Of course, there are a few notable differences between our situation and that of the seventy. For one thing, I come alone, rather than in a pair, unless you count my cat Linus. For another thing, I hope at least that Jesus has not sent me out "like a lamb into the midst of wolves." If so, Heyward and Charlie neglected to mention it in the interview. I was told there were a lot of horses, but nothing was said about any wolves.

Another significant difference between the seventy and me is that while they carried "no purse, no bag, no sandals," it took one of Joan Norman's big produce trucks and a small army of men and women to move me up here.

But in one point in particular there is no difference, and I'm very happy about that. For at least this parish agrees with Jesus that "the laborer deserves to be paid."

Of course, that's the surface of the text. On a deeper level this gospel is about two things: evangelism and hospitality. In Luke's gospel, we may detect two essential qualities of evangelism: peace, and proclamation, proclamation of the nearness of the Kingdom of God.

When I enter your house, I'm supposed to do something very, very important. I must proclaim "peace to this house!" And so I say to you, peace to this house. If you are a people of peace, peace will rest upon you.

But what does it mean for peace to rest upon us? Does it mean we'll always agree, never be angry with each other, avoid all conflicts at all costs? Does it mean the absence of violence, a sense of bucolic security? Unfortunately, I don't think so. Jesus never guaranteed we would be exempted from violence, disease, danger, or oppression. In fact, he said we'd get more of these things just for proclaiming our faith in him and for following him as Lord. The peace of Christ means taking up our crosses and following him. But what kind of a peace is that?

One of the reasons I answered the call to be curate of this place was the opportunity to be mentored by two very fine priests, and the promise of being mentored by a healthy ministering community. And just this past week, as I was settling into my office, Heyward shared with me a little prayer he prints on cards and gives to those he visits in the hospital. It reads: "The light of God surrounds me; the love of God enfolds me; the healing power of God flows through me. Everywhere I am, God is -- and all is well." Now that's the peace of Christ, a peace I pray Sandy and Heyward will themselves come to know more deeply. The peace of Christ is a healing peace.

The peace of Christ is also a reconciling peace. For while I can guarantee that at times I will disappoint and fail you, that at times I will make some of you angry or frustrated, I can also promise you in the name of Christ that I will work with you to reconcile any differences we may discover by entering together more deeply into the kingdom of God. So while we will not be exempt from conflict, illness, or sin, the peace of Christ is a healing and reconciling peace to which we all have access through the gospel.

The second aspect of evangelism is the proclamation that "the kingdom of God has come near." But what is this kingdom, and what does it mean that it has come near?

Scholars and theologians have written volumes on the kingdom of God, what Jesus meant by it, what it should mean to us. And I do not intend this morning to answer that question definitively. But I do believe we can have an experience of the nearness of God's kingdom through faith in Christ. In the gospel this morning, the seventy are to proclaim that "the kingdom is near" in "every town and place where Jesus himself intended to go." When the crown prince, the heir, is near, the kingdom is near. And that's a big part of what the seventy are proclaiming: God is near in God's Son. In the incarnation of Jesus, God's redeeming and reconciling reign is near. As that familiar Easter hymn celebrates:

Not throned above, remotely high,
Untouched, unmoved by human pains,
But daily, in the midst of life,
Our Saviour with the Father reigns.

Jesus is near at hand, here in Monkton, here in Baltimore County. His kingdom is near. And that is truly good news.

So. What should our response to this good news be? Our response has a lot to do with the second thing this passage is all about: hospitality. Just as evangelism contains the two aspects of peace and proclamation, hospitality also has two main aspects: invitation, and challenge. Already, this parish has taught me more about hospitality than I feel I can teach you. I don't think I'll be needing to shake the dust from my feet any time soon-- a little horse manure, perhaps, but no dust. The hospitality thing, it seems to me, you have down pretty well. But it is always good to be reminded of why we are hospitable people, so that we may be more intentional about making hospitality a spiritual discipline, rather than merely some sort of superficial "politeness."

I was reminded as I prepared this sermon of my most formative experiences of hospitality -- and inhospitality, about how I almost didn't become an Episcopalian, and about how once I did, I almost didn't remain in the church. Had it not been for these experiences, I would not be standing here before you today.

At the end of my sophomore year of college I was asked to head the campus Christian fellowship the next year. Being a pastor's kid, I was reluctant to do so. You see, I had no intention of entering any kind of formal ministry. I wanted to be a lawyer, and perhaps even a politician.

Nevertheless, I was persuaded to take up the challenge, but I wanted to find some place to pray for a vision for the group I would be leading. I asked my best friend, Michael, a Southern Baptist, where I should go to do that, and he replied "I don't know, what about a monastery or something?" I thought that was a good idea and began to look into monasteries.

Although I grew up the son of a minister in another tradition, I knew my grandfather Gleason Humphrey had been a devout Episcopalian during his life, so the first place I looked into was an Episcopal monastery. After considering my request, they politely declined. Their hospitality apparently did not extend far out enough to reach people such as I, and I got the sense that I had failed their tests of whether or not I was a member of their "club." I was not "their kind of people."

A friend of mine then told me about a Roman Catholic monastery with a summer program. So I called Fr. Martin, the prior, and explained that although the summer program brochure said it was intended for Catholic laymen between the ages of 21 and 35, I was a protestant who would turn 19 that summer. Fr. Martin listened to me, paused about five seconds, and then said "Well, come anyway." That was my first taste of Benedictine hospitality.

St. Benedict, the founder of western monasticism, wrote in his Rule that his monks should "Greet each person as Christ." A simple standard, but hard to live up to all of the time. This standard is as applicable to Monkton as it is to the monks. When we greet each person as Christ, we are sharing the peace of Christ and proclaiming in our actions the nearness of God's kingdom.

Because of the Christ-like witness of those monks, I might have ended up in the Roman Catholic Church, a monk rather than in Monkton. But it just so happened that these monks were also close friends with an Episcopal bishop who visited there every year, and had since he was a young curate around my age. I cornered him one day at the only meal where we were allowed to talk, and asked him all sorts of questions about the Episcopal Church. After he found out I lived near St. Anne's parish in Annapolis, he asked "Well, why don't you go to St. Anne's and find the answers to your questions there for yourself?" That was hospitality as well -- a challenge and an invitation. It just so happens that bishop is Frank Griswold, now our presiding bishop, then bishop of Chicago. I tell him it's his fault I'm going into the ordained ministry. I don't think he feels too guilty about it, though.

One last anecdote about this monastery. I went back there for the summer after my first year in seminary to be a mentor in the same program I'd been in the first time round, and was seriously contemplating a monastic vocation, when out of the blue the Associate Dean of Berkeley Divinity School at Yale called me. Her name is Anne Kimball, who by the way was Polly Nelson's classmate at Vassar; they lived in the same house for a time. Anyhow, she asked me to serve as the Episcopal chapel sacristan, and I told her I was at a crossroads in my spiritual journey. She was undeterred, however. Smoothly, she said "Well, whichever path you take, I'm sure you'd make a fine sacristan." That phone call was a turning point in my discernment. It was also an excellent example of evangelical hospitality.

Here at Saint James we are called to evangelical hospitality, to offer peace to whomever we meet, greeting each one as Christ, and proclaiming the nearness of the kingdom of God. And so today I want to offer you a challenge and an invitation to enter more deeply into the mission of the church, which is to join with God in the redemptive work of restoring unity with God and each other through Jesus Christ. We do that by building relationships founded not in common interests or social status, but in the love of God and the passionate desire to know Christ and to make Christ known.

If you feel that you do not yet know Christ, now is the time to ask him into your life, now is the time to enter into relationship with God and each other through the nearness of his kingdom. And if you have been blessed with the knowledge and love of Christ Jesus our Lord, now is the time to offer that peace, that proclamation, that evangelical hospitality to all those whom you meet. Who do you know that needs that peace? Whom do you know is yearning for the nearness of God's kingdom? Thanks be to God that you and I have what it takes to share that good news. All it takes is a greeting and a simple announcement:

Peace to this house! The kingdom of God has come near to you! Amen.