Readings: 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14; Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62 

Elisha is being called by God to bear the prophetic word in place of Elijah.  Elijah is the tried and tested past, Elisha, the unknown future. It is difficult to assume that kind of responsibility.  Elisha wants to cling to the strength, reputation and wisdom of the older man.  Elijah knows that he needs to hand over the responsibility to the next generation.           

He asks an important question.  "Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you."  It is a time of testing.  Elisha must be ready to act, be decisive – even risk failure.  He asks for the right thing, a double share of Elijah's spirit, the same source of strength that sustains Elijah, strength beyond his own that will assist him in the challenges ahead.  

Elijah wisely points out that it is up to him.  "If you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not," he tells him.  It is a matter of whether or not he has that capacity within himself to accept the grace of God.  And of course, Elisha sees beyond the ordinary to the heart of the matter.  His anguished cry is the cry of one being deprived of all he trusts and holds dear, but also a cry of suddenly discovered confidence.  Now the task for him is to channel that grace through his own gifts and strengths. 

Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.  Those few words say so much.  We know the end of the story.  We know what Jesus was facing in Jerusalem.  He doesn’t want to go.  He knows it is what he must do.  It is where God is calling him to be.  It is a moment of change in his life; it is a moment of transition.  He too is looking for strength beyond himself to sustain him in what he needs to do. 

  It is not easy to be a disciple of Christ, to live as Christ would have us live, to be all that God wants us to be.  Even Jesus’ own disciples did not always live the life of grace.  On the way to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples approach a village in Samaria.  They are looking for a place to stay.  The villagers when they hear that Jesus is headed for Jerusalem refuse to receive them.  James and John, not named the sons of thunder for nothing, react with anger.  “Lord, shall we call down fire from heaven to burn them up?” 

Doesn’t their reaction shock you just a little?  Wouldn't you think after all the time they have spent with Jesus that they would have known that it was not his way of doing things, that he was not going to approve of their reaction, that it was not God’s call to them?  What they were calling for was not retaliation but a show of power that is nothing short of barbarism. It is the kind of thinking that is behind war, apartheid, homophobia, racism and any number of evils done in the name of God. 

We may be shocked by the behaviour of the disciples, yet if we reflect on it, their reaction probably is not all that surprising.  In similar circumstances any of us, church going and God fearing people though we may be, people trying to live the Christian life, people trying to answer the call of God, might have reacted in much the same way.  All any of us need to do is to look into our hearts to see the truth of this.  Are we not constantly surprised, shocked, and humbled at the feelings of anger and resentment that arise in us when we are opposed or threatened?  Sometimes it happens even in small ways. 

For example I have a friend who is a wonderful person, giving and loving – most of the time.  But put her behind the wheel of a car and she is transformed into a terror.  She drives too quickly.  She cuts people off.  She yells at the top of her voice.  I absolutely refuse to drive with her.  If we examine our hearts, we will know that we have all felt angry, so angry we would gladly have pounded someone out and felt good about it. 

And yet, the question of punishment did not even occur to Jesus.  Even if it had, to punish a whole village for the attitudes of a few would be not only unjust, but beyond reason.   Jesus knew that the only thing to do when people refuse to love you is to move on. 

There follow a number of meetings between Jesus and some wannabe followers.  As they travel along the road, someone comes to Jesus.  “I will follow you wherever you go!” he says.  He is over eager.  He hasn’t really thought it through.  Jesus knows that such emotional decisions come from good intentions but often do not last. 

“Foxes have holes, birds have nests; we have nowhere to lay our heads,” Jesus points out to the man.  Jesus offers change, transience and insecurity.  It is a good idea to know what you are getting into before you take the plunge.  It is not always easy to be a disciple of Jesus.  We often forget that there is a cost to discipleship.  We forget that it is a way that requires commitment.  For the way of the Christian is costly and demanding.  It promises not softness, but suffering, not comfort, but challenge, not safety, but sacrifice.  There is security, joy and abundance, but there is also blood, sweat and tears. 

Jesus meets someone along the road.  Is it someone he has seen during his ministry?  Does he see some possibility in this person?  He issues an invitation, “Follow me.” 

“First let me go and bury my father,” is the reply.  A reasonable request, we may say.  Indeed it is a sacred duty.  It forces us to ask how we respond to God’s call.  It challenges family values with a higher claim of allegiance, our allegiance to God.  Looking ahead is the stance that God seems to call for and affirm.  That call to radical compassion may challenge all other calls. 

Others on the road overhear the conversation.  “I will, but not yet,” they respond.  It is a common response, isn’t it?  First let me raise my family.  Let me get the children through university.  Let me get settled in my job and save a little money. 

Is it impossible to really be a follower of Jesus?  As he writes to the Galatians Paul sets out what it means to choose to follow Christ.  He affirms the need to choose between grace and law, between wanting to do something and having to do it.  The Galatians were saying that if Christ has set them free from the law then that means they can do whatever they wish.  “No!” says Paul.  “We are under a new law, the law of love.”  That sets us free to become everything that God wants us to be.  What a wonderful gift that is, but what a difficult law to keep!

It requires persistence in the faith.  Do we have that willingness to follow Jesus?  Do we take the promises of our baptism seriously?  Are we willing to live differently?  Are we willing to see with eyes of faith, like Elisha, to see beyond the ordinary to where God is leading us?  Do we have that sense of radical compassion? 

A call from God needs to be something that we have to do.  I am ever grateful to my parish priest who helped me discern my call to ordained ministry.  I had a sense of call since I was a child.  Things finally came together and I was ready to make the necessary changes in my life and go back to study theology.  I went to see my parish priest.  I told him about my plans.  He leaned back in his chair.  “It is to be avoided if at all possible,” he said to me.  We talked about call for about two hours.  He repeated what he had said.  “It is to be avoided if at all possible.”

I almost shouted at him in my frustration, “It is something I have to do.”

“Then that is good, isn’t it?” 

We are not all called to ordained ministry, but the process is the same.  God calls us.  We respond.  If it is something that we have to do, God will give us the grace to carry it out.  We will have that share of the spirit.  We will learn to channel that grace through our own gifts and strengths.  We will become all that we are meant to b