Brief synopsis of the readings: In our first reading, from the first book of Kings, the Lord instructed Elijah to anoint Elisha as his successor. Elijah found Elisha plowing a field but when Elisha learned of his future he asked this: “Let me kiss my father and mother, then I will follow you.” Elijah then answered: “Go, go back; for have I done anything to you?” Elisha then slaughtered two oxen, cooked them, and gave them to his men to eat. He then rose and followed Elijah. Our Gospel from Luke also concerns parents. As Jesus continued to approach Jerusalem he and the disciples passed a Samaritan village. Because Jesus and his disciples were heading to Jerusalem, the Samaritans refused to greet them. James and John then asked Jesus if they should seek revenge but Jesus rebuked them and they continued their journey. He approached someone with the offer to become a disciple but this person responded: “I will follow you sir, but first let me go and say good-bye to my family at home [other versions translate this to “my father and mother’].” Jesus responded: “Once the hand is laid on the plough, no one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

I have to confess that I’m always a little worried when I read about how some people are “not fit for the kingdom of God,” and this is one of those times. On it’s face this unnamed potential disciple asked for something simple: let me say goodbye to my family and then I will join you.

And I worry not because of what the text says but the reaction we take from it: what if I’m not fit for the Kingdom of God? What if I’ve laid my hand on the plough and was caught looking back? Does it really mean that this one act will deny me the Kingdom?

And does it mean that once I decide to follow Jesus, I can’t even tell my family that I’m going? Well, it’s a little more complicated than that. Several commentaries I researched hold that “saying goodbye” meant waiting until the person’s parents had died. This was not a delay of an hour, but perhaps a delay of years.

I don’t think I’m reading too much into this but I sense a certain level of urgency in Jesus’ words. His journey to Jerusalem ends with his death and resurrection, and also his ascension into Heaven. And while we rightly focus on the salvation this brings us, there is also an element of Jesus’ “passing the torch” to his disciples.

That may inform Jesus’ rebuke of his disciples when they sought revenge against the Samaritans. The Samaritans and the Jews never liked each other (for several reasons) and their rebuke of the disciples should have come as no surprise. And so when the disciples offered to “put the hurt on them” Jesus may well have recognized how far he still had to go with them. They still hadn’t gotten the word that the Kingdom of God was about mercy and inclusion, not revenge and power.

Today we also live with urgency, but I maintain it’s a different urgency. From nearly the time of Jesus the belief that “the world is going to end in your lifetime and perhaps by the end of this day” called centuries of disciples to both hope and anxiety. The promise of Jesus’ return, over time, morphed into the belief that random events took on grave importance because “you never know when it’s going to happen.” One of my seminary classmates owned a shirt that proclaimed: “Jesus is Coming: Look Busy.”

But we live in the 21st Century after the promise of our salvation. The idea of holding our breath because the world might end today is both silly and counterproductive. Instead let us look at urgency through different eyes.

In the ordinary course of our day most of us encounter dozens, or even hundreds, of people. Most encounters are simple and don’t demand much of us: the checker at the grocery store asks “how are you” and we answer “fine.” The pedestrian at a stop sign waves to thank us for letting him or her cross and we wave back. We greet the receptionist at our office with “good morning” and it is returned.

But today’s urgency comes to us when we are faced with an encounter that calls us to more. Maybe it’s something simple when we open a door for a young mother or father who is pushing a stroller through a door. Maybe it’s when we’re on a plane next to a single parent whose child won’t stop crying and we provide comfort and support to the parent.

This urgency is not informed by “things are going to end soon and this is my last chance to show my worthiness” but instead by “this may be my only chance to impact the life of this random person and make his or her life better.”

The call to discipleship, the call to understand that we don’t control the circumstances of our ability to serve God, should humble us. We best serve God by seeing urgency as a response to humility, to knowing that we serve a God who calls us to serve without explaining God’s reasoning. We don’t set our schedule or determine our agenda with the understanding that we are the final word.

Truthfully, as disciples, God call us to see every encounter as something holy. I’m certain I’m not alone when I say that I’ve been reminded of conversations or encounters that I barely remember but are seared into the memories of someone else. I’m grateful when those encounters were good, and embarrassed when they weren’t.

Many years ago I was blessed by an encounter from my time as a seminarian. I spent time with the youth group of a Catholic parish and befriended a 10th grader I’m going to call Brian. We were both bicyclists (though he was much stronger than me). We spent hours riding together and talking about bicycles and life in general. We didn’t talk much about faith or religion only because it didn’t come up. At the end of my year there he pulled me aside and told me this: “I attended the youth group only because my parents made me. Truthfully I was an atheist when I met you. But spending this year with you has convinced me that God exists. If you are going to devote your life to faith, I believe I can too.”

I tell this story not to brag. I spent most of that year embarrassed by how much he smoked me on hills but I enjoyed his company. I had no idea he didn’t belive in God and still can’t imagine the impact I had as we rode together. But I look back on this with a sense of urgency.

I was blessed by my encounter with Brian because he was able to communicate his gratitude from his experience with me. Because of his confession I carry with me a profound encounter of him. But as a disciple of Jesus I’m also aware of all those we encountered without that experience.

Urgency, in the final analysis, isn’t about predicting the future. Urgency demands that we be ready at all times for what comes. And as disciples of Jesus Christ it calls us to be ready to respond to what faces us.

Maybe it calls us to respond in ways that we understand and easily respond to. But maybe it calls us to respond in ways that bewilder or confuse us. Elisha (in the first reading) is minding his own business, plowing the fields, when he is called to follow Elijah. The unnamed disciple in Luke’s Gospel wants to follow Jesus, but only on his timeline.

The popular bumper stickers “Practice Random Acts of Kindness” informs these readings. I’m not normally a fan of bumper stickers, but I find great wisdom in this one. Random acts are not random to God, only to us.

Discipleship does not call us to abandon our families but it does call us to reorder our priorities. We rightly make and keep schedules because it’s our starting point but discipleship calls us to understand that God does not respect our schedules. We will, in our ordinary lives, find ourselves in situations that demand we understand that the Kingdom of God may go in a direction we did not choose.

We may be called to love a Samaritan. We may be called to love a Muslim. We may be called to support a coworker or neighbor who “everyone knows” is against us.

Regardless these readings demand that we understand that discipleship and our role as disciples differently. The “call and response” of discipleship ends, not with us, but with God. God calls and we respond.

Even if it’s a response we didn’t plan.