My daughter is in Europe right now. Eating dinner in Vienna, actually. At a restaurant that was old when this country was carpeted in bison and elk. She sent me a picture of her dinner. Amazing. And, yes, in case you’re wondering, this is the daughter that broke her leg a few weeks ago. Broke it so well that she had to have a titanium rod (called a tibial nail) driven into her leg to hold the bone in place, from her knee to her ankle, and then some screws to hold it. Yeah, that one. She told me earlier in the week, before they left, that she’d been practicing walking. Because they were planning to walk in the Alps. Walk across the Vltava River in Prague. Walk the narrow streets of some of Europe’s oldest cities. So, she was practicing walking. And now she’s there. Walking. Sitting and resting. But walking.
As you go. Remember? That’s how we hear the direction from our Lord, the Great Commission we call it. As you go, He says, while going perhaps. As you go, disciple. Wherever you go. As you go. To the ends of the earth perhaps. Really? Yes, remember?
Matthew 28:16-20 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
That must have hit them like a truck, had they known what a truck was. “Of all nations.” We take it for granted. This international travel thing. It’s commonplace. Old hat. Jump on a plane, end up a world away. Amazing, but not really amazing any more. We do it all the time. A flight to Europe? Yawn. A cruise to the Carribean? Been there. Africa, Asia, a long flight on a cramped seat, but no big deal. Happens all the time.
I remember my first transatlantic flight. I was scared to death, but didn’t want anyone to know. Especially since I was going to spend a year over there, across the ocean. I didn’t know if I could survive in a culture different from my own. Maybe it would be familiar enough to function, maybe it would catch me out more often than I was comfortable with. Maybe the accents would be too thick to understand. Maybe mine would make me stand out. Maybe it would be possible to have conversations, and to make relationships, to plant seeds and to disciple. Maybe it would be a dismal failure.
See, it’s one thing to go, it’s quite another to disciple as you go. I’m sure the eleven heard their hearts pounding in their ears as He said these words. As you go, disciple, all nations. They flinched, and looked at each other. Did He say ...? Surely not. Their minds went back to the beginning, just after He had called them all. One of the first things He did was send them out. A field trip right out of the gate! But, as He sent them, He said “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, enter no town of the Samaritans...” Whew, they thought. Glad we don’t have to do that crossing boundaries thing, those people are just weird. So, they went and did what they were told to do. But now, after all that happened, after death and life again, after despair and the rising again of hope, now they stand on this mountain and hear “of all nations.” Cross those boundaries. Tear down the walls. You’re now limitless.
Um. Really? You sure about that? That had to run through their minds in that moment. Limitless? Because they were, like we all are, way too aware of their limitations. They had slammed up against them just days before. They had tasted failure, they had run for their lives, they had huddled behind closed and locked doors. Limitless sounded risky, sounded vulnerable.
All nations. They were right to remember that the trial run was close to home. That for that first foray into the mission field, Jesus told them to stay close to home, stay in familiar territory, deal with the folks they knew, the folks like them. Yet, if they had been paying attention, Jesus had been dropping hints all along the way that the boundaries of their home town, their home country were not going to be the limits for long.
Way back in the beginning of His earthly ministry He dropped a hint. Before the twelve had been named, before the squad was in place, He sat down on the side of a mountain and cast a vision that still is bigger than we can really comprehend. We call it the sermon on the mount and look at it as good advice. We hear it as little proverbs that Jesus dropped like pearls before us swinish folk. But it was more than that. It was nothing less than a glimpse into eternity. He stood on the steppes of that monumental mountain and spoke to the thousands gathered on the mall around the reflecting pool and said “I have a dream.”
And that dream is our dream, our hope, the model of life itself, life fulfilled, life content and complete, life poured out in love and in joy. In the midst of that dream is the hint that this life is limitless. In terms of time, yes, but more than just that. More than an eternity of unmeasurable time, it is an eternity of depth, an eternity of meaning and purpose. Unlimited by the walls we build, the lines we draw and the boundaries we construct to keep ourselves “safe” or so we think. A hint that the limits we suffer from are of our own making.
Matthew 5:13-16 "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. 14 "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15 No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
Did you hear the hint? In those very familiar words it sometimes hides in plain sight. You are salt. Yes, we get that. We struggle, we wrestle, but we get it. You are light. Same. We know, we’ve heard, it seems to be asking a lot, maybe too much, but we know. We are salt, we are light. We add flavor and preservative. We provide direction in the midst of darkness. We’ve heard. But what else?
You are the salt of the earth. The earth. There’s a planet in need of our flavoring, our preservation. Are we just caring for a small patch, for the bit with which we are familiar? Or are we concerned about the earth? The third rock from the sun. That one. You are the light of the world. Really? The world? For heaven’s sake. Yes, exactly. We are the light of the world for heaven’s sake. “World” in Greek is kosmos. How’s that? You are the light of the cosmos. Daunted yet? Overwhelmed? You should be.
Disciples have a global/local vision. That’s how Brian McLaren puts it. We are in the business of tearing down barriers. Crossing over boundaries. There is no where we won’t go. No person beyond our reach, no relationship out of bounds. So we go. On broken bones if necessary, but we go. With hesitant hearts, with doubts aplenty, but we go. And as we go...
Wait a moment. Retranslate that again. We go. You go. Not just you, but you. All y’all. Remember? This isn’t an individual task, you don’t carry the weight of the world by yourself. You can’t salt the whole planet. You can’t light the whole cosmos. But all y’all can. All y’all with the One who is the light. You don’t need to dine in Vienna. You don’t need to cross the ocean. Oceans will be crossed. But start with crossing the street. Start with crossing the room. Knowing that you are part of something bigger than just yourself. It’s only in that understanding that we can truly be limitless.
Shalom,
Derek
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