neighborhoods. In today’s Gospel, and in so many of the Gospel readings that revolve around healing, part of Jesus’ power comes from his ability to see the individual human who is right in front of him. It’s very hard to do with a crowd of people.

I might have had more success with my group of 55 campers if I had focused on this aspect of the healing ministry of Jesus. I had trouble seeing them as individuals, particularly when a group of them misbehaved in the same way. I tried to be on the lookout for bullying behavior, but I didn’t see the same child being picked on each day. But I did see children picking at each other, sometimes being the one who picked or flicked or thumped, other times being the one on the receiving end.

In retrospect, I wish I had gone to the craft lodge with them, where I might have been able to ask them questions while we worked on creating a lanyard. I could have gone with them to their pizza parties or their ice cream sundae celebrations. I might have had time for conversations that would have given me insight into what they were thinking and feeling. My presence might have offered them some validation.

I was working with a group of campers in the Night Owl unit, so going with them to some of their activities would have meant staying up past my bed time—most days, they didn’t have lights out until 1 a.m. But that’s really just an excuse. I didn’t go with them because 75 minutes a day was almost more than I could stand with a group that was so irritating. Clearly, I have some work to do if I’m going to be more Christ like.

Here's where I think the Gospel speaks to us today. I saw a pastor post a meme that says, “The church needs to be the fringe of Christ’s cloak.” At first I thought, that’s true. But then I thought it was too limited, if it just means the Church, as in those of us gathered for an hour or two each week in this building.

But if it means the Church as in each one of us going out in the world to be the fringe of Christ’s cloak, then I am more enthusiastic. It’s a great way of thinking about our mission in the world. How can we be a healing presence? How can we be part of the delivery system that brings Christ’s healing and wholeness to those who need it?

My volunteer work at Lutheridge led me to reflect how much of the world is like a bunch of middle school campers: awkward, with discomfort that they can’t quite articulate, sad, fearful about the future while also excited about it, feeling like the rest of the world has the secret to being accepted or popular or having friends while they do not.

You don’t need me to tell you that the world is in as much need of healing in our time as in the time of Jesus and the first disciples. We may feel overwhelmed by the needs of everyone who gathers around us and the needs of the larger community beyond. But Jesus has called us to be of use in this way, and if we’re not sure how to do it, we can follow his model. We can start with compassion and we can start with being present. Even if we don’t have compassion, being present will help us develop the compassion that we need, the compassion that the sheep without a shepherd need. We can be the fringe of Christ’s cloak, bringing healing to the world, casting out the demons that bedevil so many middle schoolers, the demons that so many of us never leave behind, the longing for love and acceptance.