(re)starting with nothing

(Luke 9:1-3) When Jesus had called the Twelve together, He gave them power and authority to drive out all demons and to cure diseases, and He sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal the sick. He told them: “Take nothing for the journey—no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra shirt.”

Go do the mission, and take nothing with you.  This was Jesus’ idea.  

In 2005, I started a youth development organization in the city where I now live.  I was a college student and didn’t have much - no money, little experience, only a few people who believed the seed of this dream in my heart was possible.  With the help of friends, we raised enough money to pull off a summer day camp for kids in a local neighborhood. The second summer of day camp coincided with my graduation from college, and soon my wife and I moved into the community.

Now what?

We had barely raised enough money for those first two summers.  Barely. And we only did because some connected people graciously went to bat for us.  Now we were living in a community with pressing needs all around us. It seemed like there was so much that could be done if we just had the money.  If we just had a big team. If we just had resources like other ministries had.  

But we didn’t.  

I remember in those days feeling like if we just had more, we’d be able to fully engage the mission God had called us to.  I remember feeling insecure next to those who seemed to have the things I didn’t to impact their own communities. Not having more seemed like an obstacle and, somehow, even a source of shame.  Our lack seemed to call into question the legitimacy of our sentness, our anointing, the sense in my heart that we had heard from God. I remember asking God, “Are You really in this? And if You are, why isn’t there more?”

But having more doesn’t seem to be Jesus’ concern when He sends us on the mission.  In fact, Jesus told His disciples to start with nothing. No staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra shirt.  In fact, even if you have it, leave it. Mission starts with embracing less, not more.  

As autumn settled in after that second summer in Aliquippa, I was painfully aware that we had no funds to pull off any additional programming.  We had no grant money, no churches regularly giving to us, and precious few (but very faithful!) donors.  

This is where a lot of dreams die in people.  We think if God is in it, surely there will also be budgets, boards, programs, and facilities to support it.  And someday there might be. But for now, take nothing with you. This is how Jesus sends us.

In those days, I started to set the alarm on my phone for 4:00 PM every day.  It would go off, and I would step out into the cooling autumn air to walk around the neighborhoods of my city.  That’s right. Just walk around. What else could I do? Instead of just sitting and waiting for a grant to fall into my lap, I just went.  It felt so strange to do what Jesus said - to just go. The more we think we have, the more going with nothing feels scary.

But when we just go, God shows up.

I’d stop in and visit kids from day camp at their homes.  I’d see their parents and grandparents walking to and from the bus stop.  I’d sit unhurried on front porches and listen to the stories of the beautiful residents of my city.  When a family unexpectedly moved because of crisis or eviction, I’d track them down by asking questions of neighbors (I became good at this!) so I could check in on their needs.  I gave rides to people struggling with addiction. I picked up people from jail. I ate food at birthday parties and backyard barbecues. I made friends. I even walked through the middle of a drug deal, so lacking were my street smarts.  

I quickly realized that out there - with no bag, no bread, no money - I actually had less than what I even thought at the beginning.  Out there, my college education didn’t matter much. The unjust power and privilege of my inherited status - being white and male - couldn’t be leaned on in these streets.  It was of no advantage. In fact, if I tried to lean on these things, it was only detrimental. I didn’t have answers to the complex issues that faced me every day in the voices and tears of people I grew to love.  And as I came near to the brokenness of my neighbors who were unable to hide their issues behind a veneer of wealth, I discovered that I was also poor - so lacking in so many things. I thought I had little, but my poverty turned out to be greater than I imagined.  

I also realized that the few things I did have were of immense value.  I hadn’t been able to see them before, but now God was using them. I bought a 2001 Camry from my grandfather in college.  I drove that thing until it had almost 250,000 miles on it, and it felt like many of those miles were accumulated by just giving my neighbors rides.  Here I was waiting for a grant so I could run a program, and my Camry turned out to be what God was really asking of me. Also, my hands, my feet, my ears, (less often my mouth), turned out to be incredibly useful to the Kingdom in these streets.  God would later give programs and grants, but for now He wanted to use me and my Camry. That blew me away. 

Going with nothing both put me in touch with my own poverty and my own wealth.  I was so poor but also so rich.  

Jesus sends His disciples with nothing so they can be in touch with how poor they actually are.  Sure, He sends them with incredible power - power that heals the sick and expels demons. But that power flows through people who know their own poverty.  These disciples had nothing to give the cities they’d visit. Only Jesus did. And the less they depended on that staff or that extra shirt tucked away, the more God could show up in power.  

This is the paradox.  Going with nothing, the disciples quickly realize how rich they are.  The little they have multiplies into soul-saving, Kingdom-proclaiming, body-healing, demon-evicting power.  They could go with nothing because they were going with Everything. The Kingdom is so real, so overflowing with blessing that going with nothing only highlights its generous extravagance.  

I don’t mean to romanticize this kind of going-with-nothing.  It can be lonely, exhausting, and scary too. Eventually, a team grew around me.  Programs were developed. Staff members were hired. Facilities were provided. A small movement expanded.  Things multiplied. Eventually, my family’s needs were met as well. I’m so grateful for these gifts, but I’m also glad it’s not how it started.

It’s so liberating to know, especially in this season of pandemic when resources will likely become less for many of our churches and ministries, that we don’t need so many of the things we’ve come to depend on.  Jesus sends us with nothing, asking us to simply trust Him.  

We don’t need that staff because we can lean on Him.

We don’t need bread because He’ll feed us.

We don’t need an extra shirt because the Kingdom is the very definition of “extra.”

If God puts a staff, bread, and extra shirts in our hands, it’s reason to rejoice.  It means we have more to give away.  

I look at the small movement I’m part of today, and I’m so grateful for everything God has given us.  To be sure, I’m asking Him to preserve some of these things in this season of human suffering and economic downturn.  I really believe He’s using what we currently have to help others. I think much of it lets us serve more deeply and broadly than we were able to in those early days.  I really think we get to redistribute power and wealth when we give away what we have. I really believe in it all.  

Nor am I minimizing the pain some of us might experience in this season if we have to go with less.  Our families might have needs. Valued community programs might end. Staff members at ministries might experience reduced pay and hours. Funding might dry up.  All of this is serious and painful.

But I also don’t believe we have to have these things for mission to still happen.  Maybe this season, with all its uncertainty, is a reminder that mission starts with the childlike trust of those who just go, even if - maybe especially when - they have nothing.  And maybe this season is a good time for us to find ways to restart in this holy, radical, painful, and beautiful place. Even if we have a lot (and especially if we think we have a lot), maybe the mission is best served and sustained when we rediscover how to go with nothing at all.

Around the same time I was starting to get on the streets of Aliquippa, a close friend of mine was starting a ministry in Pittsburgh serving the homeless.  He told me once, “Even if all the things we depend on weren’t here anymore, we’d still be out here loving homeless people. Because this is what God has called us to do.”  

That sounds radical, but it’s right.  Loving homeless people starts with just doing it.  Even if you have nothing. And while uncertainty is hardly fun, it’s also freeing to know that the Kingdom has everything to give in the places where we have nothing at all.