(Luke 9:1–6)
1. The Call and the Command
“And He called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and He sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. And He said to them, ‘Take nothing for your journey…’” ~Luke 9:1–3
When Jesus sent the twelve out, He didn’t just give them power – He gave them dependence. No bag. No bread. No money. No backup plan. The lesson wasn’t about traveling light – it was about trusting heavy. He wanted them to depend not on provisions, but on the Provider. They were being trained not just to preach the Kingdom, but to live like they already belonged to it.
God was teaching them: “You don’t need to carry what I’ve already promised to provide.”
And we, too, are sent out into a world that rejects the message of Christ.
We go not with abundance, but with assurance. Not with provision, but with power. Not with comfort, but with calling.
2. The Dust Between Us
“And whatever house you enter, stay there… And wherever they do not receive you, when you leave that town, shake off the dust from your feet as a testimony against them.” ~Luke 9:4–5
In ancient Jewish culture, shaking the dust from one’s feet carried deep symbolism. When Jewish travelers returned from Gentile lands, they would shake the dust off before stepping back onto their homeland – a sign that they were separating themselves from impurity and unbelief.
Yeshua took that cultural image and gave it spiritual weight. He was saying, If they reject My message, separate yourself – not out of hate, but out of holiness. You’ve done your part. You’ve delivered the truth. Their response is between them and God now.
I believe that’s the real lesson in Luke 9:1–6. It’s not about rejection; it’s about release. It’s about knowing when your assignment is finished, and walking away without resentment, trusting that God can do more with the dust of that moment than you could ever do by staying.
3. When Love Means Letting Go
I lived the lesson of “shaking the dust off” where you are not received.
There was a friend I loved deeply — someone I’d known for years. But the moment my faith began to grow, the attacks began.
She’d reach out to me for no other reason than to pick a fight about God — saying cruel, hateful things about Him, twisting Scripture into something perverse & dark, and mocking believers. She would insist that we’re dumb, hateful, closed-minded & blind; somehow never seeing the irony that she was all the things she accused us of being.
Hateful towards me, a genuine, life-long, friend. Hateful towards God and towards Christians in general, picking fights out of nowhere, when it was absolutely uncalled for.
Closed-minded in that she wouldnt even listen to any rebuttals to her allegations (and I had a loving rebuttal for every one of her claims).
Dumb and blind… well, as a Christian woman, I wont go there, lol. I will instead simply pray that God bless her with the only knowledge & sight that matters.
At first, I tried to reason, gently & lovingly, with her.
Then, I tried to show love in silence — changing the subject, speaking kindness instead of defense. Telling her that we needn’t talk about God, and asking, what did she want to talk about?
But it didn’t matter what or how I tried; she hated God so much that she began to hate me simply for being a reflection of Him.
My mother said, “Don’t stop being her friend – maybe she needs someone like you in her life to teach her about God.” And yet, in the same breath, said, “Well why did you bring up God anyway when you know she doesn’t believe?”
And that’s the very contradiction my mother didn’t seem to understand – If I can’t mention God, how can I lead her to Him?
If I cant mention God, if God is all but forbidden around her, what good am I to her? How can I lead her to the truth if I must make myself & my life a lie?
And lastly, how can we be friends at all, if the number 1 most important thing in my life must remain hidden to her; if the thing I love most, I must remain silent about?
And so, after much prayer, and with a heavy heart still full of love for her and the friendship we once shared, I told her: “I will always love you… but I have to love you from afar from now on.” And I walked away.
Not in anger. Not in pride. But in obedience.
Because there comes a time when staying no longer helps the lost – it only drains the faithful.
And that’s when the Lord whispers,“Shake off the dust. Leave them in My hands.”
You see, I think my mom looked at it as me “annoying my friend with too much God talk”, and then walking away when she didn’t like it. And therefore, it was me that was in the wrong. I was not being very nice.
But that wasn’t it at all. Not only did my mom read incorrectly into what had happened (because she doesnt want to listen to the details, she simply doesnt have the patience or the time to waste on anyone else’s details), but she was also wrong about me not “being nice”.
I was nice. At first.
But then I had to stop being “nice” and instead become “kind“.
Kind to myself, as well as to my old friend.
Too many people think that being a Christian means being nice. But Jesus never called us to be nice. He called us to be kind. And there’s a holy difference between the two.
Niceness tolerates mockery. Kindness sets boundaries with love.
Niceness avoids truth to keep peace. Kindness speaks truth because it loves peace.
Even Yeshua wasn’t “nice” by the world’s standards – He overturned tables, rebuked hypocrisy, called sin by name speaking truth straight to the wound, never once caring who it offended. He raised His voice when necessary and responded with righteous anger when it was called for.
Yet He never stopped loving. He never stopped being kind.
Real “nice” is knowing when to walk away. Real “nice” is not hating that person as you walk away. Real “nice” is still praying for them every day – asking God to heal their heart and open their eyes. Real “nice” is refusing to let bitterness replace the love, you either once had or still have, for them.
So don’t mistake “nice” for “godly.”
The holiest love sometimes looks like distance; and sometimes obedience means leaving, not lingering.
So when you finally shake the dust from your feet, you can walk away knowing: It’s not rejection. It’s release. It’s giving up to God what was never yours to hold.
And that is the kindest thing you can possibly do – for everyone involved.
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One Cup. One Christ. One Calling.
Sunday Morning Coffee and Christ.
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