Pentecost 4C (Luke 10:1-11, 16-20)

​In sending out the seventy, Jesus instructs them to go with no purse, no bag, and no sandals—utterly unequipped by the world’s standards, and seemingly defenseless, like lambs in the midst of wolves. On the surface, this is a perilous commission. Lambs, after all, stand no chance against wolves. They are vulnerable, unequipped for battle, and easy prey. One would expect Jesus to arm his disciples with something—resources, protection, or at least strategy. But instead, he offers them none of these. This is because the protection they need is of a different kind. The true weapon Jesus gives them is not external but internal: it is peace.

This peace is not mere passivity or a polite gesture. It is a cultivated strength, a spiritual force that arises from a life centered in God. It begins in the greeting—“Peace to this house”—but it is not confined to words. It is the fruit of prayer, the embodied presence of the kingdom of God within the disciple. This peace is not a shield that deflects the blows of the world, but a kind of rootedness that cannot be moved by them. It is not a withdrawal from danger, but a way of standing firm within it. The lamb’s strength is paradoxical: it comes from surrender, from trust, from the inner reality of God's presence. It is precisely because the disciples are stripped of every other means of defense that they become bearers of this power.

Jesus names this inner resource clearly: “The kingdom of God has come near.” This message is not just proclaimed; it is carried in the bodies, prayers, and lives of the disciples. Wherever they go, the nearness of the kingdom travels with them—not as an idea, but as a lived reality. Without that cultivated presence, without prayer and trust in God, the disciples would indeed be as vulnerable as they appear. But with it, they carry the one thing that cannot be taken from them, and the one thing that can change the hearts of those they meet.

Jesus then speaks of dust, a seemingly mundane detail with profound symbolic weight: “Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest.” But perhaps this gesture can be reimagined: “Even the dust of your town knows what to cling to.” It is not merely the physical dust that is being shaken off; it is a sign of the stubbornness of those who refuse to recognize the presence of God. And yet, that same dust, in clinging to the feet of the messengers, has been touched by the presence of God. In returning it to the town, the disciples are not cursing, but entrusting it—leaving a trace of divine presence behind, a final gesture of hope that even those who resist might one day awaken to the God who was already near, already within them.
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Thus, the true weapon Jesus gives his disciples is the presence of the kingdom itself—alive in them, sustained by prayer, expressed in peace. It is not a weapon that wounds, but one that disarms. It is not meant to defeat enemies, but to transform them. This peace, this inner kingdom, is not something we carry in our hands, but in our hearts—and because of that, it cannot be lost or taken away. It goes not just somewhere, but everywhere we go, because it is already within.