SunSep132009
Scripture: MARK 8:27-38
Dear Jesus,
I have a bone to pick with you. I can’t tell you how bummed I am that the scripture reading for today is that passage from the story that Mark wrote about you—you know, the passage where you talk about your needing to suffer and die, and our needing to deny ourselves and follow you.
It’s a real lapse in judgment for you to give us this passage to read on our Rally Day. You surely know that Rally Day is a thrilling day, when we re-gather after the summer to begin a new program year. It’s supposed to be a real upper. We have this great quartet playing steel drums and our two vocal choirs are singing together. We’re supposed to be celebrating your greatness and reminding people what’s so fabulous about worship. We want them to come back. We want them to know that worship will be invigorating and grace-filled. We want to be steeped in joy.
So what do you do? You go and give us one of the most demanding and unpleasant passages in all the gospels for us to chew on. Now I know that, as the preacher, I could have picked another passage to focus on this morning—three others are given as possibilities. Or I could have gone in an entirely different direction and read from a passage not in the lectionary. But I have a sense how important this passage is, and for us to ignore it just seemed, well, not quite kosher.
Just this week I read that a distinguished teacher of the New Testament (Daniel Harrington) was asked, “If you only had five passages to introduce Jesus to people, what would be your five favorites from across the gospels?” The first passage he mentioned was the opening of John’s gospel (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”), because it conveys that you were fully divine as well as fully human. He’d have people read the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32), the whole story of your death. And finally the very passage we’re reading this morning from Mark’s gospel, because it gives us the low-down on who you are, Jesus, and who we’re supposed to be (Context, Sept. 2009, Part B, p. 6). If this story really is that important, I guess we’d better pay attention to it, even though I’d rather not.
Here’s the deal, though: I thought your job was to accept us and give us peace, not irritate us and make demands. I thought your very reason for being was to extend your embrace and let us gather under your wings, not put before us a list of demands. Did I miss something along the way? As a Christian and as a preacher, I find it incredibly irritating that you tell us your journey is about dying and ours is about self-denial. Do you have any idea how badly that’s going to play on Rally Day? Do you have any idea how unattractive that is and how much it’s going to doom the church?
This is not what the church wants to hear. And to tell you the truth, it’s not what I want to hear. What is it about this picture you present that’s supposed to appeal to me? What about it is supposed to make me want to follow you?
You know, don’t you—you have to know—that there are preachers and churches out there—they’re all over—who ignore this passage completely. They say, “Jesus will give you what you want.” They say, “Jesus will make you healthy and wealthy and give you a nice house and all the income you’d like to have.” As a preacher, I confess that’s what I want to say, too. And as a Christian, it’s what I want to hear. I want to hear the good news that I’m OK, the news that doesn’t require anything of me. I want to do nothing, and I want you to make everything right for me. So it ticks me off that you have to be so negative, so unrelentingly demanding. I cannot fathom why I’d want to follow you if this is what you’re all about.
Here’s the best analogy I can think of. We had a presidential campaign in this country last fall. Imagine what it would have been like if John McCain or Barack Obama had said that he was going to lose the race, that he planned to lose the race, and that suffering was where he was headed, but that he wanted us to give everything to him anyway. How do you think we’d react? We’d run the other way.
But that’s what you do. See, here’s the problem: there’s already enough loss and pain in the world without you telling us we need to suffer more of it. Some of us ache from natural causes—disease and loss and failure. Others are put upon by their peers. I know women whose families don’t allow them to flourish. I know people of various races who are looked down upon because of their color. I know people who are left out because they’re too old or too young or too funny looking. When they hear you say, “Deny yourself,” they already feel denied and it sounds about as alluring as scratching a chalkboard. You can’t possibly be saying they should just grin and bear it. Can you? What’s a poor preacher to say to rally the troops and win you a following?
Respectfully but questioningly yours,
Hamilton
That’s the somewhat desperate letter I sent Jesus this week. And this is the answer I got:
Dear Hamilton,
I got your letter. I hope you get this in time for Sunday’s service. It’s a little hard to know where to begin in responding to your heartfelt rant. First let me say I’m so glad you told me your concerns. So many people just vanish and never have anything to do with me after they read these words of mine.
I’m guessing Mark’s rendition could have shown a little more tact in trying to convey to you this crucial part of who I am. But, really, he’s got the essence. Let me explain. You need to know several things. First, of course people shouldn’t just sit back and let others walk all over them. What I said was, “let [people] deny themselves” (8:34), not, “let my followers be run over by whoever wants to run them over.” Other people shouldn’t deny you. I was talking about something you could decide for yourself. I’m not at all saying, ‘Put up with anything anyone wants to do to you.’ I am saying that there’s a kind of denial that you can choose for yourself that’s the richest kind of life. I am saying that giving up yourself for others is incredibly rewarding. I am saying, ‘Yes, your life is important, but so is everyone else’s. So tend to them, too.’
You’re not that different from anyone else. Like most people, you don’t want to be taken advantage of. You want to make sure you get your fair share. And you don’t want to suffer or feel deprived. So the whole notion of self-denial rankles you. I understand that.
I’m going to suggest, though, that you think about this whole matter from an entirely different angle. Get outside of yourself for a moment and look at your own life. There are a number of things that I think you need to remember. Remember first: your parents sacrificed hugely for you. They sat up with you at night when you were sick. They drove you to practices and games and recitals. They cooked meals for you. They bought clothes for you and took you on skiing vacations and threw birthday parties for you. They spent probably a $100,000-200,000 on you in your first eighteen years, and maybe another $100,000 on your college education. That’s money they could have spent on themselves, but they spent it on you.
And more. Remember this: you had teachers who gave up free time to labor over lesson plans and lectures, who inspired you and met you for help and shaped your life.
And remember: when you were lost, you had a nun who used to talk with you every week to help you figure out your life, and most of that time you didn’t pay her anything.
And remember: you’ve had countless friends who have spent time with you and helped you and made you happy, who have had you over for dinner and taken you to lunch and hosted you for golf.
And remember: you’ve been a pastor in four churches that have supported you and loved you and cared for you and brought you meals when you’ve been seriously ill.
And remember: you are married to a woman who has accompanied you on your pastoral odyssey, has listened to your frustrations and anxieties, has done infinitely more than her fair share of cooking and cleaning and attending to the needs of children so that you could get your work done.
So come now. Do you really think no one has sacrificed for you? Do you really think you are where you are at no cost to anyone else? And do you really think you have the right to request a benefit for yourself that all your benefactors haven’t had for themselves? At every turn you have received blessings from people who have denied themselves for you.
And one more thing: do you really think you’re happiest and most satisfied when life asks nothing of you, when you haven’t had to give of yourself, when you are spared all effort? As a pastor, you do remember, don’t you, how right it seems to you when you’re called to the hospital in an emergency, when the grief-stained voice wakes you in the middle of the night with heart-breaking news, when you have sat with someone processing grief or struggle or fury or despair? You do remember the richness of serving in the soup kitchen, of accompanying youth on a mission trip to Mexico, of giving ten percent of your income to the church.
Maybe you just need to be reminded: you are where you are, in large measure, because of the sacrifices other people have made for you. And your life matters as you return the favor.
I know you recoil when you hear that language—“deny yourself.” But I think you also know that underneath those words is the deepest of all truths—that your life is full, that it has its richest reward, as you give it away. The people of that great Federated Church know that, too. Like you, they just need to be reminded—reminded to give of themselves extravagantly, to reach beyond themselves into hurting neighborhoods, to join with the mission I’ve given you, to be a light and a blessing to the world.
No matter how much reminding I do, people seem to forget the culminating part of the journey I described to you. Yes, I’m going to suffer, and die. Yes, you’re going to suffer. And you, too, are going to die. But that’s not the last word. Remember the last and most important word? “After three days, [I will] rise again” (8:31). Resurrection is my destiny. And it’s yours, as well. All that loss is swallowed up in gain. All that death is swallowed up in victory. As you’re kind to each other, as you care for each other, as you reach out in my name to a needy world beyond you, you will know the most unfathomable resurrection joy. I promise! So go for it! Join me on my journey! We’ll have a blast!
Love,
Jesus