July 6, 2025 – The Fourth Sunday After Pentecost

The Kingdom Has Come Near

There’s a scene at the beginning of our Gospel this morning that we could easily gloss over as just another logistical moment in the ministry of Jesus. “The Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go.” Seventy people. Sent out, two by two. Sent out not as tourists or spectators, but as laborers in the harvest. Sent with no bag, no purse, no sandals. Sent to rely not on their own strength, but on the hospitality of strangers and the provision of God.

It’s easy to hear this story and keep it at arm’s length. After all, we’re not itinerant first-century disciples. We’re not crisscrossing Judea preparing the way for Jesus in a literal, geographic sense. But this story is more than a historical note—it is a mirror held up to us today. Because the same Jesus who sent out the seventy is the same Jesus who calls us, the Church, to go out into the world in his name.

This is a story about mission. Not mission in the colonial, triumphalist sense that too often stained Christian history—but mission in its truest, gospel-rooted meaning. Mission as being sent. Mission as bearing peace. Mission as bearing witness to the nearness of God’s kingdom. The word “mission” comes from the Latin missio, meaning “to send.” And from the beginning, God has always been a sending God.

Jesus doesn’t ask the seventy to convert the towns they visit. He doesn’t instruct them to argue or debate. He tells them to go with peace. To heal. To stay where they are welcomed. To eat what is given. And to proclaim, with humility and courage: “The kingdom of God has come near.”

This message is profoundly simple and deeply radical. The kingdom of God has come near—not in power or might, not in political revolution or military strength, but in peace, in healing, in shared meals, in hospitality. The kingdom of God is found not by running away from the world, but by stepping into the lives of others with compassion and faith.

But Jesus doesn’t sugarcoat it. He warns them that the work is hard. “The harvest is plentiful,” he says, “but the labourers are few.” The work of the gospel is never short on opportunity—but those willing to say “yes” are often few. And he warns them: “See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.”

That’s not a comforting image. Jesus is clear-eyed about the challenges of discipleship. And that’s a word for us today. To be sent in the name of Jesus is not always to be safe, or liked, or understood. Sometimes it means facing rejection, discomfort, or even hostility.

But here’s the good news: we do not go alone. Jesus sends them out in pairs. There is no solitary Christianity. We go two by two because we need one another. The Church is not a collection of individual believers all doing their own thing. The Church is a community of the sent, supporting one another in our common call to embody the love of God.

And Jesus gives the disciples everything they need. Not bags or money—but authority and a message. He tells them that even when they are rejected, they are not to despair. Shake off the dust. Keep going. Proclaim the truth anyway: “Even here, the kingdom of God has come near.”

That’s a remarkable line. It’s a declaration of hope in the face of resistance. It’s a reminder that the kingdom is not dependent on people’s response to us. The kingdom comes near because Christ is near—whether people are ready to receive it or not. Our job is not to make the kingdom come. Our job is to notice it, to announce it, and to live as signs of it.

Now, fast forward to the end of the passage, and we hear the seventy return with joy. “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” They are amazed at what God has done through them. They’ve seen real power. They've glimpsed the Spirit moving. But Jesus, ever the teacher, gently redirects their amazement. “Do not rejoice at this,” he says, “but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

What a crucial reminder. The joy of the Christian life is not in our success or in signs and wonders—it is in our belonging. We belong to Christ. Our names are known by God. That is our anchor, our joy, and our hope. Whether we face welcome or rejection, success or failure, healing or struggle, our identity is secure in Christ.

Beloved, we are the seventy now. We are the ones sent out—not in the same form, but in the same Spirit. Every time we leave this church, we are sent into the world as witnesses. Every meal we share in love, every act of justice we pursue, every word of hope we speak, every time we offer the peace of Christ to another human being—we are proclaiming: “The kingdom of God has come near.”

And the world needs to hear that. We live in a time when many feel abandoned or exhausted, when divisions seem sharper than ever, when truth is often clouded by fear or rage. But still—still—the kingdom of God is coming near. Not in noise or spectacle, but in bread broken, hands held, wounds tended, and hope shared.

So do not be afraid to go out. The harvest is plentiful. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to have all the answers. You just need to be faithful. You just need to go as you are—with peace in your heart and Christ’s name on your lips.

Remember: you are not alone. You go in the company of the Church. You go with the blessing of the One who has written your name in heaven. And you go to a world that—even now—is aching for the good news of God’s love. Amen.