Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
Scriptures: Jeremiah 11:18-20, Psalm 1, James 3:13 – 4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9:30-37
Sermon
Pastor Will wrote this sermon to be read today. He sends his greetings from Newport, Rhode Island, and he’ll be back with us next Sunday, after five weeks of “officer boot camp,” so he thought it would be fun to open this sermon with a joke about sailors. The hard part was finding a sailor joke that was appropriate for church, but he eventually found this one:
There was once a famous sea captain; let’s call him Captain Pete. He was enormously successful, and had the respect of sailors and admirals alike. Captain Pete had one strange custom, though, and as the years passed, stories of it grew.
Every morning, Captain Pete would open the locked safe in his quarters, pull out a piece of paper, and stare at it for exactly one minute, slowly passing it between his hands and muttering to himself under his breath.
Anyone who interrupted this strange ritual would receive a harsh tongue-lashing, no matter their rank. Was it a treasure map? A letter from a long-lost love? Everyone wondered, but none dared ask.
One sad day, Captain Pete died. After laying their dear captain’s body to rest, the First Officer and the Chief made their way to the captain’s quarters. They opened his safe, and removed the mysterious piece of paper.
Finally reading its contents, the First Officer turned white as a sheet. His hand shaking, he passed it to the Chief.
The paper held these words: “Port” is to the left; “Starboard” is to the right.
Sometimes, it helps to remember that we’re all learners. We have to get the “basics” right, or our foundation will remain unsteady. Lest we ever forget, today’s Gospel lesson is a reminder.
It’s fair to say that Jesus asks a lot of the disciples. Up to this point in the Gospel of Mark, they have left their families, their livelihoods, and their possessions behind. They’ve faced uncertainty, hunger, storms at sea, angry crowds on land, and miles and miles of walking under the hot sun.
This faithful group includes the 12 Disciples, of course, and the Gospels mention other followers of Jesus, including Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and those whose names are lost to history but who were with him for most of his whirlwind ministry.
Over and over in the Gospels, we hear about the enormous crowds that would gather to hear Jesus speak. Sometimes, they’d travel from town to town, following him across the region. However, when Jesus’ teachings were too difficult to understand, or simply not what they wanted to hear, the crowds would vanish, its members returning to their lives.
Jesus himself called the twelve Disciples into lives of mission which, for most, would end in martyrdom for the sake of the Gospel. Simon Peter, James, John, Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James, Thaddaeus, Simon, and Judas (Mark 3:16b-19a); Jesus gave them each the authority to preach and perform healing miracles (vv. 14-15). Several weeks ago, we read about when Jesus first sent them out on their own missions. Mark 6:12-13 reads, “They went out and preached that people should repent. They drove out many demons and anointed many sick people with oil and healed them.”
The same disciples we hear about in today’s Gospel reading have proven to be faithful, sticking with Jesus when many others left. They even used the authority he gave them responsibly, and helped many lost, hurting people.
We don’t know exactly how their argument on the road went, or what started it. What did Peter think made him stand above Andrew? Could it be the miracles he had worked? What about the brothers, James and John? Were they arguing against each other, or had they sided against someone else?
The details aren’t important to the Gospel’s author, but I think it’s worth being curious, because though the disciples are portrayed simplistically, we’re reading about human beings. If we see them only as comic figures who are taught their proper lesson, we risk losing sight of the humanity we share with them.
Of course, our “humanity” isn’t the problem. Sin is the problem. God created us as humans. God loves us in our humanity. Yet we sin, and James, the author of today’s epistle, explores this. He writes to a divided church (4:4-5 excerpt, 1b-3):
…[F]riendship with the world is enmity with God [and,] whoever wishes to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God […] Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? […] You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures.
The disciples craved recognition and status. It might seem like Jesus puts them in their place, but the very next chapter of Mark includes a similar scene. From chapter 10: “James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to [Jesus] and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’ Jesus said to them, ‘You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?’ (verses 35-38).
Including in today’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells the Disciples about his upcoming death and resurrection at least three times, but we see here from the brothers that they still expect that he is leading them to some sort of earthly glory.
Further, when the other 10 Disciples learn about the brothers’ request, they’re mad, but they’re not even angry for the right reason. Jesus knows why they are angry: it’s because they themselves wanted those places of honor.
Jesus responds to their anger: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (vv. 43b-45).
The disciples — and indeed, the majority of those who encounter Jesus — assume that God’s power is in some way analogous to human power. Jesus’ entire ministry in Mark involves demonstrating that the reverse is true.
Throughout Mark, and as is true in all four Gospels, those who come to Christ from seats of power or hoping for glory are rebuked; those who come to Christ with weakness and seeking help are embraced.
It’s human nature to seek the security of power; it’s human nature to seek to be raised above others. These are human responses to fear, and to our deepest needs, and to our selfish, pleasure-seeking side. That is the “friendship with the world” as James describes it. In the Kingdom of God, as Jesus describes it, plentitude and abundance raise up the needy, whereas the powerful and mighty are weighted down by their very earthly eminence and wealth.
The Reformer Martin Luther gives us a way to wrap our heads around these two responses, either following our attraction to the world’s might, or following our call to serve and give. He called the first way of thinking “the theology of glory,” the idea that God works through things that are powerful, and that God’s favor rests especially on those who hold power and wealth.
This is opposed to “the theology of the cross,” which is the idea that God works through weakness, is present with those who suffer, and blesses those who give everything they have for others, because Christ gave his all — his life — for us. God, in God’s might, meets us where we are most needy: in the poor, the hungry, but also each of us in our woundedness, our blindness to God’s truth, our sinfulness. For all their foibles, Jesus never abandons or gives up on the disciples, nor does God ever abandon us.
Jesus looks ahead to what his Disciples have heard but do not yet believe — the cross and the empty tomb. Those of us living on this side of the resurrection know that Jesus is preparing them for a world-changing ministry, one we have inherited.
Let’s turn to the biggest celebration scene in Mark for an example of the theology of glory. A mob has entered Jerusalem. Or is it a parade? Through the crowd, there’s a man riding a horse, and the crowd is chanting “Hosanna.” Some people in the crowd are waving leafy branches. Others are taking off their coats and laying them in the path of his horse, cheering as he rides along. The man is the famous — even infamous — Jesus of Nazareth. He is a healer, a prophet, an emissary of God. Today, the crowds chant that he is also a king. The people cheering for him know that he has come to usher in a new kingdom of God on earth, but they wrongly believe he will do this with a show of power, by reclaiming the cultural and political state of Israel from its Roman occupiers.
Jesus knows that he is riding toward the Cross, and later, when the crowds see that he has given up their hopes of earthly power, and crowds see that instead suffering is in store for Jesus, their opinion turns against him, to the point that they call for his crucifixion in Mark chapter 15. The Easter Passion is the ultimate tale of worldly expectations turned upside down, and the most basic human reaction to powerlessness and the suffering of others.
Christ’s Passion reveals the Kingdom of God that Jesus builds in Mark, a place where the reversal of the world’s values is the norm. The disciples are guilty of seeking in Jesus a theology of glory, to join in his power. Instead, as Jesus tells them, they will drink the same cup as him.
Mixed in this cup is suffering, and also resurrection; in it is reflected the cross, and also the empty tomb. When Jesus tells them that they will drink from the same cup, he is inviting them into a ministry beyond their understanding.
We are invited into that same ministry, and today’s Gospel lesson is a return to the basics, Christianity 101, “port” and “starboard.” Jesus meets us where we are often least likely to expect him, among suffering, and he does not neglect us when we suffer.
Our sinful, human nature tempts us to look for Jesus among the powerful, or to ask God to work on our behalf through God’s power. What motivates us to do so? Could it be that, like Jesus’ followers before the resurrection, we fear the mystery of what may be next?
Dear people of St. Stephen’s, with Christ’s help, let’s stick the basics. As with the Disciples, Jesus asks a lot of us — our very lives.
In drinking from the same cup as Jesus, we no longer need to fear suffering or death. In suffering, Jesus is by our side. Drinking from the same cup, we come to see that when he wants more from us, Jesus’ love pours out in an abundance we never thought possible, and where before we felt want, we see that everything we have is a gift of God.
Thanks be to God.