Proper 8C – Sunday, June 29, 2025
”Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.” He was following the way that God had set before him. Whenever I read this text, I am reminded of Dr. Seuss’ words, when we follow the way that God has set before us, “We’ll come to places where the road is not marked to places where the road becomes very dark…But eventually, we’ll get to where we’re supposed to go…”
As I shared with some of you in the patio conversation last Sunday, two weeks ago, Emily and I continued on our journey with God when we moved from Cleveland to Ann Arbor – only 2.5 hours of driving time, but a world away from our home of the past twenty-five years. Like many of you, after retirement, we felt called to a new chapter. For several years, we explored lots of places, but we stayed in Cleveland to care for Emily’s father who died this past October.
Over the winter, liberated from the obligations of parent care, we decided to relocate. We made a spreadsheet of the qualities we wanted in a place to call home and the places we liked and could afford – an important consideration when you’re on a fixed income.
Ann Arbor came out on the top of the list. It’s a progressive, exciting college town. There’s excellent medical care, vibrant music and arts, an incredible food scene and an array of independent bookstores. It’s a walkable and bikeable town with frequent bus and train connections to Detroit and Chicago. And, there are four Episcopal churches, 162 parks, and 50 coffee shops – what more could one ask for in a retirement destination.
Over the course of two months, we sold our house in Cleveland and bought a condominium in Ann Arbor. After years of conversation and discernment, in less than eight weeks, we turned our life upside down.
Because we kept this decision to ourselves until we were clear, and then because it happened so fast, our friends were taken aback. But as my Jewish grandmother would say, our journey to Ann Arbor was bashert, a Yiddish expression meaning fated, destined, or meant to be. Every time we met an obstacle in our course, it was almost miraculously overcome.
Think for a moment about how you followed such a call in your life. Who and what did you leave behind? What familiar roads did you turn off? What false start, stops and detours did you take? What obstacles and obstructions were in your path, and how did you overcome them? How did you exchange the old for the new?
In this morning’s gospel reading, we join Jesus and his disciples on the road as they encounter three seekers who want to join the expedition. To the one who said, “I will follow you wherever you go,” Jesus reminded him that he would face a life of itinerant insecurity. To the two who wanted to follow him but first had to take care of family obligations, Jesus expressed the urgency of carpe diem, insisting that there was no time for looking back. Emily and I couldn’t quite follow that Gospel mandate; before seizing the day, we heeded the fifth commandment: “Honor your father and mother.”
To all who wanted to follow Jesus on his earthly mission, he demanded total commitment. Scripture tells us that some followed and others declined his invitation; some fell away and others were left behind.
Jesus’ words to the would-be-followers in this morning’s gospel lesson weren’t intended to be a rejection or a reflection on their character; nor was he suggesting that they would be excluded from God’s commonwealth of love. Jesus was just telling them that they were not ready to be a part of his inner circle of disciples; they weren’t ready or able to make the sacrifices required to join him on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
It’s never a straight line from point A to point B. The road to Jerusalem is full of dangerous curves and sharp turns, and when one is in the middle of a tough part of the road – whether it’s the Oregon Trail, an Atlantic crossing, the Darién Gap, Cape Horn, or just down the block — whether it’s building a business, finishing a college degree, raising children, staying married, or dealing with aging — when we seem to have lost our way and we’re roaming about in the wilderness, we tend to forget that this is part of the journey.
When Emily and I were in the midst of our relocation to Ann Arbor, we sold our house before buying another. Thanks to the generosity of a friend, we had the offer of a place to live in Wellfleet for a year while we looked for a home in Ann Arbor. However, the uncertainty was almost too much for us to bear. As we packed up our house, we took turns having emotional melt-downs, asking each other, “What were we thinking?”
During the course of our transition, I took to re-reading Pema Chödrön’s book entitled, Comfortable with Uncertainty where this wise Buddhist teacher from an abbey in northern Cape Breton writes:
“A warrior [that is, one who trains in awakening one’s heart] accepts that we can never know what will happen to us next. We can try to control the uncontrollable by looking for security and predictability, always hoping to be comfortable and safe. But the truth is that we can never avoid uncertainty. This not-knowing is part of the adventure.”
Once we let go and accepted the uncertainty of our situation, in that bashert way, a home within our budget became available and the journey continued. And now, having left Ann Arbor for Wellfleet only ten days after our moving van arrived, we wonder: what will become of us; will we like our new home; will we make new friends; will we settle into a church; will we find places of connection, community and service? The answer is probably yes; but how, when and where — that remains to unfold.
For better or worse, the Bible is compressed and succinct. We don’t get a lot of descriptive details about the lives and experiences of our biblical ancestors. We don’t hear much about the detours on the road. We don’t read a lot about Moses’ time living in exile with Jethro, or David’s youth as a shepherd boy; and we are not told much about the first thirty years of Jesus’ life, James and John’s work as commercial fisherman, or Paul’s vocation as a tentmaker.
I always wonder what those hidden years were like. What were their struggles, questions, and failures? What were their curves and obstacles on the road? What were their detours and stuck places? How did they find connection, community and service?
The stories of our spiritual ancestors and my own recent experience make me think about the most vulnerable among us. If I was anxious during my relocation — having the security of citizenship, a retirement pension, money from the sale of my house, an offer of a place to live while I looked for a new home, and a life partner — I try to imagine the anxiety and fear of my immigrant neighbors who risked so much to come here and now wonder if they are going to be picked up, separated from loved ones, and deported to who knows where.
While I do worry about the future of marriage equality and the civil liberties of the gay and lesbian community, I think more about my transgendered friends who fear that their hormone therapy will be denied; or that they will be pulled out of the TSA line when the gender on their drivers license doesn’t match the gender identified as they passed through the x-ray machine; or that while walking into a public restroom, they will be bullied or attacked.
While I worry about the threat of future cuts to social security and medicare, I try to imagine being a federal employee, and one day, receiving an email that says my job has been eliminated, and for the first time in my civil service career, I’m unemployed. Or, that I’m poor or disabled, and as I watch the news, I wonder how will I and my family survive when my medicaid and food assistance is eliminated.
I know to some of you, this might sound political, but it’s actually compassion. A lot of people in our midst are walking the journey of life anxious, worried and afraid – and with good reason. As they put one foot in front of the other, they are looking for reassurance that everything will be all right.
Over the past year, I’ve been listening to Carrie Newcomer, a singer-songwriter from Bloomington, Indiana who has been described by The Boston Globe as “a prairie mystic.” Her music calms my anxious spirit, reminds me that I can make a difference, and encourages me to make the world a little kinder place. Her songs sing the news of the heart, which offers a nice counterpoint to the news of the day as they aptly paint pictures of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – the fruits of the Spirit outlined by Paul in his letter to the Galatians.
Reflecting on her song “Flashlight,” Carrie Newcomer writes: “In uncertain times it is good to remember I don’t always have to see 100 miles down the road, all I need is a small flashlight, which is enough light to take the next step…and when I get there I have enough light to take the next.”
Those words are just what I think we need to hear on this long and winding road called life. We need just enough light to take one step at a time. And, we are called to provide the light when others find themselves struggling in the dark.
This morning, I invite you to reflect on your own journey toward Jerusalem. Where is God calling you to go, and what’s holding you back? What are your hesitations and uncertainties; your obligations and obstacles; and how can you overcome them – with a small flashlight – one step at a time? And I invite you to consider how you can offer or be a flashlight for others on their journey toward Jerusalem?
The Very Rev. Tracey Lind
St. James the Fisherman, Wellfleet, MA