Sunday 19 July 2009, Sixth Sunday after Trinity

‘Magnificent desolation’ said Buzz Aldrin as he looked across the Sea of Tranquility forty years ago.

‘Come away to a deserted place’ said Jesus Christ as he looked across the Sea of Galilee two thousand years ago.

Astronauts and apostles share a common destiny. They are called to the wilderness.

The mission of Apollo 11 was a journey with a purpose. It had its roots in the Cold War rivalry of two global superpowers, but it had a rationale that was greater than that rivalry. It will always have its critics and its sceptics, not to mention the conspiracy theorists for whom the term ‘lunatic’ is uniquely apt. It expanded the boundaries of human knowledge. It enlarged human experience. And in its triumph it strengthened the human family, albeit briefly. The apostles’ sojourn in the deserted place had a purpose. They had just returned from the first solo mission upon which Jesus had sent them. They had much to say, much to recount, much to learn. The crowd was pressing in. There was little space to take a breath, little chance step back, little time to reflect.

Christ has a purpose for those who follow him. It is to send us out as the twelve were sent out. It is to shepherd the flock as he shepherds the flock. It is to be his presence in this place: to be his feet to go about, to be his hands to bless, to be the fringe of his cloak, bringing wholeness to those who touch it.

The mission of Apollo 11 was a test of human ingenuity. It had less computer power behind it than does the average BlackBerry. The ground crew at Houston used slide rules to calculate the optimum angles for its’ re-entry to the Earth’s atmosphere. And the spindly legs of the lunar module made it look like a child’s junk model. The apostles’ sojourn in the deserted place tested human endurance. They were newly-returned missionaries. Yet they were taken far from home and family. They were removed from the acclamation of the crowds, and they had only one another for company and for sustenance.

Christ tests those who follow him. In sending us out he offers us not the security of paths we have already taken but a new journey in an unforeseen direction. For our rest he offers us not luxury but a deserted place. To comfort us he offers not the adulation of the mob but his presence among us.

The mission of Apollo 11 was a voyage into silence. We remember the words that enveloped the mission: ‘The Eagle has landed’ said Neil Armstrong; ‘…all the people on this earth are truly one’ said Richard Nixon. What we don’t remember is the silence that envelops the Moon. No breath of wind stirs the lunar dust. The astronauts’ footprints are as clear today as the day they were made. Nothing has disturbed the Sea of Serenity since Apollo 17 departed in 1972. The apostles’ sojourn in the deserted place was a sojourn in silence. All we know about the place is that it was empty. Jesus took the apostles away from the cities and away from the villages of the region.

Christ leads those who follow him into silence. We are to be sent out. There is a mission to accomplish. But there is always teaching to give. There is always healing to perform. There are always people to care for. The task of Christ in the world is endless; the task of those who follow Christ in the world is endless. Christ leads us away from teaching and away from healing and away from caring. He leads us into silence. For he knows that in silence will we meet his Father; in silence will we be replenished; in silence will we discover who we are rather than what we do.

Astronauts and apostles share a common destiny. They are called to the wilderness.
They are called to a task, tested to the utmost, and drawn into silence. They steps they take may be small, but their small steps are towards One whose giant leap is eternally towards the cosmos that he has made and has in love redeemed. Amen.