Speaker 1: I'm the reverend Brianne Swan, and this is sermons from the East End for Monday, 07/07/2025. Hi there, and welcome to Sermons from the East End, a podcast brought to you by the folks from East End United Regional Ministry in Toronto. Now I'll be honest. This week's reflection is a little more insider focused than usual. Is addressed first and foremost to the members, adherents, and beloved mischief makers of East End United.
It speaks directly to where we are right now as a community, our calling, our questions, and the quiet courage it takes to keep showing up for one another in a world that often feels like it's falling apart. That said, if you're listening from outside our walls, curious, questioning, and maybe even craving a little good news, there is something here for you too. Because ultimately this sermon is about what it means to carry peace even when we feel small. What it means to keep going even when the dust clings to our feet. So take a breath, settle in, and let's begin.
Luke chapter 10 verses one through 11. After this, the Lord appointed 72 others and sent them ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore, ask the lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way.
I am sending you out like lambs in the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say peace to this house. And if a person of peace is there, your peace will rest on that person. But if not, it will return to you.
Remain in the same house eating and drinking whatever they for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you. Cure the sick who are there, and say to them, the kingdom of God has come near to you. But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you.
All we are is dust in the wind. It's a haunting song even after the music fades out. The futility of striving, the smallness of our lives against the backdrop of the universe. It's melancholy, yes, but also kind of liberating, if we let it be so. The wind blows where it will and we, we are just dust, fleeting, fragile, here today and gone tomorrow.
And Scripture agrees. From the very beginning we are reminded that we come from dust, and to dust we shall return. But what Kansas doesn't say, and what the Gospel insists on, is that God works with dust. God breathes into dust, shapes it, calls it good, sends it. This is the paradox of discipleship, of being human really.
We are so small, and yet we are called to do and be so much. In today's passage from Luke, Jesus sends out 70 disciples, 70 ordinary people with dusty sandals and probably a whole lot of questions. They're sent in pairs to go into towns, to prepare the way, to share peace, to heal, to say, The kingdom of God has come near to you. Jesus doesn't sugar coat it. He says, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.
It's not exactly a morale booster. He gives them no purse, no bag, and no back up plan just each other, a blessing to offer, and the authority to shake the dust that is inhospitable people off their feet if things go sideways. This is not a triumphant crusade. It's vulnerable mission. There is no plan B, just dust and breath and hope.
And still they go. This little rag tag group goes into strange towns and stays in other people's homes and eats whatever is put in front of them. No vetting, no dietary codes, no Yelp reviews, no spreadsheets. They go where they're welcomed, and they stay there. And when they're rejected, they don't lash out, they don't shame or threaten or curse, they just leave.
They shake the dust off their feet. A boundary, a signal that they will not carry that rejection with them into the next place. I wonder, if we were sent out into our neighborhoods to day, trying to get ourselves invited for dinner at some house on Rhodes Avenue, what would we be saying? What good news would feel so pressing to share? The word evangelism has a lot of baggage heavy, colonial, abusive baggage.
It conjures images of manipulation and coercion and spiritual harm. For many of us the idea of evangelism is something we have tried very hard to separate ourselves from, and perhaps rightly so. But to be an evangelist simply means to be a bearer of good news. To be an evangelist is to say, come with me to this soup and bread thing on Thursday night. Or, hey, my church is talking about the climate crisis this Sunday, and I think you'd like it.
That's all. That's evangelism. It doesn't mean to be a conqueror or even a closer of theological deals, just someone who carries something beautiful and life giving and offers it freely. And isn't that exactly what the world is crying out for right now? A little bit of good news?
Isn't that what you're craving too? We are a product of our time and context. We've been taught that evangelism is kind of about us, about having the right answers, the perfect argument, the theological mic drop. And I know, like most of you listening to this right now, I am not really into any of that at all. But Jesus sends out the 70 not with a script or a sales pitch, but with peace.
He tells them to go where they are welcomed, to be present, to eat, to heal, to speak of God's kingdom, which is so much greater than any earthly oppressive regime. He tells them to invite others into the dream, and then to move on if it's not received. That's it. That's evangelism. Which means evangelism in the way Jesus models it isn't about control.
It is about invitation. It is about relationship and offering without demanding. It's so easy to think, Who am I to share this? Who am I to say anything about Jesus when the church has done so much wrong? That's understandable.
But strangely, and again, that centers us. And it's not about us. It's about the message we can carry, and who is aching to hear it. A message that says God is bigger than the cruelty of this world, a message that says all people are beloved, a message that says healing and justice and mercy are possible, even now a message that invites those who are seeking to be held in community. That is good news, and that is worth sharing.
But it's hard. It's not very comfortable. To bear good news in a world that profits off bad news is to be dangerous. To speak of love in a world that's addicted to domination is to be radical. To show up with peace in a culture of violence is to court rejection.
That is the cost. But there is joy in it too. When the 70 return from their travels, they are bursting with stories. They are amazed. Jesus doesn't deny their excitement, but he does redirect it.
Don't rejoice that the powers listen to you. Rejoice that you belong. Here at East End United, we know something about the slow work of building community. It doesn't happen overnight. There are no quick fixes.
There's a lot of planting and watering and waiting. And sometimes it feels like not much is growing. But the harvest is plentiful. Jesus said it then, and it's still true now. What's maybe changed is our posture towards it.
Too often the Church has sat back and expected people to come to us. We have built beautiful sanctuaries we've made lovely programmes we've set the table. And in my time here at East End, I have witnessed this shift from hoping the numbers of people showing up on a Sunday or a Thursday will increase because we hope to survive, to seeking to grow because we have something special to offer that the world sorely needs right now. The invitation is not about us, but about meeting the longing of our neighbors in the most authentic and loving ways possible. East End has so much to offer, more than many of us realize.
This community is growing, stretching, reaching out in new ways. Having Leslie Sinclair on board right now to help with communications is a huge step. But the work is not hers alone. It's all of ours. The world is terrifying right now.
Fascism is on the rise. The climate is unraveling. People are lonely, isolated, and disoriented. And the systems in place seem increasingly unwilling to help. And if you watch the news or follow social media, you'll start to realize that our despair and outrage is being monetized for the benefit of oligarchs creating catastrophe in the first place.
But faith communities, when we are doing what we are supposed to do, are uniquely equipped to offer sanctuary, solidarity, and deeper purpose. To care for one another in a society that thrives on disconnection is subversive. To build community when everything is telling us to look out only for ourselves is revolutionary. To show up for each other week after week, when the world keeps breaking our hearts, that's discipleship. That's the work.
And it matters. Which brings us back to dust. All we are is dust in the wind, says Kansas. But dust can carry seeds. Dust can ride the spirit's breath.
Dust can become flesh, dust can bear witness, dust can speak good news. We are not dust lost to the wind. We are dust with direction, dust with purpose, dust scent. We are called like the 70 to move lightly, speak boldly, love fiercely, and carry peace wherever we go. And when we are rejected, and we will be, we don't fight or shame or retreat, we shake it off.
We remember who we are and whose we are. We keep going. So here is a simple invitation. Think of someone you know, someone who could use a little more community, a little more meaning, a little more room to explore the mystery of it all. Someone who's been knocked around by the world, or maybe someone who just needs a space to exhale.
We recommend restaurants we've loved. We share books that have changed us. We rave about films that made us weep. Why not this, too? Why not tell someone about a faith community that is daring to care, to ask questions, to stay awake to injustice, to search for beauty, to love God and love people, and is trying to get it right, together.
Not for our benefit not to fill the pews, but because if this place has been life giving to you, why wouldn't you want someone else to taste that life too? You don't need the perfect words. You don't need to be certain or polished or persuasive. You just need to care. You just need to offer the peace you've found here and trust that it might be enough.
May we be bold enough to extend the invitation, and gentle enough to let the Spirit do the rest. Amen. At East End United Regional Ministry, we believe that faith should mean something in the real world. That it should feed people, house people, advocate, accompany, and agitate for change. We seek to live God's love out in public.
We also know that in a world that can feel so overwhelming and frightening at times, we need spiritual nourishment and opportunities to connect with the divine and with community. We run two worship services each week, Sunday mornings at our Eastminster campus and Thursday evenings at our Glenroads campus. We offer programming for children and youth and provide some of East Toronto's most vital food justice and shelter programs, including our Nourish East End Food Bank and Out of the Cold Outreach Ministry. But we can't do any of this alone. If you believe in the work of an affirming, justice seeking, community rooted church, we invite you to support East End United.
You can give online at eastendunited.ca/donate. Every gift helps us keep going and keep growing. Thanks for spending time with me. If you're part of East End United, you already know this isn't just theory for us. It's our practice, our promise, our hope.
The work we're committed to week after week, dust and all. And if you are listening from beyond our little corner of Toronto, thank you. I hope something here offered you peace or courage or even just the reminder that you are not alone. If this reflection meant something to you, maybe share it with someone else or better yet offer them the peace you carry. That could be exactly what they need today.
Until next time, go gently, go boldly, and shake the dust when you need to.