In which laundry makes the difference between life and death.

In Matthew 10, Jesus sends His disciples out with a rather spartan set of injunctions.

Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Freely you have received; freely give. Do not acquire for yourselves gold nor silver nor copper for your belts; no bag for the journey nor two tunics nor sandals nor a staff; for the worker is worthy of his food.

As I read it at a table outside the school library, eating the rice bowl I bought with the money in my wallet, comfortably shod in $50 clogs, with an extra pair of scrubs in my backpack, I realized I violated almost every part of Jesus’ orders. Except I didn’t have a staff. Phew. Though I probably have staph.

Even richly equipped as I was, I probably would still have been rather uncomfortable and inconvenienced for the kind of gallivanting about Judea that the disciples were sent to do. Jesus was advocating a mode of travel even more extreme than ultralight backpacking. Without a bag, or money, a disciple would have to stop and forage or ask (or be gifted) each meal. He wouldn’t be able to stock up and bring any snacks for the way, or gifts for hosts. Without sandals, he wouldn’t be able to walk very far. He would probably have to linger over difficult terrain, like deserts and marshes. He would be slow-going over mountains without a staff, and when wearied, would have no recourse but to rest by the side of the road. And finally, without a spare tunic, he would have stints of skulking around somewhere, naked, while waiting for his laundry to dry.

Jesus, jerk move!

Plus, Jesus, isn’t that a non-strategic move? If I were a marauding general, sending my lackeys out to cover the whole land, I’d at least be strategic about it. I’d say, “whenever possible, travel by hitchhiking. Target local population centers. Train your converts to heal the sick, etc etc etc, then have them train their converts to do the same. Send back reports of your work progress every week. When convert number in each city reaches critical mass, appoint sub-disciples that report to you. And so on.” Why waste time on tough travel, in poor conditions, in hunger, in toil, in sweat, in nakedness?

I don’t presume to guess at the Lord’s unfathomable wisdom, but maybe part of these measures were to lead each disciple through the most difficult physical parts of the human experience: hunger, poverty, nakedness, fatigue, pain, and dirtiness. How much more of our hearts does He gain through our sorrow than through our joy?

And with each stop, with each necessary foible, a disciple may meet someone new. Maybe if the disciple had shoes, he would have walked right past someone who needed healing. Maybe if he faltered in the desert, he would have cleansed more needy lepers in the unforgiving dunes than he cleansed in the big cities. Maybe while waiting the sunny hours for his laundry, he met more local families that he would have missed if he had a spare outfit (though I imagine naked encounters would have come with its own learning curve). I wonder if the suffering disciple considered that kind of meticulous salvation God’s measure of efficiency.

I used to think that the most efficient gospel usage of my time would be a career as a full-time missionary. It just makes less sense for God to want my bumbling path through suburban America, with almost 21 years of 0 velocity. But maybe God is after my heart in the marshes, and after the many hearts hidden here, as well.

I’d still want my second tunic, though.