Our Gospel this morning begins by naming exhaustion—a deep fatigue that Jesus knows first-hand and sees quite clearly in his closest disciples. 

When our reading opens, they’re all beginning to filter back from their first solo experiences in bringing the good news to the places Jesus hadn’t managed to get to by this point.  

Fortunately, by all accounts, all these forays have gone very well – and being the ones who get to do the preaching and meet the people has been inspiring and energizing for the disciples.  

Some of us can probably relate. 

Have you ever finished a great meeting—maybe even delivered the slam dunk presentation that seals the deal—and you shake hands and say you’ll be in touch and you go the airport figuring that on the plane you’ll work straight through three time zones…only to fall dead asleep until just before landing? 

Parents of small children may remember how toddlers often respond to overstimulation and exhaustion, not by simply falling asleep, but by running and running and running around, like the Tasmanian Devil from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons…which is a lot to handle until (MG: bump noise), they managed to fall asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor or next to the radiator with their feet still planted, as if they fell asleep literally in the middle of running.  

It makes me wonder if Jesus is greeting all these people coming back and he’s hearing all the tales of their success, and yet, wonderful and encouraging though these tales all are, and important as it’s going to be for them to learn the ropes of preaching and caring on their own, Jesus is standing there, wondering how for right now, he’s going to get everybody down for a nap. 

We don’t like to hear about our limitations…and especially about the unshakeable limitations of our own creatureliness. 

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating that in Alcoholics Anonymous, I’m told, one of the ways they teach themselves to keep track of moments of temptation is through the acronym HALT – which signifies four creaturely realities that can lead to relapse. HALT, or being Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired.  

So if Jesus is calling a halt, of sorts, he’s almost certainly right to do that.  

And yet, they don’t manage to get much of a break, do they? 

You probably noticed that the people run after them.  It doesn’t matter that Jesus loads his friends in a boat and sets sail; the people run the long way round by the shore until they reach the same destination.  

What’s more, it seems like anyone who sees the people running by ends up following along, like a marathon you can join wherever you feel like joining.

Also, they’ve apparently all heard about that lady from a few weeks ago who just needed to touch Jesus’ cloak to be made well, and so they’re pressing in, hoping at least for that. 

In the face of something so claustrophobic, you would half-expect Jesus to send his crew straight back to the boat so they can get all out of there, but that’s not what he does.  

Instead, he responds with patience and compassion, kind of taking back the reins while the disciples get to watch again for a while. 

And if you think about it, maybe that’s where the lesson is.  

Because it is a joy and a privilege to serve God. Clearly, the disciples have experienced that in a whole new way. 

But there’s a risk there, too. 

It’s loaded to describe it as a “temptation,” but not inaccurate.  

Because serving God is one thing.  

But trying to “play God” or, in our own minds, to “be God” is something very different.  

Part of the reason that Jesus wants to get the disciples away is so that they learn to pace themselves – to steer clear of the pull of this kind of temptation, and out of the echo chamber of their own self-congratulation.  

Learning what they are capable of is so important, for good and for ill. 

Which is why they must learn to keep their eyes on God.  

Along those lines, you might have seen the Internet meme that seems to get renewed just before every Olympics—there is a person out there who is lobbying for each event to begin with a normal person, by which they mean, anyone who is not an elite athlete, to do whatever the event is as most of us would—say, run a 1000 meters, or lift a lot of weights, or try doing vault. 

They wouldn’t need to land on one leg, like Kerri Strug did that time —just do it so the average person can get a feel for just how skilled the Olympic athletes really are at what they do.  

Try running 1000 meters as fast as you can and see if you don’t get a better feel for what it requires.  

It would probably be revelatory in a lot of ways, right?

It would offer a window into what our limitations are and aren’t, and while we’re at it, what our particular graces are and aren’t.  

Of course, we all know people who are wonderful at what they do, but who are also sort of terrible people.  

There are many gifted people in the world—God is remarkably generous in that way—and yet not everyone comes out truly ennobled by their gifts.  

At their best, our gifts offer us an enduring sense of gratitude or joy, and a sense of life as something held in common with other people. 

Sadly, not everyone receives them so graciously. 

Instead, it’s all about them and what they can do…and what they need from us so that they can keep doing it.  

It’s not “how can I help you?” It’s more like “How can I help you…meet my needs?” 

Jesus wants something better and more durable for his disciples, then and now.  

He knows our actual needs and our actual gifts. 

He invites us to look to him to see how we can manage learn to live in the creaturely reality that both needs and gifts are always before us and that both need to be kept in view.   

But most of all, Jesus steps forward to remind us that he is always with us.  

As we learn to rest in him, the peace that passes all understanding rises to still the storm and show us the stars.  

Amen.