Look Ma, No Hands!

Jesus sent the disciples out on their own. Like lambs into the midst of wolves on their first solo missionary journey. They went off among the towns to bring God’s kingdom to people. No longer were they just disciples sitting at Jesus’ feet, they were becoming apostles, doing Jesus work in the world. And Luke recounts that they returned from their journey with joy, hardly able to contain their excitement, eager to share their success with Jesus. "Jesus, Jesus, we did it! In your name even the demons submit to us!"

"Look Ma, No Hands!" Even if no child has ever said those exact words to you, I know that you can imagine the scene. Maybe you have been the child, or the parent… A child of seven or eight. One who it seems only yesterday was just a toddler, much less riding a bike on her own. Wobbly at first, then more confident, then faster and faster, and more and more daring. And now barreling past hands free of the handlebars and waving in the air. "Look, Ma, no Hands!" And you can hear the joy and the pride in that child’s voice. It’s not just the feat that’s important. Accomplishing a new skill, especially an adventurous one, is exciting. But the child’s shout is also about sharing that accomplishment with another. This scene is about a child’s daring, a child’s seeking out new adventures and accomplishments, a child’s sense of fun, and also a child’s yearning to share that feat with the one who helped bring her to it. "Look Ma, no hands!"

The disciples, Luke says, returned to their teacher "with joy." "Jesus, Jesus, in your name even the demons submit to us." Look Jesus, look at us; look at what we can do. We can overcome the demons. They are excited. I imagine they are proud, reveling in their new accomplishment and eager to share it with Jesus.

And it was a new accomplishment, a new level of involvement and adventurousness for them as Jesus’ disciples, a big step beyond what had been their normal routine. Not long before they had been fishermen and farmers, praiseworthy men, but not active disciples at all, toddlers in the life of God’s kingdom. And then their spirits grew restless; they heard Jesus’ call to follow, and they took their first steps as disciples of Christ. At first never straying far from Jesus’ presence and direct guidance, learning at his feet. And then Jesus appoints seventy to go ahead of him, to go ahead on their own. He gives them warnings, guidance and advice, and then sends them off. It’s not unlike an adult teaching a child to ride a bike. He makes sure they are appropriately dressed, wearing their helmets and no loose, flowing clothing that might get caught in the bicycle chain.  He gives them words of teaching and encouragement, runs along side for a while and then lets go. They continue ahead on their own.

And can’t you imagine that their feelings might have been like those of a kid learning to ride a bike. A bit of fear and uncertainty, a lot of bravado and excitement, a yearning for accomplishment. And not only do they manage on their own, they discover they can ride with no hands. Even the demons obey them! And they rush back in joy to share their experience with Jesus. He is there to celebrate their accomplishment with them. He listens and shares in their story and affirms that they can do even more, for they have been given power over all the enemy and nothing will hurt them. He also reminds them, of course, that in subduing evil they are doing much more than riding a bike. They can do what they do only because of God’s help and they do it not for their own sense of accomplishment, but for God’s purpose.

Who are we in this story? From whom may we receive inspiration and encouragement? Who should we look to as models for our own lives in the kingdom? There are two answers to these questions. First, we can learn from the disciples. They are models to us of people who ventured out in discipleship, seeking new levels of activity and accomplishment. And they are marvelous reminders of the great sense of joy and excitement that such a new venture may bring. Yet Jesus is also a model for us of how we may guide, nurture and encourage adventurousness in other Christians, of how we can empower others to grow up into their roles as apostles, and how important it is for us, as a community, to celebrate new apostles' feats of accomplisment.

The disciples are models for us. Speaking to the adults here this morning, when was the last time you yelped for joy as a Christian? Came running to friends or to God eager and excited to share a new adventure, a new accomplishment? "Look, Jesus, look, look, what I have done. Me! I never thought I could be a real apostle, but I am. I’m so excited!" When was the last time you felt that way? Bursting with amazement and joy? Have you ever felt that way? Why not?

We’ll never get to that exuberant joy and excitement unless we leave our tricycles behind, throw away the training wheels on our bikes and set off on our own. We must have some yearning for new adventures. But think: who, having once removed those training wheels and known the grace and speed and fun of bicycling, would ever put the training wheels back on? There are joyous and exciting experiences ahead if we venture out into the world as apostles, spreading the Kingdom of God. And we have Jesus’ assurance that he will guide, equip, and support us in whatever we do. Just as he did for the disciples in today’s gospel story.

Why do we so often avoid new opportunities to spread the kingdom of God? Why do we so rarely seek to act in Christ’s name? Is it fear? Insecurity? Laziness? God will guide and instruct us and the reward will be exuberance. Surely there is no reason to hesitate.

And yet we do. And as we avoid these opportunities in our own lives, not only do we miss out on wondrous opportunities, we often quash them in the lives of others, too, discouraging their natural, eager adventurousness. Especially children. When we hold back we hold others back.

Listen to this poem by Shel Silverstein. Listen as he writes of a child’s perspective on the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin. It’s titled "The One Who Stayed."

You should have heard the old men cry,
You should have heard the biddies
When that sad stranger raised his flute
And piped away the kiddies.
Katy, Tommy, Meg and Bob
Followed, skipping gaily,
Red-haired Ruth, my brother Rob,
And little crippled Bailey,
John and Nils and Cousin Claire,
Dancin’, spinnin’, turnin’
‘Cross the hills to God knows where
The piper pranced, a leadin’
Each child in Hamlin Town but me,
And I stayed home unheedin’.
My papa says that I was blest
For if that music found me,
I’d be witch-cast like all the rest.
The town grows old around me.
I cannot say I did not hear
That sound so haunting hollow—
I heard, I heard, I heard it clear…
I was afraid to follow.

Who taught the child in the poem to be afraid? To be afraid to dance and explore? To go God knows where...  Who taught that child to stifle the spirit within?

We teach by example. Whenever we stifle the adventurousness of the spirit within ourselves we teach our children and others to hold back. Every time we let children see how little we value spiritual growth in our own lives we discourage that growth in children.

The disciples are models for us in the morning’s Gospel, but Jesus is, too. We have the chance to do as Jesus did for his disciples… By the example of our adventurous lives as apostles and when we actively guide, encourage and support others (children and adults) in their Christian adventures.

"Look Ma, no hands." Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those words rang out all the time amid this community of St. John’s? Remember in your own life somewhere, sometime, an experience that captured those feelings of thrill, wonder, accomplishment and shared joy. If we venture out like the disciples did those feelings await us again. And we also have the opportunity to do what Jesus did, to encourage and inspire others among our fellowship as they grow as apostle for God’s kingdom and to celebrate their accomplishments with them.

No one who has known the exuberance of riding with no hands would ever go back to training wheels. Look, Ma, no hands.

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