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Writer's picturePeter Strobel

"Coming Down from the Mountain" - Matthew 28:16-20 - June 3, 2023

We cannot stay in a high place forever. Climbing the highest mountain or being spiritually moved are only parts of a journey. This service, like all others before it and all that come after repeat the motions of entering in, elevating, and exiting. In this dance of discipleship, the ebb and flow of church life, we echo the events of today’s reading.


Is it a coincidence that Plymouth was rebuilt on a hill? Is it significant that you cannot leave this church without going downhill, and cannot come to this church without coming uphill? Try it. I did. If you don’t want to walk every which way, you can pull up the U. S. geological survey and use the elevation tool on the national map to check all the points around Plymouth. You must elevate yourself to get here, and you will have to lower yourself to leave.


So long as you are here, let this be the mountain where you are moved. Let this be the holy ground God has called you to so that you might grow closer to your Creator and find rest. Let your troubles fall away. Place them before God. Be empowered by the Holy Spirit, and be comforted by the presence of Christ who, just as with the Apostles, is always with us. Rest. Take Christ’s commission to heart. You will leave here as disciples. And you must leave because none but Christ can remain in this high place. Our place is among the rest of God’s children, those we are called to make disciples, to teach just as Christ taught us, to baptize them into eternal life, in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Closing time approaches, so it is said, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”


It is not our privilege nor our place to remain in high places and high spiritual moments. Maye we even miss those moments, only recognizing them in hindsight. Maybe we are like the disciples who, even though they stand before the resurrected Christ and are entrusted the Great Commission, do not process the weight of those words until after the moment has passed. We do not know when the apostles started doing, rather than hearing. The book of Matthew does not say what happens next. Only the book of Acts offers some updates as to what happens when the disciples descend the mountain. The exact details of what happens are left up to our imagination. So let us imagine.


The apostles have just finished their anxious trek up the mountain, heeding Christ’s call for them to meet him in Galilee. What did the apostles do after Jesus finished speaking? Did any sprint down the mountain, eager to proclaim the resurrection and make a disciple out of the first person they ran in to? Did some linger? Did any react like Peter and John did during the Transfiguration, grasping to preserve a moment, doing everything to remain in a holy space? Did some slouch and trudge, doubt and fear gnawing at their hearts and minds as they tried to figure out if they had truly seen Jesus? Where would you be? Where are you?


I find myself looking at Peter. Not looking at Peter, as when I look in a mirror. No, at the apostle Peter. Before this, Peter had been granted the keys to the kingdom and marked as the foundation for the church. No pressure. Did he know that he had just graduated from student to teacher? I imagine Peter found himself in that strange space we all eventually enter into That moment when we are asked a question and we look around for a teacher or someone else to answer, only to realize the question is directed at us.


The book of Acts offers a glimpse into Peter’s journey as he grows into his role, but we do not have accounts of those earliest moments when, instead of being able to turn to Jesus, Peter was expected to speak. Maybe, when he was confronted or asked a particularly tough question, as he was mid-sentence, Peter looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Jesus, only to realize that Christ had handed this moment over to him. In that moment, like a student seeing the test they had crammed hours of studying into, did words from the Torah flash through his mind, was he able to keep track of each of Christ’s lessons, or did things get mixed up, stories and words crossing over? We do not know. Peter, the other apostles, the women at the tomb, and the rest of the early church all might have had moments like these. Except, they never faced these trials alone. Jesus was always with them. And that has not changed. You do not face any trial alone. Jesus is always with you.


The Gospel of Matthew concludes with the final reassurance, “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’” The Apostles were given a tremendous task, but that task was never beyond their capabilities, because it was entrusted with faith. A faith that promised every step down and beyond the mountain, away from their spiritual high, was, and would always be with them. That reassurance stands as true today, as it did two thousand years ago. Know this. You will leave here as disciples. There is no place, no trial that can place you beyond the love and support of Christ.


A path of discipleship does not guarantee comfort, security, peace, or acceptance, and does not encourage any of these things for their own sake. Many who came down from that mountain or followed the apostles were persecuted, mocked, imprisoned, doubted at every turn, and executed by their neighbors or the state. So why did they leave that high place? Why should we leave that high place? Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. answered this question better than I could hope to.


If you have not heard the last part of his final speech, the speech he gave the day before he was assassinated, then listen and know the words of one who came down from that mountain knowing exactly what could befall him. But rather than coming down with a heavy heart, he reminded us of what Christians can be, of what we are called to be, bearers of the Good News, champions of the poor and the downtrodden. And so we must go down that mountain.


You have come as high as possible. You cannot go any higher, and you cannot stay here forever. There will be rest in Heaven, but this high place is only a sanctuary so we might be awakened, revived, and rekindled so we might leave. The only path available to us is down. Down Ingersoll, down Grand, past the Governor’s mansion, to Court, Locust, to the Capitol, past the sprawl of the Suburbs, through every field and farm, to every neighborhood and person we avoid, to every corner of the world so all might know the Word, and all might know they are loved. You are bearers of the Good News. In a world that aches, that groans for purpose and care, this Good News is the balm that will heal. Christ is risen, we are freed from the bonds sin, our earthly statuses, and creations pale in the face of the approaching kingdom.


We have not been taught, loved, or cared for so that we might hoard this love and joy within ourselves. We are called to bring forth and offer more love, care, joy, and gentleness than has been shown to us, than has been known to us. You have been made disciples. Now you shall make disciples. We who have given new life through our baptisms, and wisdom from teachers, are called to baptize and teach. A world that knows hardness, hate, and cynicism will know us for our gentleness, love, and hope. No one who has come up and been moved has had an easy task bringing others to God’s glory. But we have been called to go, and so we must go.


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