This is a sermon I preached at Jubilee Mennonite Church on April 16, 2023. The text provided was Matthew 28:16-20 (aka The Great Commission). I was hesitant to take on this text given my discomfort with the way it’s been understood and applied by many Christians past and present. However, I stuck with it and was glad I did as it forced me to articulate and bring together an assortment of things that had been swirling in my mind for some time. There’s a couple of quotes in the sermon for which I can no longer find the source, though I did have them at the time of writing – if I find them I’ll add them.
Growing up in an evangelical wing of the Mennonite world, the Great
Commission passage and others like it were common points of reference, and frequently used to encourage hearers to get out there and evangelize. When missionaries came to visit our church they often cited it as part of their motivation for travelling to far off lands to spread the good news.
Being a somewhat shy, introverted kid, this call to, well, talk to other
people, felt very burdensome – you want me to go talk to strangers?! And somehow convince them that their worldview and religious inclinations need to be adjusted or perhaps thrown out entirely, and that they really should come to church and be baptized?!
Well, lucky for me the mission industry had already distilled and condensed the Bible’s thousands of years and multitude of voices into easy-to-remember talking points; they had printed glossy pamphlets to hand out – because who wouldn’t convert to
Christianity when the 3 easy steps to eternal salvation were printed on a glossy pamphlet?
There was always this pressure, this feeling of I’m not doing enough, I
should be out there preaching on the street corner, knocking on doors, every encounter with a stranger, no matter how mundane, should be viewed as an opportunity to win a soul for the kingdom. Sometimes I’d wonder about if it really had to be this way, but then I’d wonder if maybe I was just trying to get out of doing the work. So here I was, a shy, socially awkward kid, left holding a handful of glossy pamphlets, with the souls of my friends and neighbours sitting heavy on my shoulders – rarely have Christian missions been in such a sorry state. My burden may have been lighter had I known about the little-known tradition that believes the Great Commission was only meant for the 11 disciples, not all Christians through all time.
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This morning I want to explore five themes that came to mind while reflecting on the Great Commission.
It’s only 3 days after Jesus’ death, the disciples are no doubt still in shock, deep in grief, when the two Mary’s tell them that he is, in fact, alive and has instructed the disciples to meet him in Galilee. What do you think they were thinking about on the journey? Full of questions, likely. Sure, the Mary’s seemed confident that they had seen Jesus and spoken to him, but really? Risen from the dead?
I’m sure the disciples wanted to believe; were hoping that the past week had all just a bad dream. If I had to guess, I suspect the disciples were feeling a confusing mix of hope and despair
on the way to Galilee.
And then they actually meet him on the mountain side! I’m sure there was much joy at this reunion, but the Bible tells us that there was also something else. All versions of the story in the gospels make sure to mention that the disciples had doubts and questions:
Matthew 28:17 When they saw him they worshipped him; but some doubted.
Mark 16:18 Later Jesus appeared to the eleven as they were eating; he rebuked them for their lack of faith and their stubborn refusal to believe those who had seen him after he had risen.
Luke 24:37-38 They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds?”
John 20: story of doubting Thomas
Acts 1:3 After his suffering, he presented himself to them and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive.
As we hear in these passages, Jesus knew his disciples had questions and doubts. And because the disciples had yet to work out what all of this meant, Jesus stayed with them for several years to make sure they understood everything before sending them out, right? No. He left and sent them anyway, right then and there, having just witnessed his death, and now his supposed resurrection – frankly it’s hard to imagine a more emotionally and theologically confusing time for the disciples.
Spending time with Jesus for three years had radically altered their worldview, then his death on the cross had shattered their hope, now his resurrection had profoundly shifted their reality again. Yet he sent them, with all their questions, amidst a swirl of doubts and in the depths of confusion, he sent them. How relatable is that?
We don’t have to know it all, have it all together, be 100% certain –
perfection is not a precondition of sharing the good news. In fact, I’m
inclined to wonder if certainty might be a liability. More on that later.
So the first theme I noticed in this passage was uncertainty.
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However hesitant and awkward my youthful evangelistic efforts may have been, much of Christian history is filled with the opposite extreme – aggressive, over-bearing, and even forceful methods. Forcing ‘conversion’ on whole nations; tying mission work to the interests of the state; military conquest as mission work; missionaries grounding their work in the explicitly racist view of bringing civilization to the savages; using slavery as a means to Christianize the heathens. Yes, the church has much to answer for regarding its use of the Great Commission. With this kind of history, it’s no wonder that spreading the “good news” has taken on an air of darkness – there’s lots of baggage with both methods and underlying assumptions.
Even with all their doubts and questions, Jesus sent his disciples and his disciples went. Were they hesitant and awkward like me? Were they aggressive and forceful? What did it look like when Jesus’ closest followers shared the good news?
Well, let’s start with what they learned from Jesus. In John’s recounting of the Great Commission Jesus says ‘I send you as the father sent me’. Looking back at Jesus’ life, it would be a stretch to see Jesus’ proclamations as hesitant and based on shiny pamphlets with pithy slogans. It was not timid.
But it was also not “I’m going to make you go this way whether you like it or not because I know what’s best for you.” Jesus’ ministry was not one of aggression, domination, and force. I’ve always understood Jesus’ overall posture to be one of invitation – “Come, follow me.” If Jesus’ ministry was invitational, then I suspect ours should be as well.
So that is the second theme – invitation.
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Ok, that’s all well and good. We don’t have to know it all or understand
everything, and we should have a posture of invitation. But that’s still pretty general. How did the disciples and apostles actually put this into practice?
In Luke’s version of the Great Commission, Jesus says to his disciples
“You are witnesses of these things”, referring to his life, death, and
resurrection. This is similar to the version in Acts where Jesus tells his disciples “You will be my witnesses.” Being an eyewitness was a central feature of Peter’s ministry, as he recounts in 2 Peter: “we were eyewitnesses of his majesty…we ourselves heard this voice from heaven when he was baptized.” The disciples’ instructions from Jesus were, first and foremost, to tell others what they had seen and heard.
The personal experiences of the disciples and the early apostles formed the foundation of their message. Paul’s dramatic experience on the road to Damascus not only changed the trajectory of his life but also had a profound influence on his ministry – he references this experience multiple times in his letters.
The good news shared by the disciples started with and was shaped by their own encounters with the divine. I invite you to remember your own encounters with the divine. What were they like?
The disciples were often both confused and enlightened in their
interactions with Jesus. Christians throughout the centuries have had profound mystical experiences that dramatically shifted their thinking and perceptions. Perhaps you’ve had times when you’ve felt the presence of the divine, experiences that, to quote philosopher Richard Kearney, have ‘a surplus of meaning that surpasses the limits of normative rationality’.
I reflect on my own experiences of a surplus of meaning, my own
epiphanies. I can’t say I’ve had as many as the disciples undoubtedly did, or that they were as dramatic as Paul’s Damascus experience, but there have certainly been times when words failed me, when there were moments that were more, that went beyond, experiences of awe and wonder. One author talks about a “radical and recurring sense of something more – something ulterior, extra, and unexpected”.
These might be moments where one touches the flame of divinity but our words and labels fail to fully capture and describe the experience. To paraphrase lyrics by the band U2, the streets of these experiences have no name because they can’t be named. With the possible exception of the most skilled poets, these experiences can’t be captured in language. Perhaps you’ve had moments like that. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus when their ‘hearts burned within them’. Or maybe you’ve experienced the divine in different ways. How might these moments form the basis of how you talk to people about your faith?
Who, after all, has ever been argued or debated or rationalized into a
relationship with Jesus? I think of novelist and theologian C.S. Lewis who turned from atheism not at first because of some bit of elegant philosophy or Christian apologetics, but because he experienced epiphanies of joy. He experienced the Divine.
In the Bible we see examples of divine encounters arousing interest and starting conversations – Jesus’ healings especially of ill, blind, and infirm – they told of their experiences even when Jesus told them not to. Instead of starting with theology or philosophy, would it be helpful to start with ourselves, with what we’ve experienced, what we’ve witnessed?
To quote African theologian Mercy Oduyoye: “A theology that will sustain a people’s religion and piety will probably not be one produced by an intellectual elite or a hierarchical power, but one that is born from the people’s experience of God-in-action.”
Thus the third theme is experience.
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As can be seen in the story of C.S. Lewis who had epiphanies of joy while still an atheist, the experience of the Divine is not limited to people who are already Christians. God is in action in the lives of people the world over. People everywhere have these moments of more, these divine encounters.
Thus when we speak to others of our own faith, we already have a point of commonality and connection – our experiences of the numinous, the more, the extra and unexpected. This shared experience could be a starting place for sacred conversation.
If I acknowledge that God is at work in people’s lives regardless of their beliefs, that the Holy Spirit goes where it pleases not where I think it should or expect to find it, I must also accept that my experiences do not contain the whole of divine experience, and that my perspective and view of things is, at best, radically incomplete.
In addition to the posture of invitation we talked about earlier, I should also maintain an attitude of curiosity, of openness to hearing about how others have experienced and come to know God. I must admit that my knowledge and experience of God is not necessarily the standard or the norm. I have to acknowledge the limits of
my own experience.
Any sharing of the good news must be paired with a “readiness to overcome attachment to my sense of my own infallibility.” I must be able to say with the Apostle Peter: “If God gave them the same gift as was given me, who am I to think that I could oppose God?” If I am to witness based on my own experience, I must accept that others have also had experiences of the divine; I do not have a monopoly on God.
Thus the fourth theme is humility.
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If I am genuinely humble, if I want learn about God through others as much as I want to share my own experiences of God, if I am to have a truly sacred conversation, then I must also be ready and open to change.
As the early church spread beyond its cradle in Judaism, it quickly realized it would have to change. And not just minor things, it wasn’t just a tweak here or there. Peter’s vision and the Jerusalem conference, both recorded in the book of Acts, indicated a need to change significant pieces of belief and practice.
Now, with all this talk of openness and change, I’m not suggesting we need to view our own beliefs and experiences as somehow less than or inferior to that of others. In the words of Kenny Roger’s Gambler we have to know what to throw away and know what to keep. And if I may, we have to know what to add.
In order to do this well, we must move “intrepidly between
engagement and critique”. To quote Mennonite missionary Arley Loewen “When the Word became flesh, our Lord engaged with the culture of his time. And because of the incarnation of the Word into the world, we continue to do the same. We too are sent and become incarnate in the cultures of the world…as we enter their worlds, we enlarge our own as well.”
Being witnesses will change us.
The fifth theme is change.
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These are the five themes that emerged for me while reflecting on the Great Commission: Uncertainty, Invitation, Experience, Humility, Change.
Now I just need to print them on a glossy pamphlet to hand out.
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