The Dead Bury the Dead

Propers: The Third Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 13), A.D. 2019 C

Homily:

Lord, we pray for the preacher, for you know his sins are great.

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Let the dead bury their dead.” Sounds rather harsh, doesn’t it?

We have two parallel stories this morning. And this is quite intentional, because when Luke tells us the tale of Jesus heading to Jerusalem, he clearly alludes to the last days of the prophet Elijah, a story he assumes that we know.

Elijah is one of those rip-roaring characters in the Bible that are always fun to read about. He’s generally considered the greatest prophet of the Old Testament, at least in the north of Israel. He takes on corrupt kings and wicked priests, raises the dead, commands wild animals, and widely works wonders wheresoever he may go. In Russian folklore it’s Elijah, so they say, who hurls down thunderbolts in the storm.

He is similar to Moses in many ways. He too works miracles. He too parts waters. He too meets God upon the mountaintop. And just as Moses selected a successor before he died, so does Elijah come to know that his days on earth are short. “Put your affairs in order,” sayeth the Lord. “Anoint new kings to come after you, and a prophet to continue your work; for soon you shall be taken up into heaven.”

Thus Elijah finds Elisha, son of Shaphat, plowing his field with a great team of oxen, and Elijah throws his mantle over the younger man. Understanding exactly what this means, Elisha runs after him and asks to say farewell to his father and mother. “Of course,” says Elijah. “I’m no monster.” And so Elisha, in his enthusiasm, slaughters two dozen oxen and breaks up the wood of their yokes in order to build a fire over which to cook them all, distributing the meat to the hungry and the needy.

This is Elisha’s way of burning his bridges, putting a full stop to his previous life and going all-in on this new prophetic mission given to him by the Lord. And when Elijah is taken bodily up into heaven by those famous chariots of fire, Elisha inherits not only his mantle but a double portion of his spirit so that he now is Elijah’s heir, consecrated to continue his work and word and wonders on earth.

Skip ahead most of a millennium to the time of Jesus, and our Gospel reading for this morning opens with the words, “When the days drew near for Him to be taken up, He”—Jesus—“set His face to go to Jerusalem.” And of course we know that He’s going to Jerusalem to die—to rise again, and to ascend into heaven at the right hand of the Father. Like Elijah, He must put His affairs in order. Like Elijah, He must prepare His disciples for His death.

First, when passing through Samaria on His way, the people there refuse Him hospitality, “because His face was set toward Jerusalem.” Maybe that was just a bit too Jewish for them; Samaritans do not worship at the Temple in Jerusalem. Or maybe they were smart enough to know what was coming: that Jesus walking into Jerusalem was akin to kicking the hornets’ nest. Regardless, two of His Apostles, the aptly-named “sons of thunder,” want to know if they should “command fire to come down from heaven and consume” these impious, ungrateful Samaritans.

This is what Elijah did, mind you. He called down fire from heaven upon the false prophets of Ba’al, the god still worshipped by many Samaritans in the north. One is tempted to call this the first Middle Eastern airstrike. But Jesus says no. He is not Elijah. His is not the way of thunderbolt and flame. He has other plans for the Samaritans, as the Apostles will find in the weeks and months to come, when the Holy Spirit of God is poured forth on the north.

Next a series of would-be disciples meet Jesus along the way. “I will follow you wherever you go!” cries the first, to which He replies, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” In other words, this will not be a happy homecoming. He isn’t going to Jerusalem to triumph in the way that people expect. He is going there to die, to conquer death by death, and His followers will be scattered to the ends of the earth. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” He tells the man. “Stay where you are.”

The next fellow says, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father,” but Jesus replies, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.” And this is pretty harsh, isn’t it? Let the dead bury their dead? But commentators are quick to point out that this doesn’t necessarily mean that this fellow’s father is literally dead. Rather, he likely has elderly parents who depend on him, and as a good son he can’t very well run off with the Christians and leave them to fend for themselves. Elder homes are not an option in ancient Judea.

And when Jesus responds, “Let the dead bury their dead,” well, in first century Jewish thought, “the dead” are often a metaphor for the spiritually dead, for those who have no enthusiasm, no transcendence, no thought of life beyond the belly. “But as for you,” He says, “go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.” And here, I think, is the meat of the matter, the real point of the story. Jesus doesn’t reject him. He doesn’t berate him. He doesn’t demand a fealty greater or harsher than that of Elijah.

He says, “Go and proclaim the Kingdom, go and be my witness, where you are. You have parents who need you; proclaim the Kingdom to them. Do not come to Jerusalem. I am going there to die. But soon the Kingdom will go out from Jerusalem to all the ends of the earth and then I will need you right where you are.” Often those who want to follow Jesus are sent out to do just that.

And then finally we have someone who says, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” And Jesus says to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.” And this sounds cruel. Even Elisha was permitted to say goodbye. And traditional commentaries do not help here, because they emphasize the priority we must put on God’s Kingdom above friends and family, hearth and home.

Which is true enough, I suppose. God must come first. We must put first things in first place in order for the center to hold. But these need not be contradictory. Christ calls us not to foreswear friendship but to strive for a greater friendship, a holy friendship. He calls us not to neglect nor abandon our families but to love them as He has first loved us. Jesus is protecting this man from himself.

“If you aren’t willing to leave all that behind you right here and now,” Jesus says, “then go back. Go home. What lies ahead of Me of suffering and terror and death. My followers will be persecuted. My followers will be murdered. My followers will be dispersed as outlaws, like seeds scattered forth from a weed. If you’re not ready for that, go home.”

It’s not a condemnation. It’s not a rejection. It’s not a public shaming. Jesus is putting His affairs in order. He is going to Jerusalem to die. And those who rashly wish to follow Him to the Cross, the lash, the spear, the rock—these He gently puts aside. Grace will come. The Good News will come. But first He must do this, for us, alone.

So what are we to make of all this? What are we to take away from these dozen troublesome verses? I think it must be that God in Christ Jesus is always acting out of love for us and for our good. When He seems harsh, it is out of a firm love, a divine will to bring us to truth. When He is gentle, it is not out of weakness or pusillanimity, but out of the strength of His love, the firmness of His resolve to forgive us, to save us, to raise us from the dead. God is always for us. Even when He must be against us, He is for us.

There is no cruelty within God. There is no harsh justice that outweighs His mercy. Rather, His justice and His mercy are so perfect that they become the same thing: perfect truth. And that truth stands before us in the person of Jesus Christ. You are immersed in an ocean of love, in every moment of your being, beyond any depths or limits or boundaries we could imagine. That is terror enough to drown us in our sins, and joy so superabundant as to raise us up to life everlasting.

Let the dead bury their dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.