Mission In Advance

Mission in Advance

Mission in Advance

a sermon by Rev. J. Christy Ramsey & ChatGPT

From worship via Zoom for Lee Vining Presbyterian Church March 22, 2026

written with the help of ChatGPT

Luke 13:31-35

 Should Jesus Be More Careful? You know, sometimes I wonder if Jesus would last very long in a modern pulpit. I mean, really, what would happen if a pastor stood up on a Sunday morning and said something like, “Go tell that fox Herod…”? What would the emails look like on Monday morning? Would Jesus be accused of being too political? Would he be asked to “stick to the gospel” and leave the government out of it? Would he be told, “We come to church to feel uplifted, not to be reminded of what’s wrong with the world”? And yet here he is, in full view of his listeners, calling out a political leader, not behind closed doors, not with vague innuendo, but with metaphor and clarity: “Go and tell that fox…”

Jesue doesn’t flatter Herod. He doesn’t fear him. He names him. And in doing so, Jesus reminds us that the gospel is not an escape from public life, it’s a commitment to its transformation.

In Greek culture, the worst thing you could be called wasn’t a fool or a coward, it was an idiotes.That’s where we get our word idiot. But it didn’t mean unintelligent. It meant private, a person who withdrew from the concerns of the city, someone who refused to take part in the common good.

A user on Reddit, athstas, which is a modern day community helping others says:

During the Athenian Democracy, there were two major factions in the city, the democratic faction and the aristocratic faction. The aristocratic faction wanted to restore the previous aristocratic system of government so wanted to discourage participation of poor Athenians in the assemblies. The democratic faction wanted to encourage all citizens to take part in the government of the city. So the members of the democratic faction despised those citizens who only cared about their private (idiotic) affairs, and not about the public affairs. They considered those people stupid and dangerous for the democratic system of government because they were willingly giving up their political rights. So they word idiot (private citizen) took a bad meaning and through the Romans it spread to all of Europe.

But in modern Greek we use the word idiot with its original meaning, ie private An idiotes thought only of themselves, not the community.

So when Jesus speaks out, when he names Herod and keeps moving toward Jerusalem, he is not being rude, he is being faithful. He refuses to be an “idiot”, someone who checks out of public responsibility. Instead, he lives out the mission of the kingdom of God, a kingdom that reaches into every corner of human life: the sickbed, the street, the heart, and yes, the palace.

“Fear, Flattery… or Focus?”

When Jesus hears that Herod wants him dead, he doesn’t respond with fear, though who could blame him if he did? He doesn’t cave to flattery either, trying to win favor, smooth things over, or stay in the palace’s good graces.

Jesus chooses a third path. Let’s call it focus. Focus on the mission. Focus on the calling. Focus on the work of healing, freeing, gathering, and loving. “Tell that fox I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow…” In other words: I’m doing exactly what I came to do, and I’m not stopping now.

We live in a time where the threats may look different, but the temptation is the same. When power acts unjustly, when truth is twisted, when the vulnerable are mocked or scapegoated, we may be tempted to do one of two things: We might give up, turn inward, numb ourselves, walk away. Or we might give in, go along to get along, say nothing, let fear or comfort rule.

But what if we chose something better? What if, like Jesus, we chose to give them heaven? Not as a threat. Not as a weapon. But as a promise. Give the world a taste of the reign of God where mercy is stronger than cruelty, where truth is braver than silence, where hope walks forward, even toward Jerusalem. We don’t fight fire with fire. We don’t meet foxes with fang and claw. We meet them with focus, and faith, and the fierce love of Christ.

There’s a scene in the film Gandhi that speaks directly into this gospel moment.

It takes place not in Jerusalem but in India, under the shadow of colonial rule. Gandhi is walking with a Christian minister down a street, where danger is thick in the air. The minister begs him to turn back. “This is madness,” he says.

But Gandhi, calm and clear, keeps walking. He replies: “I’m not so helpless as you think. I have friends and the whole world is watching.” And then, quietly, bravely, he walks forward.

That moment mirrors Jesus in Luke 13. He, too, receives a warning: “Get away! Herod wants to kill you!” But Jesus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t flee. He says: “Go tell that fox I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow… and on the third day I finish my work.”

He chooses neither fear nor flattery. He chooses focus. Focus on the mission. On the healing. On the truth. On the love that drives him forward.

This is not just a model for courage; it’s a model for discipleship. Because Herods are still with us. In every generation, there are those who use fear to cling to power, in government, in business, even in faith communities. You don’t have to name names for people to know who you’re talking about.

And when fear starts to rise in us, when the threats grow louder or the pressure to flatter becomes stronger, our instincts may urge us to either give up(fear) or give in(flattery). But the gospel gives us another way.

The gospel does not teach us to cower. It teaches us to walk forward. To stay focused. To give the world not what it demands, but what it needs. Not more outrage. Not more retreat. But heaven. The reign of God, step by step.

Even the urgent advice of well-meaning people, “Run away, Jesus! Herod wants to kill you!”, is gently turned on its head. Jesus doesn’t run from danger. He runs toward the heart of it. Toward Jerusalem, the very place where Herod holds power.

But Jesus doesn’t go to fight. He goes to love. He goes because the mission compels him. Because the people, even the ones unwilling to receive him, are still his to bless. Like a mother hen gathering her chicks, he longs to draw them in, even if they scatter. This is not recklessness. This is divine compassion with a spine.

So we walk, too, not away from the world’s brokenness, but toward it. With open hands. With brave hearts. With heaven in our stride. For there is Room for all of us.

Let us not give up or give in. Let us give them heaven. Let us move with focus, with love, and with the fierce tenderness of the Christ who still walks toward every Jerusalem, longing to gather us all in.