And he called to him the twelve, and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He charged them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not put on two tunics. And he said to them, "Where you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. And if any place will not receive you and they refuse to hear you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet for a testimony against them." So they went out and preached that men should repent. And they cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many that were sick and healed them. Mark 6:7-13 (RSV)
In his book, Why Not the Best? Jimmy Carter shares an observation. When he was campaigning for governor of Georgia in 1966, he figured he shook over 300,000 hands. He compared that with his personal campaign for God. "Three hundred thousand visits for myself in three months, and 140 visits for God in fourteen years." Of late a great deal has also been expounded about the church member's declining interest in the strategic format of the church itself.
If we can't interest ourselves in its program and ministry, then how do we make it contagious? A butcher sold all his poultry except one hen. A woman came in to his store and asked for a hen. The butcher took the hen from his ice barrel, weighed it, and said, "That'll be $1.75, ma'm." "Do you have a larger one?" she asked. "Yes," he said. Thereupon he returned it to the barrel, stirred it a little, and came up with the same hen. Weighing it, he said, "That'll be $2.25, ma'm." "Good," she said, "I'll take both." Like the butcher, we play the court joker when we present a diluted gospel. Many of us want the church with all its social conveniences, but few of us are willing to pay the price for its continual growth. Doesn't it all come down to our relectance to monitor that gospel on a personal basis?
Okay, Jesus tells us to go into all the world with his gospel. But the world, for the most part, is saying "No" to us, isn't it? Do we bombard the comtemporary mind with shallow pronouncements which many dismiss as punchless? Do we endeavor to reconcile the world, yet fail to resolve our own differences?
From these examples, we can note with a degree of honesty that the Gospel in Jesus' mold has been bent out of shape. It's difficult for the cocaine addict to get his message from a structure often intent on preserving itself for preservation's sake. The urgent gospel of change always comes from ones who have been changed, not from the institution itself. The Methodist circuit rider, William Van Orsdel of Montana, once said, "You can do lots more with a lively sinner than a dead saint."
In his strategy to build the Kingdom, Jesus commissioned those non-professionals: the poor, the alienated, the uneducated. What made the difference was their enthusiasm. In their own way they conveyed to others how God had changed their lives. Success sells. There were no magical formulas, no computer buttons to push. They marketed only their honest, changed selves. He mobilized them to go in pairs. They traveled light - not even a toothbrush.
There was one, perhaps the least likely of them all, whom Jesus would depend upon for much of his success. Certainly, he could not preach like Peter. He wasn't as professional with bookkeeping as Matthew. He wasn't the gutsy type to fish all day as did James. Neither did he retain the poetic imagination of John. He wasn't particularly bright. He would have never made a bishop. He was young, hopeful, and energetic - but even those did not qualify him for that special gift Jesus recognized. What enamored him to the heart of Jesus was, in John's words, "Philip found Nathaniel, and said to him, 'We have found him ... Jesus of Nazareth.' " (1:45)
As with any human institution, it is the sales agent who gets the job done. Day after day, in wind, rain, and snow, he is the one who knocks on doors and delivers the product. Philip ranked in the top ten in Jesus' corporate structure. He was not an "idea" man. He got results. He was the kind of person who would throw all his energies into his work.
Today as we are introduced to Jesus, we must ask as Nathaniel pondered, "What will I do with Jesus?" Do we react by throwing up our defense mechanisms, questioning the most incredible personality in human history? Why has our generation failed to answer adequately that question?
It is not that we cannot answer that question. It is more precisely that we will not. Are we afraid of Jesus? Are we fearful that if we really meet him on an intimate level, he will perform major surgery on our spirit? There was a man who feared his job as a night watchman. The silence and the loneliness got to him. In fact, he asked to be relieved of his job. But his employer insisted, "Just try one more night. Only this time let the darkness become your friend, not your enemy." That night he left the doors and windows open. He began to sense the aroma of the night. He walked outside and absorbed the canopy of the heavens. On that night he came to terms with his fears.
"Nathaniel, come and see Jesus!" "Come and behold his power! Come and secure his peace!" Why should we remain fearful of Jesus, the Physician of souls? Why must we follow him from a distance? A psychologist was told by his patient, "I'm not getting anywhere." "But where do you want to get?" he asked. "I don't know." "Well, what do you do best?" The patient answered, "I'm not sure I'm good at anything." "Tell me, then, what gives you the most satisfaction?" His response, "Nothing special." "Look," said the psychologist, "I've asked you three of the most important questions of your life and you've failed to answer any of them."
In a sense do not these three questions converge into the real question of our lives: "When you meet Jesus, what do you really do with him?" Is Jesus just around on Sundays, or have you met the personal Jesus? Have you met him in the pleading, hollow eyes of the alcoholic, in the out-stretched hands of a hungry child? Have you allowed the presence of the Christ to dominate your thinking, your loving, your working, simply the total "you" in these days?
Philip's entire being had been transformed by the renewing grace of the Galilean sunrise, a spiritual emergence that would never set. The presence of the Christ simply overshadowed the cadence of his life-style. Do we believe that his words of life can still bring the world to its knees and confess him as Lord? Surely, they are not the words from Lincoln's Gettyburg Address which number only 266. They are not the words of the Bill of Rights which contains only 557. Neither are they the words from a federal agency which used 26,911 words for an order to reduce the price of cabbage.
What are those words which have rechanneled the rivers of history? Are they not the words of Philip, words which have become the four verbs of Easter:
"Come,""See,""Go,""Tell."
First, we must "come" and "see" Jesus. With those words we are equipped to "go" and "tell" others about his transforming power. Philip was always prepared. Remember, it was he to whom Jesus turned on that hot summer afternoon for the ingredients for his most spectacular miracle. He received Philip's bread and fish and fed the 5,000.
Philip knew that to know Jesus, he must reintroduce others to him. He knew there were no short-cuts. Will we also "come," and "see" Jesus? Will we introduce those verbs into our living vocabulary?