Following Him Along the Way

Mark 10:46-52

October 27, 2024

 

            Back in December of 2010, I had to have surgery on my left foot. After my surgery I had to keep weight off the foot, so I used crutches and wore a non-walking boot for at least a month, maybe a little longer. This wasn’t too much trouble if all I had to do was stay home, but you can’t stay home all the time. I had children and I had a home and a job. I had things to do. One of those things was having to shop sometimes. I needed groceries, but because I was on crutches, I couldn’t just walk around the grocery store hopping behind a basket. The only store that had motorized carts in the town where we lived was Walmart, so that’s where I went.

            I had never used a motorized cart before, so I though I might have a little trouble maneuvering it around the store. I was worried that I might accidentally hit something or someone as I was trying to make my way through the aisles. But the cart was easy to drive, so my worries didn’t pan out. What I didn’t expect was that the minute I sat down in that cart I was rendered invisible. And this wasn’t the kind of invisible that’s considered a superpower either. I didn’t run into folks; they ran into me. I didn’t get in people’s way; they blocked mine. When people would bother to look at me, I would often get dirty looks as though I was just some lazy woman who didn’t want to bother with walking. Then they would notice my crutches and I would become invisible again.

Not everyone in the store that day was rude or dismissive. But I was shocked at how many people just didn’t see me at all, or if they did, looked at me with disdain or dismissal. This was a perspective I had never had before, and because of it I got a glimpse as to how much persistence and perseverance is needed just to survive a trip to the grocery store if you have a disability or special need.

            And if it takes persistence and perseverance to live with a special need in our time and context, with as much as we have in the way of accessibility and assistance, think about how hard it would have been for a person with a disability or special need, say blindness, in the time that Jesus walked and lived on this earth.              

            Throughout this chapter in Mark, really throughout the entire gospel until this point, we have been reading about those who cannot see Jesus for who he really is. He has been telling his disciples, his closest followers who have agreed that he is the Son of God, exactly what would happen to him, exactly what he would endure, that he would die, and that he would be raised up again. Yet in response, Jesus has been rebuked and misunderstood. The disciples have argued about who was the greatest among them, they have been upset that someone else not in their group was casting out demons in Jesus’ name. They have tried to keep children away from him. And two of them have asked for special seats next to Jesus when he comes into his power. None of the disciples have a physical issue with sight, but none of them can truly see Jesus either.

            Now we come to what is considered the end of the first part of Mark’s gospel, and we meet a man who cannot physically see, a man who cannot support himself except by begging. Yet this man, who has no physical sight, has insight that those seeing people around him do not have. He sees Jesus. His limitation of sight does not keep him from knowing Jesus, from recognizing Jesus.

            Jesus is moving inexorably toward the cross. Immediately after this story, Jesus will make his “triumphal entry” into Jerusalem. But before he moves into the city, before he enters Jerusalem on the back of a colt, and the people lay palm branches and cloaks on the road before him, Jesus and the disciples, and a large crowd of people following them, leave Jericho. Along that Jericho Road, there is a blind beggar named Bartimaeus or Bar-Timaeus, son of Timaeus. Mark states this twice, perhaps to make sure his readers understand what the man’s name means, but also perhaps to show that Bartimaeus would have been born into a household with some honor. Most of the time we don’t know the names of the people who Jesus heals, but this is an exception to that.

In that time, being blind would have meant a life sentence of poverty and begging for alms. Bartimaeus, Son of Timaeus, might have been born into a family with honor, but his physical limitation meant that he would not have been able to enter a profession or have his own family. His only method of support was to beg, so there he was on the roadside, waiting. When he heard that the person approaching him was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out, crying,

            “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

            Bartimaeus may have been blind, but he was not deaf. He must have heard the commotion of so many feet coming near. He must have heard the babble of voices, the whispers of wonder, the cries of expectation, the excited discussions about Jesus in their midst, and what would happen when he arrived in Jerusalem. Maybe Bartimaeus had heard rumors about Jesus. Perhaps he had heard about the wondrous things that Jesus was doing, healing, helping, teaching, feeding, and maybe, just maybe, Bartimaeus understood or perceived in a way that went far beyond physical senses, who Jesus truly was and is. Bartimaeus knew Jesus, without knowing Jesus. He saw Jesus, without seeing Jesus.

            So, when Jesus approached, Bartimaeus realized he needed to get this man’s attention. He began shouting.

            “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

            You would think that the people around Bartimaeus would have recognized what an opportunity this was for Timaeus’ son. Here is someone who could help Bartimaeus, heal Bartimaeus. Instead, they try to hush him.

            “Be quiet, Bartimaeus!” “Stop shouting, Bartimaeus!” “Don’t bother the teacher, Bartimaeus!” “Who are you to cry out to him, Bartimaeus?!”

But all their efforts to shush him, to quiet him, to stifle him, were futile, like trying to keep a toddler quiet in a concert. Their attempts to quiet him just made Bartimaeus more determined to be heard. Their shushing made Bartimaeus shout even louder.

“Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus heard. Through all the din, Jesus heard. He stopped walking and called Bartimaeus to him. Now that Bartimaeus had Jesus’ attention, all the folks who were trying to keep him quiet before suddenly changed their tune. Now they encouraged him to go to Jesus.

“Hush Bartimaeus. Oh no wait, he wants to see you. Go Bartimaeus, go!”

Bartimaeus did not just stand up, he sprang up. He jumped up from that dirt road, threw off his cloak, and went to Jesus.

Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”

This was the same question that he asked James and John when they came to him with their request. But whereas they asked Jesus for glory, for special rank and honor, Bartimaeus asked for the deepest need of his heart.

“My teacher, let me see again.”

Without touching him, without uttering a prayer or speaking words that would seem to bring forth healing, Jesus healed him. Jesus healed him, and said, “Go; your faith has made you well.”

And immediately, Bartimaeus, once forced to beg by the side of the road, regained his sight. He saw and he followed Jesus on the way.

What do you want me to do for you? I don’t think Jesus asked that question as a way of stating the obvious, or to be obtuse. Jesus was not going to presume what Bartimaeus’ deepest need was. Yes, Bartimaeus wanted to physically see again, but he also asked, cried out for, mercy.

This story has layers upon layers of meaning. Bartimaeus asked Jesus for mercy. His physical blindness did not keep him from seeing Jesus for who he really was. Bartimaeus believed in Jesus, had faith that Jesus was more than just this guy doing good things throughout the land. He believed even though he could not see. What a sharp contrast this makes to those who could see Jesus but could not seem to believe.

And let’s not underestimate how dramatic Bartimaeus’ response to Jesus was, throwing off his cloak and springing to his feet. That cloak was probably all that Bartimaeus had in this world. It would have given him warmth and some protection from the elements at night. He could sit on it by day and spread it out before him to collect the coins people gave him. And yet he willingly threw this one measure of protection off, threw it down, and left it by the side of the road to follow Jesus. Compare Bartimaeus’ actions to the wealthy man we met earlier. He owned far more than a cloak, but he could not give up even that to follow on the way.

Bartimaeus was healed of his physical blindness, but his ability to see, to understand, to perceive was already 20/20. Where others could see only with their eyes, Bartimaeus was able to see with his heart.

This story humbles me because I suspect that I am far more like the disciples who can and cannot see who Jesus is. I am far more like the wealthy man who walks away because he cannot let go of what keeps him from Jesus. I am far more like the people who tried to hush Bartimaeus, to quiet him, embarrassed and scandalized by someone who refuses to be silent out of desperate need.

This story humbles me because I find myself wishing to be more like Bartimaeus, even though by all accounts, I am far more privileged, powerful, well-off, then he ever had the opportunity to be. And I am not glamorizing poverty or disability. Bartimaeus was not more blessed because he was blind or because he was poor and forced to beg. Bartimaeus was blessed, healed, because he did not let any obstacle keep him from Jesus. He did not let his physical blindness blind his heart and mind. He did not let it hamper or hinder his faith.

But there is one way that I am like Bartimaeus, and that is I too cry out for mercy. Have mercy on me, Jesus, Son of David, because of all the things I think I need, mercy and grace are what I truly need. Show me grace, God, show me mercy, because I need it even though I know I’m not worthy of it. And then, help me to show others the same, to show others grace and mercy and love and compassion. Show me mercy, God, so that I may be merciful. Show me grace, so that I may be gracious. Isn’t that what the Reformers and the Reformation recognized and passed onto the next generations, including ours? It’s not about what we do or earn. It is about grace and our joyful response to Jesus’ call.

The good news is that Jesus did just that. He showed mercy. He showed grace. He embodied God’s grace, mercy, and love. And through that grace and forgiveness, he sees in us what we cannot see in ourselves. He sees who we were created to be. Jesus sees us in the same way Bartimaeus saw him, through the lens of abiding love. May our response be to spring up with joy and follow him on the way. Thanks be to God.  

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

The Cup He Drinks

Mark 10:35-45

October 20, 2024

 

A British television show that I absolutely love is The Vicar of Dibley. This is a British sitcom from the 1990’s about the first woman vicar to serve the small and slightly insane English village of Dibley. In the episode that I’m thinking of, Geri Granger, the vicar, has a sudden rise to fame. Her rise begins when she is asked to fill in as the last minute guest on a radio show. She accepts the invitation because she wants to talk about the importance of getting a nursery school started in the village; a worthwhile and important project which hopefully media attention will help make happen. But her performance on the show is hilarious, and she gets the attention, not the nursery. Geraldine is funny and wacky, much as she is every day, but this time a much larger group of people hear her. From that first appearance she’s asked to appear on all sorts of shows. 

Originally Geri promised herself and the church council that her media career would be temporary, again just a way to get the cause of the nursery school out to the public. She knows that her place is with her church, not as the BBC’s newest rising star. But the fame and the attention go to her head. It all culminates in an interview being done about her in one of the papers. Geri tells the members of the council that a reporter will be coming to the village to interview them about her. But it backfires. The story about the vicar gets forgotten and it instead becomes a profile on the other characters in the show. They are insulted, humiliated and just plain ridiculed. 

It’s horrible and embarrassing for the vicar and everyone else, and the rest of the episode is devoted to her willingness to make a public fool out of herself as an apology. The vicar has a shot at personal glory, and it doesn’t work out so well. To be fair, Geri did not go seeking glory, it came to her. But once she gets a taste of that fame, that glory, she can’t let go. 

In our passage from Mark’s gospel, James and John, the sons of Zebedee whom we first meet when Jesus calls them to be his first disciples, go to Jesus seeking glory through an intimate, but exclusive relationship with Jesus. One commentator describes the way they make their request of Jesus as being like a child to a parent.

“Dad I want you to do something for me.” And Jesus, like any good parent responds with, “Tell me what is first.” 

“’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?’” 

Their request was that they be allowed to sit at his right hand and his left when he is in his glory. There’s a sense of kingship and royalty to their request isn’t there? You get the image in your head of a king on this throne, with his two most treasured and important advisors on either side of him. I suspect that’s how James and John viewed Jesus’ glory – a great kingship. And maybe this view of his kingship would be understandable if Jesus had not spent so much time telling James, John, and the other ten disciples that he was not the messiah they thought they wanted. For Jesus, to be the messiah meant pain and suffering and death, then resurrection.

Now if James and John had never heard any of this before, we could perhaps understand why they go to Jesus with their request. But the truth is, they’ve heard these words from Jesus three times. The third passion prediction happens in the verses immediately preceding these. Jesus once again pulls the disciples aside and tells them what is going to happen to him. What’s more, the larger context of our passage is that they are on their way to Jerusalem. Jesus has his face set toward the great city, meaning he knows what will happen to him when he gets there. This makes their request even more audacious and in our modern parlance, tone deaf.

It seems that Jesus could plainly tell these disciples a hundred times what is about to happen to him, what must happen to him, and they still would not get it. They still misunderstand him, and their misunderstanding seems willful at this point. I don’t care what Jesus says about his death and resurrection, I am just going to refuse to understand him.

But Jesus’ response to James and John does not read like a rebuke. Instead, I hear compassion in what he says to these two misguided disciples.

“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?”

James and John reply with a resolute, “We are able.” 

Jesus replies in the affirmative. Then you will drink this cup, and you will be baptized with this baptism. But I can’t tell you who will sit at my right or my left. That’s not my privilege to grant. “It is for those for whom it has been prepared.”

I think that Jesus is reminding them that this privilege they seek may only be granted by God alone.

When the other ten hear about James and John’s request, they get angry. Clearly they were offended that James and John would go grabbing for glory and leave them out of it. What if James and John get the glory and they don’t?! How dare they try to push to the head of the pack and leave the rest of them hanging in the wind, on the outside rather than on the inside?!

Jesus then pulls them all aside, one more time, and tells them that the cup they think they’ll drink is power and glory and status and rank. But that is the cup the Gentiles drink, and among the Gentiles, there are tyrants and rulers that hold all the power, and those tyrants and rulers lord it over their subjects. But that’s not true for the disciples. If one of them wants to be great, then they must become a servant to everyone. If they want to be first, they must become a slave. The Son of Man came to serve, not be served. The Son of Man came to give his life as a ransom for many.

One commentator at WorkingPreacher.org said that folks get so caught up in this last line in verse 45 that the rest of the story tends to get glossed over. It’s a powerful image, indeed, to think of Jesus giving his life as a ransom for ours; to understand that if we read this literally, Jesus buys back our lives with his own. 

But what about that whole grasp for glory party at the beginning? How does that relate to us? How does that raise conflict and tension in our understanding of what it means to be disciples versus what it means to be successful? 

I realize it may be a stretch to make glory and success synonyms, but I think in this case it fits. The disciples, especially as Mark portrays them, had to battle their cultural understanding of the way things should be in contrast with the way Jesus said they were. A messiah was supposed to be strong, invincible, a warrior, someone who would come and whoop the oppressors. Following that, the messiah meant greatness and it meant glory. It meant power. Being the messiah should bring about praise and accolades. The messiah should receive nothing but adoration, flattery, and subservience. But Jesus turns all these cultural assumptions on their head. 

The Messiah has come to die. In his weakness, there will be strength. In his death there will be life. He did not come to lead a great uprising or a bloody revolt. His revolution comes in the form of love, and that love will turn the world upside down. Jesus has come to make the love of God and the kingdom of God visible. But guess what? That happens through suffering, through serving, through humility, through death. 

And that whole bit about glory and greatness that the disciples seek? You want to truly be great? You want true glory? Truly being great means being a servant, a slave. You want to be first? Then you must be last. 

None of this is easy for the disciples to hear. And no matter how many times Jesus told them the truth about being the messiah, that truth seemed incomprehensible, and impossible to live out and live into. But let’s be honest, even though our cultural contexts may be different, living out the truth of the gospel is no easier for us. We are bombarded with the message that success and greatness comes from being stronger and tougher and even more ruthless than everybody else. We are inundated with the idea that those who are famous, who are celebrities, who are power brokers and power influencers are the ones who are supposed to be on top, and not the other way around.  

In our culture, much like the culture that Jesus and the disciples lived in, our understanding of what it means to be successful is about winning and winning and winning some more. Glory equates to fame and fortune and power. Glory is something to strive for.

But when James and John come to Jesus seeking glory, Jesus tells them once again that they misunderstand what glory is and from where true glory comes. Gory is found not in fame or fortune. Glory is not found in power. Glory is found in the cup that he drinks. That cup holds the suffering and sorrow of the world. That cup holds the ignominy of a criminal’s death. The cup that Jesus drinks is the cup of death, but it is also the cup of life. James and John and the other disciples will eventually drink from that cup. And they will be baptized with the same baptism. But in this moment they don’t fully understand what it means. Maybe they just don’t want to understand. But one day they will.

One day they will understand that drinking from the same cup as Jesus means a life turned upside down. It means taking a place at the end of the line, going last so others can go first. It means serving others, not the other way around. It means being willing to suffer and die. But it also means that death does not have the final word. The cup that Jesus drinks is the cup of life, new life, full life, true life. The cup that Jesus drinks is the cup of the gospel, the cup of good news. Are we willing to drink from it too?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

  

All Things Are Possible

Mark 10:17-31

October 13, 2024

 

            Our family loves Disney Pixar movies, and Brent and I especially love the Inside Out movies. When Inside Out 2 premiered in theatres a few months ago, we made sure to go see it on the big screen. And in preparation for that event, we rewatched the first Inside Out to refamiliarize ourselves with the important details of the first movie and be eager and ready to enjoy the sequel.  

            If you are not familiar with these movies, I’ll give you a brief overview. They both center around a young girl named Riley. In the first movie, Riley is 11 and she and her parents leave their longtime home in Minnesota to move to San Francisco. Riley suddenly must cope with homesickness and the sadness and longing for what is left behind that comes with it. In the first movie we meet Riley’s core emotions which live in Riley’s headquarters – or better known as her brain. The core emotions are Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Joy is the leader of the emotions, and much of the movie is spent in Joy learning the lesson that Riley needs to be able to feel all her emotions to deal with the changes that life brings. Joy believed that if Sadness was present, then she had failed Riley. But Sadness needed to be there too..

            In the second movie, Riley is now 13. She has adjusted to life in San Francisco. She has friends. She is once again playing on an ice hockey team, which she loves more than ever. Things seem to be going great until one night puberty arrives. And if you remember when puberty arrived in your own life, you can imagine the shock that came with it. The headquarters are suddenly updated for the new emotions that puberty brings, but the original core emotions don’t understand what is happening. The new emotions are Envy, Ennui, Embarrassment, and most importantly, Anxiety.

            Anxiety shows up, literally carrying her emotional baggage, and asks where she can put her stuff. She introduces herself to Joy in this way, and this is my paraphrase.

            Look, Joy, you help Riley feel happy. Fear protects her from the scary stuff she can see. But I protect her from the scary stuff she can’t see. I plan for the future.

            As the movie progresses, Anxiety takes control of headquarters, leading Riley to make some bad decisions and ultimately experience a full-blown panic attack. Anxiety planned for the future so completely that she messed up the present.

            I plan for the future. If there was ever a simple way to describe anxiety, that’s it. We all have some anxiety to some degree. You can’t live and not experience it. But severe anxiety can become debilitating. Not only are you worrying about things that may be happening in your life right now, but you also spend a lot of time worrying about the future, worrying about the things you can’t see but can imagine that might be there.

            I know that this passage from scripture and a Pixar movie aren’t necessarily relevant to one another, but when it comes to anxiety I see it full-blown in this passage. It’s hard not to imagine that the man who kneels before Jesus is experiencing anxiety. I’ve always wondered about that. Clearly, he is anxious about something. Clearly, he is searching for something or someone. He must be worrying about what will happen when he dies, which is why he asks this question of Jesus. He wants eternal life, but he isn’t sure that will happen. So, when he sees Jesus he runs up to him, kneels before him, and asks,

            “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

            Jesus responds with some questions of his own.

            “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.”

            Then Jesus goes on to ask him about the commandments. You know them, right. You know what they are. And the man responds that yes, he does know them. And he has been following them faithfully since he was a boy. At this point, you would expect Jesus to respond with words of comfort. As in, well, if you’ve been following them your whole life, then you’re fine. You’ve got this. Stop worrying. Stop feeling so anxious. It’s all good.

            But that’s not Jesus’ answer. Instead Jesus says,

            “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

            It’s obvious that this is NOT what the man wanted to hear. Sell everything I own? Give the money to the poor? Follow you? No, sorry Jesus. I can’t do that. And he walks away from Jesus, grieving. The reason that we often refer to this man as the rich young man or the rich young ruler is because Mark describes him as someone who has many possessions. He must be very rich. And his response to Jesus shows that he is not ready to part with his possessions or his wealth.

            Commentators have pointed out that this was probably not the best way for Jesus to recruit a new follower. It would have made more sense – at least to those gathered around Jesus and to us – if Jesus had just encouraged the man to give a hefty donation to a charity, put his possessions in the safekeeping of a trusted friend, and then follow him. Ease him into it. You don’t have to give up everything right away. Just a little at a time. But that wouldn’t have been Jesus, and that is not what happened.

            But there is a detail in Mark’s gospel to which we need to pay attention. Mark is usually sparse on details, so when he has one that the other gospels leave out, it’s especially important to note it.

            When Jesus speaks this shocking and upsetting response to the man, he speaks it with love. Verse 21, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him …”

            Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and then he said, you lack one thing. With all that the man owned, he was still lacking, and Jesus could see it, even if the young man could not. Jesus loved him, and because he loved him, he didn’t sugarcoat that truth that the man needed to hear. In that context, and in ours, wealth was seen as a blessing from God. Surely this man was blessed because he was wealthy. He must have lacked for nothing. But Jesus saw something that others could not. Instead of being a blessing, the man’s wealth may have been the one thing that got in his way when it came to God. Yes, the man had followed the commandments to the letter since he was a boy. Yes, the man lived the life he was expected to live. But this man was still anxious. This man was still lying awake at night worried about the future. This man was still missing something, and when he saw Jesus, his intuition must have told him that this wandering Rabbi would have the answers he sought so earnestly, so desperately.

            And Jesus loved him. And his love for him meant telling him the truth. Jesus’ love for this man was a love that was, as one commentator wrote, incisive. It cut out what harmed so that the healing could begin. But this man could not hear this – at least not in this moment. And my question is, could we? Could we bear to hear Jesus tell us to give up the one thing that means the most to us? Could we bear to hear Jesus proclaim to us that the one thing we consider to be a blessing to us is really what gets in our way in following him, in being in relationship with him, in being in a deep and abiding relationship with God? I don’t think I could. Maybe you couldn’t either.

            In past sermons on this passage, I’ve tried to manage these words of Jesus. Look, Jesus meant what he said about selling everything, giving the money to the poor, and following him, but we do the best that we can. It’s not possible for us to live up to this standard, but we should always try. And while I meant that and I mean it still, it seems to me that there may be no good way to manage these words of Jesus.

            I find it interesting that people who take the bible literally when it comes to other passages seem to stop it taking it so literally when Jesus says something like this. Well, that’s probably not what he really meant. I’m sure this is another example of Jesus speaking in hyperbole. He’s exaggerating to make a point. He’s exaggerating to get through to this guy.

But what if Jesus meant exactly what he said? What if Jesus understood that this man’s real anxiety came down to what he owned rather than what awaited him in the life after life? What if Jesus wanted him and us to understand that letting our anxiety plan for the future is the antithesis of trusting God?

            Look, here’s the thing, I’m not going to leave here today and sell all that I own and give the money to the poor. I’m not. And I suspect that y’all won’t either. But I am going to leave here thinking about this passage and with these words of Jesus resounding in my heart, my muscles, my bones. And I’m going to have to live into the tension and the dissonance between what Jesus calls us to do and who Jesus calls us to be and my actual response.

            But I’m also going to leave here with hope, in spite of myself, because we don’t know the end of the story. We don’t know the end of this man’s story, do we? Maybe he couldn’t do what Jesus asked him to do that day, but maybe on another day he did. Maybe he joined that band of disciples. Maybe he stood at the foot of the cross. Maybe he waited in an upper room. Maybe I will too. We know that what we cannot do, God can. We cannot be good enough, right enough, faithful enough to earn .. anything. It is impossible for us. But for God, all things are possible, and that is the good news. That is our hope. That is our grace. That is our salvation.

Thanks. Be. To. God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

           

           

Hardness of Heart -- World Communion Sunday

Mark 10:2-16

October 6, 2024

 

            I sat there feeling terrible and hopeless. Shame and guilt washed over me in relentless waves. The topic of our conversation at this meeting had shifted, and one person dominated the discussion. What is wrong in our society, he declared, is that our kids are coming out of broken homes. Homes with single moms, he said, and no fathers in sight. It is these broken homes, these homes led only by mothers, these broken families that are at the root of our crumbling culture.

            This was about 12 years ago in a ministerial association meeting that I was hosting in the church I served. The person who was talking was another minister in the community, and although I didn’t know it at the time, he was divorced and remarried at least twice. What I did know was that I was newly separated. I had become that single mother and apparently my kids were doomed because of their broken home.

            As this minister continued to talk and talk and talk, I just got quieter and quieter. I didn’t know where to look. Catching the eye of another colleague was out of the question. I didn’t want to look at them. I was too ashamed. I just bowed my head toward my hands, closed my eyes, and prayed that this rant would soon be over. I prayed that he would either run out of steam or that another minister would interrupt him. I don’t remember now how it all ended; I just know that it finally did. I held it together until everyone left, then I sat and cried.

            I suspect that this other minister was not intentionally trying to shame me. I would like to believe that had he known my situation, he would have shown some sensitivity, perhaps a modicum of compassion. But even if he had done that, I doubt that my shame and guilt would have been abated. Even if he would have said nothing at all, my interior monologue was on a roll. I didn’t need to hear a sermon about the evils of divorce. I was preaching that sermon to myself on a regular basis.

            Hearing this passage from Mark’s gospel, at least the beginning verses of our passage, may bring out those kinds of sermons in our heads; sermons that condemn and judge and denounce. How often have I heard from people going through a divorce that they stop coming to church because they feel as though they aren’t good enough to be there. They feel the shame and the sting of these words from Mark’s gospel. And at first glance, it seems that this passage is designed for just that purpose, to make sure that people who are divorced understand what terrible people they truly are. But there is more going on in this passage than I think we can understand at first glance.

Jesus was on the move once more. He has traveled into the region of Judea and beyond the Jordan. As always, crowds were flocking to him, and he continued to teach and preach them. Into this crowd, some Pharisees came to test Jesus. This might be a clue to us that this passage is not just another way to condemn those who have failed in their marriages. The Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, and we know that whenever Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, there was more at stake than at what first meets the eye. Testing was another way to trap Jesus, and the Pharisees hoped to catch Jesus in a trap of the legal kind.

            But Jesus refused to be trapped or tricked. The Pharisees asked Jesus a question about divorce, which was a legal issue, and Jesus turned the law back on them. They asked him,

            “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

            Jesus responded, “What did Moses command you?”

            “They said, ‘Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal to divorce her.’ But Jesus said to them, ‘Because of your hardness of heart, he wrote this commandment for you.’”

            Because of your hardness of heart. It wasn’t that Jesus didn’t take divorce seriously, or marriage seriously for that matter. Jesus quoted from Genesis to show the divine intent behind marriage. But he was pushing them, challenging them to see something bigger.

            Although the Pharisees asked about the lawfulness of divorce, the legality of it was not really in question. True, divorce was not to be sought out, but it was assumed that it would sometimes happen. It was perfectly legal for a husband to divorce his wife. All that was required was that he write a certificate of divorce. As I understand it, that was basically the husband writing down, “I divorce you.” And what we know as prenuptial agreements weren’t unheard of then either. Marriage didn’t have to be about love. It was essentially a contract between two families. There were clauses provided for separation of property, etc., in the original contract.

            But Jesus wasn’t interested in countering the Pharisees with more legalism. Jesus wanted them to see that in this and in so many other ways, the Pharisees and many others suffered from hardness of heart. People were stubborn and persisted in knowing the ways that a relationship could be broken. But that wasn’t what God intended. What God intended was for people to be in relationship, to support one another in relationship. That divorce was allowed was Moses’ way of acknowledging that we are mulish, hardheaded and hard hearted human beings who struggle with being in relationship, and too often we are about broken relationships. I think that Jesus understood that marriage was more than just contractual. It was a promise. In this encounter with some Pharisees, he challenged them to think beyond Moses to Genesis, and the intention for marriage stated there. God intended for us to be in relationship.

A divorce was and is a breaking of relationship, and that breaking of relationship left the most vulnerable in that society even more vulnerable. Women had no status or power outside of their husbands. To be divorced or to be widowed was to lose the protection of a man. To be divorced increased women and children’s vulnerability exponentially.

            Divorce was a breaking of relationship that caused harm, real physical harm to those who were left in its wake. That is still true of divorce today. Maybe this seems like a verification of what that minister said so many years ago; that all of society’s troubles stem from broken families with only the mother at the head. But here’s the thing: divorce happens. And it hurts. And it can cause harm. But brokenness and broken relationships are not limited to divorce and divorce alone. We are all damaged by the struggles of life. To live is to eventually be broken. To live is to eventually experience broken relationship and broken hearts. You do not have to be divorced to understand or know that.

            But Jesus wanted the Pharisees and those who would hear to understand that it is our hardness of hearts that gets us in trouble every time. And just after this encounter with the Pharisees, we see the disciples showing their lack of understanding and their hardness of hearts as well. People were bringing their little children to Jesus to touch them and to bless them. But the disciples were trying to prevent them. They were scolding the parents for bothering the Rabbi with requests for him to bless children. But when Jesus saw this, he became indignant! He was indignant with the disciples for stopping them and made sure they heard – again – that the kingdom of God belonged to little ones, and that we all better be more like these little ones if we want to be welcomed into said kingdom.

            But I also wonder if Jesus wasn’t indignant with the disciples because they still didn’t get it. This isn’t the first time Jesus has welcomed a child and told the disciples that children matter. This isn’t the first time that Jesus tried to impart to the disciples that the vulnerable matter to God. But still the disciples tried to keep the parents and the children away from Jesus. They still thought their job was to be gatekeepers, deciders of who was in and who was out. But Jesus wasn’t having it. He wasn’t having any of it.

            The Pharisees wanted to trick and test him with a question about the legal ways relationships can be broken, and the disciples wanted to make sure they controlled the guest list, the who’s who of the in crowd. And it seems to me that it all comes back to the hardness of their hearts. Jesus wasn’t having any of it.

            We all are guilty, in one way or another, of this same kind of hardness of heart. Our relationships break. We think we know who should be in and who should be out. We approach life as though there are always going to be winners and losers, but I think that Jesus wanted us to understand that when it comes to God and when it comes to the realm of God, none of those dynamics work. We need to consider the ways our hearts are hardened. We need to remember that the vulnerable and the least and the last will be the first to be welcomed.

            Look, I can’t stand up here today and condemn or shame anyone for being divorced. I know the sadness of divorce personally. The particular kind of broken relationship that is divorce is hard and painful and comes at a terrible cost. Jesus didn’t pull any punches when it came to talking about it. His words are hard, and we must wrestle with them. But I also fiercely believe that God’s love is bigger and wider and deeper and higher than our brokenness. No matter how broken we are, no matter how hard our hearts become, God loves us and wants to be in relationship with us. Love and relationship are the foundation and heart of creation.

            It is interesting that this passage comes up in the lectionary on this specific Sunday,  World Communion Sunday. When we approach this table, we are welcomed with love and called to love one another. We are called to come to this table forgiving those who have harmed us and asking for forgiveness for those we have harmed. We are called to and welcomed at this table, not because we are perfect but because we are broken. And how powerful and wonderful it is to know that all around the world God’s children, broken as we are, are gathering at tables like ours. If we could just see each other through the welcome and the forgiveness that this table embodies, if we could see one another with the love that we remember and celebrate at this table, I think our broken relationships might be mended, and there would be no such thing as insiders and outsiders, and our hearts, our hard and struggling hearts might be softened if only just a little bit. But that little bit might make all the difference. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

Whoever Is for Us

Mark 9:38-50

September 29, 2024

 

            A dear friend of mine, and a retired kindergarten teacher, told me about a lesson she used to teach to her students at the beginning of each school year. Most of the students came to kindergarten with an intuitive understanding of a tattletale. They knew, maybe without ever being told, that they didn’t want to be a tattletale. Tattletales were not cool, and tattletales were not tolerated by the greater student population. But there may be times when someone needs to tell a teacher something about another a student, so when is that acceptable and when isn’t it?

            To answer this question, my friend taught her students the difference between a tattletale and a reporter. If little Fern sees little Wilbur (I’m using character names from Charlotte’s Web in case you’re wondering) climb to the top of the swings in order to jump off, Fern should definitely report this to a teacher or another adult. What Wilbur is doing is dangerous. He could really hurt himself and he should be stopped. But if Fern sees Wilbur and Charlotte playing together and she doesn’t like that because she wants to play with Charlotte, and she goes to a teacher to complain that’s tattling. Wilbur and Charlotte aren’t doing anything wrong, so Fern has no good reason to tell. It’s just that Fern feels left out and bad, so she tries to get the others in trouble. That’s tattling. My teacher friend wanted her kindergartners to know that it was okay to be a reporter, but not a tattletale.

            When it comes to our passage from Mark’s gospel, do you think John and the other disciples are being reporters or are they being tattletales? Do you think they are afraid of the harm that this unknown unnamed disciple might cause, or do you wonder if John and the disciples are perhaps a little threatened by this unknown dude doing what they are supposed to be doing? I suspect it’s the latter.

            Instead of rejoicing when they see this unknown person casting out demons in the name of Jesus, in other words helping and healing people, they try to stop him. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t with them. He wasn’t following them. He was just some upstart who thought he could do what only they were called to do, but he wasn’t exorcising a demon like they would exorcise a demon, and he wasn’t saying the words that they would say. He wasn’t one of them, but he was doing this work in Jesus’ name anyway. How dare he?!

            A commentator I read wrote that when he was in early elementary school, the little boy who sat behind him would watch over his shoulder when they were coloring. The minute the commentator drew outside the lines, crossed that boundary, the other little boy would raise his hand and tell the teacher. That’s what this story feels like. This unknown follower of Jesus was coloring outside of a boundary that only the disciples thought they could see, and they made sure to tell Jesus about it.

            But to the disciples’ dismay, Jesus isn’t bothered by what this other guy is doing. Jesus doesn’t even call the disciples on their use of the word “us.” Did you notice that? They didn’t tell Jesus that this guy wasn’t following him, they said,

            “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

            He was not following us. Us. That’s a Freudian slip if ever I’ve seen one. But again, Jesus does not call them on this. Instead he turns the tables on them and their expectations once again by saying,

            “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.”

            Whoever is not against us is for us. I think Jesus wanted them to understand that when it came to proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom, following the worldly standards of us versus them wasn’t going to cut it. This was not about insiders and outsiders. This was about proclaiming God’s good news to a world that was starving.

            This could be just one more instance in which the disciples didn’t get it. They didn’t understand what Jesus was telling them. They didn’t want to understand or know or believe the words he spoke about suffering and death. But Jesus knew that he was running out of time. At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus is heading toward Jerusalem. His face is set south toward that great city. Jesus knows that there is precious little time left, and he has to make the disciples and any who would hear him understand, if only a little, what it means for him to be the Messiah. And as this passage progresses, he also wants to make it clear what it means for them to follow.

            Following him not only means that they will be called to pick up their own cross and carry it, but that there are consequences for being stumbling blocks for others. There are consequences for being an obstacle to someone else’s faith.

            Jesus tells them that if any of them put a stumbling block in front of one of these little ones who believe in him, it would be better for them to have a great millstone put around their neck and thrown into the sea. In fact, if your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. It is better to enter life maimed than to go two-handed into hell. If your foot causes you to stumble, do the same to it. It is better to go into life lame than to skip along on two feet straight into hell. And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out. Better to meet your maker with one good eye, then to see clearly as you walk straight to hell.

            Now, interpreters and commentators have made the point again and again that Jesus is using hyperbolic language here. He is speaking in hyperbole to get his point across in no uncertain terms. Remember, he knows that his days are numbered. The disciples have to understand, they must understand, that it is no longer about us versus them. When it comes to the kingdom of God, they need to see that God is turning everything upside down. If this other unknown person has found the power in Jesus’ name to cast out demons, let him! That’s one more for the kingdom. That’s one more person who is beginning to see the world through God’s eyes. Alleluia! Amen!

            In the past I have preached on this passage as a stand-alone from the passages before and after it. But I think it is important to consider what happened immediately before the passage we read today. John tells Jesus about this other guy, this Johnny come lately, after they had been arguing about who was the greatest. He tells Jesus this news after Jesus commits the radical move of taking a little child into his arms and telling them that welcoming a powerless, vulnerable child is welcoming Jesus. A colleague in our lectionary group this week pointed out that Jesus was most likely still holding that child when he spoke these harsh words. Jesus was not just speaking of putting stumbling blocks in front of other guys who were doing his work, Jesus was talking about the child in his arms.

If you put an obstacle or a stumbling block in front of one of these little ones, you are putting an obstacle in front of me. This isn’t just about keeping the other guy out and you in. This is about opposing me in this world. It’s about hindering the progress of my good news in this world. Whenever you make it about us versus them, you’re really making it about us versus me.

This should give us pause. (long pause) Debie Thomas wrote that while Jesus’ words sound harsh and unforgiving, he wasn’t saying them to condemn the disciples. He was saying them because that is reality. This is what we do. Isn’t it? We draw lines. We create boundaries. We think that, in Thomas’s words, we should be God’s bouncers, keeping the riff raff out and the right ones in.

But Jesus wasn’t having it. Again and again, Jesus tried to make the disciples and anyone with ears to hear understand that God’s kingdom is wider and broader and bigger and more expansive than our minds, which lean toward the narrow, can imagine. Again, to borrow from Thomas, Jesus wants the disciples to stop trying to be his bouncers, and instead be his hosts. Make room and make welcome because whoever is not against us is for us. And whoever is for us is for me, for God, for the kingdom.

Trust me, I know how easy this is to say and how incredibly hard it is to do. I want boundaries. I want borders. But each time I think I know who should be in and who should be out, God says no and then God says yes. God says yes to people whose theology I think is suspect at best. God says yes to people who don’t look like me or think like me or worship like me. God says yes to them. And the good news is that God says to me too. God says yes to all of us when we stop being bouncers and start being hosts. God says yes when we recognize that we’re all trying to make our way to God, one way or another. Thanks be to God.

Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

The Greatest?

Mark 9:30-37

September 22, 2024

 

            The following are a toddler’s property rights.

1.  If I like it, it’s mine.

            2.  If it’s in my hand, it’s mine.

            3.  If I can take it from you, it’s mine.

            4.  If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.

            5.  If it’s mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

            6.  If I’m building something, all the pieces are mine.

            7.  If it looks like mine, it’s mine.

            8.  If I saw it first, it’s mine.

9.  If you are playing with something and put it down, it automatically becomes mine.

10.  If it’s broken, it’s yours. (Unless you find a good way to play with it, then, once again, it’s mine.)

My mother passed these onto me when my own children were toddlers, and I’ve never forgotten them – mainly because they’re true. I love children. I enjoy listening to them and learning from them and playing with them. This is not meant to disparage our children. However, if you have ever raised your own toddlers, taught toddlers, hung around toddlers, or even watched toddlers from a distance then you know the truth of these property rights too.

I share these property rights with you, because I want us going into this sermon and indeed into our passage from Mark’s gospel, with a realistic view of children in our minds. As theologian and essayist, Debie Thomas, wrote, it is easy to over-sentimentalize Jesus’ actions in this passage. So, if you are tempted to do that, remember these toddler property rights.

Jesus and his disciples are traveling alone through Galilee. Jesus did not want others with them, because he was once again teaching the disciples what it meant for him to be the Messiah. He will be betrayed into human hands. He will be killed and three days after he is killed, he will rise again. In the time elapsed since last week’s reading, three of the disciples have followed Jesus up a mountain and seen him transfigured. They entered that liminal space between this world and the next and got a glimpse of their rabbi in his full glory talking with Moses and Elijah. After they came back down the mountain, Jesus healed a boy with an unclean spirit, to the awe of the crowd gathered around them.

Now Jesus and the disciples are alone again. They are traveling, and as I said, Jesus is once again telling them plainly what will happen to him. The disciples don’t understand what he is telling them, but they are too afraid to admit it to him. I would guess that they were embarrassed because they know that Jesus has told them all this already, but they still don’t get it. They don’t or won’t understand what Jesus is talking about. I get their embarrassment. How many classes have I sat in, hoping and praying the teacher would not call on me, because I was too embarrassed and ashamed to admit that I didn’t understand the subject.

Maybe it was the disciples lack of understanding that precipitated the argument along the way. Perhaps they were trying to distract themselves, but as they are walking, they begin to argue about who among them was the greatest. Who among them would be the right hand man to their Teacher? Clearly, there has got to be a pecking order, that’s just how it works, so who would be on top of the heap and who would not?

When they arrived in Capernaum, and reached the house where they would be staying, Jesus asked them what they were discussing on the way. Before, they were too afraid and embarrassed to ask Jesus for help in understanding. Now, they are too afraid and embarrassed to be truthful about their argument. But Jesus already knew the content of their argument. He tells them,

“Whoever wants to be the first must be the last of all and servant of all.”

And this is when Jesus commits an unexpected and radical move. He picks up a little child who is there in the house with them. He pulls the child into his arms, and the verb in the Greek could imply that he hugs this little one, which would have been unexpected for a rabbi of his stature. Then he goes even further and says something completely unexpected. Jesus says something that I imagine the disciples nor anyone else anticipated hearing.  

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Now this is where I urge us not to sentimentalize Jesus’ actions. Again, I adore children. I adore toddlers, but remember those property rights? Jesus did not do this because the little one was sweet and cuddly, and he wanted the disciples to feel warm and fuzzy inside. Jesus did this because children were powerless. Children had no rights and no real status in that society. They were considered property of their fathers. It isn’t that children were not loved or cared for by their parents or their families. They were. But if you think that being the Messiah is about power, then your world is about to be turned upside down. Jesus said, if you welcome this little one, this one without power, this one without status, this one who is at the mercy of others, then you are welcoming me. And if you welcome me as this child, then you welcome the one who sent me.

To be the greatest in the kingdom of God, you must be last, you must be a servant, you must be like this child, powerless. And remember, this kingdom of God is not someplace up in the sky, and it is not waiting in another time, far into the future. The kingdom of God is here now, in your midst, in our midst. And in the kingdom of God, the world’s understanding of power and the greatest doesn’t work. It does not compute. The power of God is found in the powerless, in the least, in the last, in the lowly.

In the first seminar I took for my doctorate, my professor, Dr. Cowser, said that power is not a good or bad thing. Power itself is neutral. It’s how we use it or abuse it. We can use power to do good and amazing things. We can use our power to make life better and richer and sweeter for many people. Or we can fall into the trap of absolute power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. That’s not just an aphorism. It proves itself true in every generation. What is Jesus saying about his power in these verses from Mark? What is Jesus telling the disciples and any of us who want to be followers in our actions, as well as in our words, about what it means to be the greatest?

The power of God does not conform to the hierarchy of humans. The power of God is not found among those who are on top, but among those who are at the bottom. The power of God is in those the rest of us view as powerless. Jesus pulled a little child into his arms and said if you want to welcome me, then you must welcome this child, this lowly, this least, this powerless child.

            The disciples exposed their ambitions in this argument about who was the greatest. Jesus did not rebuke them for it, but with his words and his actions, he revealed their ambitions for what they were: selfish.

Selfish ambition. Aren’t those the same words James uses in his epistle? In fact he uses this particular phrase twice. In verse 14,

“But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth.”

And again in verse 16,

“For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.”

Is it wrong to have some ambition? I mean it is our ambition that drives us. Our ambitions push us to work harder, to strive for goals. We all have some degree of ambition, whether it is for our careers, our family, our children, or even our church. But it seems to me that the disciples embodied these words of James. They exhibited selfish ambition. They wanted to be the greatest, but they didn’t understand what that meant. They wanted to have power, but Jesus showed them what true power was.

The power of God does not conform to the hierarchy of humans. The power of God is not about selfish ambition. It is not about ambition to reach the top of the heap or the social structure or anything else. The power of God is about turning the world upside down. The power of God is found in serving others, not being served. Jesus lived out the power of God by letting go of life itself. He was and is truly the greatest, not because of the power he wielded but because of the power that came from his letting go.

Are we, his followers, willing to do the same?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

 

The Crosses We Carry

Mark 8:27-38

September 15, 2024

 

"I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine. Some people find God in church. Some people find God in nature. Some people find God in love; I find God in suffering. I've known for some time what my life's work is, using my hands as tools to relieve suffering."

Those words were written by Kayla Mueller. She was the young American woman killed several years ago while being held hostage by ISIS. This excerpt was from a letter she wrote to her family in 2011 while she was serving with an aid organization in India. The Huffington Post quoted this in an article after it was confirmed that she had been killed by airstrikes on the compound where she was being held.

“I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine.”

Those are profound words, and they reflect the deep faith of a young woman who I believe, and to quote her parents, lived more purposefully in her 26 years than most of us do in a much longer lifetime. As I read Kayla’s words again, I wonder if they might be linked to the question Jesus asked of his disciples on the road to Caesarea Philippi.

“Who do people say I am?”

Jesus asked while they were on the way to the villages of that region. The disciples immediately offered answers.

“Some folks are claiming you are John the Baptist.” “Other people are saying you’re Elijah or one of the prophets.”

I can imagine the disciples talking over each other, getting more and more excited as they share the different theories on Jesus’ identity that they were hearing in the neighborhoods and on the streets. As one commentator pointed out, Jesus didn’t try to stop them as they offer these opinions. He just listened. And when they were finally finished, Jesus didn’t correct them either. Instead, he asked them another, more pointed question.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Where are the disciples enthusiastic responses now? Before they were just sharing what others were saying. Now, they must answer the question for themselves. Who do they believe him to be?

If there was an awkward silence after Jesus asked this second question, Peter didn’t let it last long. He rushed in with his declaration,

“You are the Messiah.”

We don’t know if Jesus cried, “You got it, Peter!” But we do know that as soon as Peter said this, Jesus ordered the disciples not to tell anyone what Peter had just revealed. He ordered them sternly. He was unflinchingly serious. I am the Messiah, but don’t tell anyone. This is the Messianic secret that many generations of scholars have theorized and written about.

While there were probably many reasons why Jesus didn’t want the larger population to know his identity as the One sent from God, perhaps one of those reasons was that he knew full well how the title Messiah would be misinterpreted and misunderstood. Jesus understood that if people recognized him as the Messiah, they would expect a certain kind of action from him that was not going to happen. They would expect him to be someone that he was not. And when the people’s expectations met his reality, there would be confusion and anger. We know that this is exactly what does happen, but it was too soon for that truth to be revealed to the whole population. Jesus knew that. Jesus knew the time was not yet right, so he made them keep his truth a secret.

Yet, while the larger population could not yet be told about Jesus’ identity as the Messiah, these were his disciples. These were his closest followers. These twelve were the ones he called to follow him, and they had responded without hesitation. Now that Peter had declared his identity, the disciples must know the truth about what it really meant to be God’s Messiah.

So Jesus began to tell them, to teach them, that as the Messiah he would suffer.

“He would undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.”

However much Jesus wanted the disciples to keep his Messiah identity under wraps, he spoke to his disciples “quite openly” about his suffering and death. But this was all too much for Peter. Peter pulled Jesus aside and rebuked him.

I know that I have stated this when I’ve preached on this passage in the past, but rebuke is not a word to be taken lightly. Peter rebuked Jesus in the same way Jesus rebuked demons. Whatever Peter said to Jesus, and we can imagine several possibilities, his words must have been harsh and angry. I can almost hear Peter telling Jesus to knock this talk about suffering and dying off, stop saying these crazy things. Not only was Jesus scaring and confusing the disciples, but they were also in the heart of Roman territory. The villages of Caesarea Philippi were towns bearing the name of Caesar. What Jesus told them was scandalous, treasonous, terrifying, and dangerous; not only for him, but for his followers as well.

But even if what Jesus said wasn’t a potential threat to their well-being, it still made no sense. Jesus was teaching the disciples, proclaiming to them that as the Messiah he would suffer. God’s messenger would suffer. God’s Son would suffer. God would suffer! How could there be a suffering God? Wasn’t God supposed to end suffering? Wasn’t God supposed to be the balm, the antidote to suffering? Wasn’t God supposed to be above suffering, the torment and bane of human existence? But Jesus said that he would suffer, and that he would suffer greatly. This couldn’t be right. This could not be the way God planned to save them, through a suffering Son.

But that was what Jesus told them. The crux of being the Messiah was suffering. The cross was at the heart of the matter.

Jesus did not let it end there. He then told them that if they want to be his followers, they must deny themselves, pick up their own crosses and follow him. He would suffer for their sake and for the sake of the world; in turn they must be ready to suffer for him.

To deny themselves was not about giving up a beloved treat or pastime. I don’t believe it was about self-mortification or beating the flesh into submission either. Denying themselves was more about serving and following and following and serving even if it meant the sacrifice of their own lives. Perhaps they would lose out on some of the things of this world, but in following him they would gain so much more.

This sounds powerful in theory, but I suspect that picking up a cross and suffering as Jesus did was not a big selling point for discipleship. It wasn’t for the first disciples, and if we’re honest, the idea of suffering probably isn’t for us either. At the end of Mark – the actual end, not the shorter or longer versions that were added on later – Jesus suffered and died without followers. Jesus died without followers. They ran away afraid. God suffering and dying on a cross was a cross they were too afraid to bear.

Yet Jesus made it clear to the disciples and all those who would listen that following him meant not only in his footsteps but in his suffering. Perhaps the next question he should have asked them was the question Kayla Mueller answered. “Where do you see God?”

I’ve always understood Jesus’ words about picking up our crosses as representing the individual burdens that each of us must bear. As the hymn says, what trials and tribulations do we carry? Well, those are our crosses. But more and more I wonder if Jesus wasn’t speaking so much about personalized burdens but about the cross that leads to death so that others might live, the cross that we carry into the suffering of the world and not away from it.

Maybe that is what is at the heart of the matter. Maybe following Jesus requires us to look into the eyes of those who suffer in this world and see God. Maybe following Jesus requires that we look into the eyes of those suffering, see God in those people, and then respond; respond to them as Jesus responded to the suffering people he encountered every day. Maybe following Jesus calls us to see that what we say and do, and even more what we don’t, matters because we are all connected to one another, tied to one another. We are all in this together. The way I live, my actions, my choices,  affect other people, people that I know and people that I don’t. Maybe carrying our crosses means choosing to live differently, intentionally and mindfully – mindful of the ways we treat others, mindful of how our living impacts other people and creation. Maybe carrying our crosses means asking ourselves these questions, again and again and again.

Who do I, Amy, Brent, Charlotte, Kim, Beth, Bill, Brianna, Andrew, Barbara, Charlie, Cheryl, Pam, Jerry, Mellisa, Rick, etc. say that Jesus is? And where and in who do we see God? When we ask those questions and seek the answers, then we will know the crosses we are called to carry. Then we will pick up our crosses and follow Jesus, follow him to death and follow him to life. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.