The Sending of the Seventy-Two 

There’s a popular motivational quote from Dr. Ben Carson, a neurosurgeon and author  of Gifted Hands: “Do your best, and God will do the rest.”

When I was younger, I liked this phrase because it balanced personal effort and spiritual  trust. However, during my theological studies at Jakarta Theological Seminary, my  professor, Rev. Prof. Joas Adiprasetya, challenged it. He helped me see the risk of  doing “something,” calling it my best, then expecting God to handle the rest—and  blaming God if things failed. He emphasized that God does not do the leftover work of  humans. Rather, we are entrusted with a small part of the work God has begun, and we  are called to carry it out with all the love and strength we have.

This insight connects deeply to today’s Gospel, which reminds us that discipleship  means faithfully joining in the work God has already begun. Yet Jesus shows us that life  as a disciple is not easy—it can feel like a roller coaster, full of ups and downs.

Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem, leaving Galilee, and He knows His time is short. He  knows suffering and death await Him in Jerusalem. Yet He sees more work to be done.

His message has spread far beyond Israel, and people—both Jews and non-Jews  alike—are eager to hear the Good News. So Jesus calls out seventy-two (or seventy, depending on the manuscript) of His followers and sends them two by two ahead of  Him. They are not the famous Twelve Apostles; they are ordinary followers—people whose names we don’t even know. Yet Jesus gives them a significant task: to prepare  the way ahead. 

Then He says something that sounds far from comforting to them: “I am sending you  out like lambs among wolves.” This is not a motivational, feel-good speech. There  are no promises of safety, comfort, or success. But Jesus is being honest. He wants  them to know this mission won’t be easy. They won’t go with power to dominate or  conquer; rather, they are sent as lambs—gentle, vulnerable, and patient—into a world  that can be hostile. 

Jesus doesn’t stop there. He gives them specific instructions for their mission: “Don’t take money, don’t bring extra sandals, stay in one house, eat what they  give you, and bless the home.” 

Most importantly, they are to proclaim, “The kingdom of God has come near.” These  instructions call for trust—in God’s provision, in the hospitality of strangers, and in  focusing on the mission itself, which is exactly Jesus’ own mission: to heal the sick and  proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom. 

The Greek word translated “has come near” is engiken—literally “has arrived” or “is at hand.” Jesus is saying that God’s reign is not just some far-off future or faraway heaven; it is arriving now, in Jesus’ presence and work.

Christ’s Body in the World 

If God reigns in this world, then this world should begin to reflect what God desires:  peace, justice, joy, compassion, harmony, healing. 

But here comes the hard part in our times today. Let’s be honest—when we look  around, it’s hard to see peace, love, or kindness. We see war, violence, and people  divided. There are wars happening in places like Israel and Palestine, and between  Israel and Iran. These conflicts take many lives and harm the environment and other living things. We also see violence in our own cities and streets. People often fight  instead of caring for one another. 

How do we make God’s kingdom more real in such a world of chaos and brokenness?

I am reminded of a beautiful prayer poem by Saint Teresa of Avila, the Spanish 16th century mystic and Carmelite nun. She wrote: 

“Christ has no body but yours, 
No hands, no feet on earth but yours, 
Yours are the eyes with which he looks 
Compassion on this world, 
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, 
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world. 
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, 
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.” 

These powerful words remind us that, unlike the statues of Jesus we see around the  world—which, though grand and powerful in appearance, are made of stone or metal  and cannot move, see, or reach out—you and I are Christ’s living body on earth today,  called to act with compassion and love. 

• • When we open our eyes, Christ’s eyes look out through us with love, seeing the  heart and the pain beneath it. 
  • When we walk down the street to help a neighbour, Christ’s feet walk with us,  doing good to the forgotten and rejected. 
  • When we lift our hands to hold those who grieve, feed the hungry, or welcome  children, Christ’s hands bless someone with compassion. 
  • We speak words of peace, healing, and life when the world speaks cruelty; our  mouths become Christ’s voice. 

We are not called to be passive bystanders, but active participants in bringing God’s  kingdom to life—and we don’t do it alone. That’s why Jesus sent the seventy-two in  pairs, not one by one. Mission is not a solo task. Ministry is communal and relational. 

That’s also why the church matters. It’s not just a place to worship, but a community  where we’re encouraged, strengthened, and empowered to do the work God calls us  to—being Christ’s presence in the world. 

Still, even in the community, some of us may wonder: Do I still have a role? Do I still  matter in God’s work? Today’s Gospel says: Yes. Absolutely, yes. 

God still chooses to work through you—through your presence, your wisdom, your quiet  compassion, and your faithful prayers—through us. God has no body but yours… but  also ours. 

Even so, Jesus reminds us that the journey won’t always be easy. He warns of  rejection, just as He did with the seventy-two: 

“If the people of any town you enter don’t welcome you, go into its streets and  say, ‘We shake the dust of this town from our feet….’” 

It’s a tough message, especially when our efforts seem to bear little fruit. Church  attendance is declining. Fewer young people are in the pews. It’s easy to feel like we’re  not making a difference. But Jesus never measured faithfulness by numbers. He told the seventy-two to rejoice not in their success, but because “your names are  inscribed in heaven.” 

Friends in God, this reminds us: our worth isn’t in what we produce, how much we do,  or how busy we are. 

Our worth is found in God’s love. 

You belong. You are already held. Already named. 

Let us measure our value by: 
how much we love, 
how much we bless, 
how many lives we touch, 
how faithfully we show up—even when it’s hard, and results aren’t immediate.