Your Faith Has Made You Well

Mark 10:46-52

October 24, 2021

 

            Back in our seminary days, my friend Shannon told her husband, Tim – who we’ve been praying for – and me the funniest story about a horse named Cricket and her family. Shannon’s grandparents had a farm, and they were notified about a horse that had been rescued from an abusive situation and needed a home. I don’t know how big their farm was, but they decided to take on this horse. She was a sweet horse, but they soon decided that she wasn’t the sharpest filly in the stable. She chased the cows. She refused to cross the small creek that ran through their farm. She would just stop at the water and wouldn’t go any further. She had other quirks and idiosyncrasies, but the point is, they loved Cricket and they were good to Cricket, but they would not have placed bets on her winning an intelligence contest.

            One weekend, Shannon’s aunt came home from college, and she brought a friend with her. The friend noticed Cricket and asked about her. She wanted to know if she could ride her. Shannon’s aunt and the family said, “Sure.” But they warned her about Cricket’s quirkiness and the fact that they didn’t think she was the smartest of horses that God put on the earth.

            The friend was undaunted. She gently rode Cricket around a few minutes, and to the amazement of everyone watching, she got Cricket to perform. It turned out that at some point in her life, Cricket was trained in dressage. I know absolutely nothing about horses, and even less about dressage, but from what I’ve read dressage is when a horse is trained to perform what looks like almost choreographed movements. And Cricket was doing this. Under the skilled hand of this visitor, Cricket was doing something that she had been trained to do. Apparently, every jaw of every person in Shannon’s family dropped at the sight of this. None of them had been able to see this in Cricket. None of them, until this friend came and helped them to see.

            After telling this story, Tim looked at Shannon and said,

            “Shannon, it’s a good thing your family didn’t own Lassie. Can you just imagine? ‘Lassie, would you stop barking! We’re trying to find Timmie.”

            This is not to cast any aspersions on Shannon’s family. They loved Cricket and gave her a good home. But they could not see in her what this friend saw. This person who had just met the horse saw what was there, but the others did not have that same sight.

            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 Jesus. 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 are able to see Jesus for who he truly is.

            And now we come to the end of this chapter, and what is considered the end of the first part of Mark’s gospel, and we meet a man who cannot physically see, but he does see Jesus. His limitation of sight does not keep him from seeing Jesus, from knowing Jesus, from recognizing Jesus.

            At this point in the gospel, Jesus is moving inexorably toward the cross. Immediately after this story, Jesus makes 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. In that time, being blind would have meant a life sentence of poverty and begging for alms from others. Bartimaeus would not have been able to enter into a profession or have his own family, 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 a large number of people, and the sound 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 knew, understood, perceived in a way that went far beyond physical senses, who Jesus truly was and is. Bartimaeus knew Jesus, without actually knowing Jesus. He saw Jesus, without actually 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, Bartimaues!”

“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. They just 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. I suspect that all the folks who were trying to shush him, now encouraged him to go to Jesus.

“Hush Bartimaeus. Oh wait, he wants to see you. Go Bartimaeus!”

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?”

“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.

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. Perhaps making Bartimaeus speak his desire was a way of getting at the heart of the matter, at the heart of what Bartimaeus really desired. Yes, he wanted to see, physically again, but he also asked, cried out for, mercy.

When we think of a gospel that has layers upon layers of meaning, we often think of John’s gospel first. But think there are layers of meaning in this story as well. Bartimaeus asked Jesus for mercy. His physical blindness did not keep him from seeing Jesus for who he really was, truly 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 when Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, what a response to Jesus that was! We take it for granted, don’t we? I’ll admit, I hadn’t given much thought to that response before. But think about it: that cloak was probably all that Bartimaeus had in this world. And he willingly threw it 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 in 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 when someone refuses to be silent in the face of 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, he was 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, that is 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.

What is the good news of this story? Jesus did just that. He showed mercy, over and over again. He showed mercy. He lived grace and forgiveness. He still does. 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. Thanks be to God, that is good news indeed.  

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

Amen.

Wannabees

Mark 10:35-45

October 17, 2021

 

            A few years ago, Brent was downtown for work, and he ended up in a conversation with a visitor to Nashville. Brent asked the man how he had liked his visit to Music City. And the man replied that he had a great time, but he did not know how people could live in Nashville. He just couldn’t take the fun and partying every single night; it had worn him out. Brent, who is a native Nashvillian born to a native Nashvillian, knew that this guy had been doing all the touristy stuff Nashville has to offer. So, he smiled and said politely that most Nashvillians don’t do that every night. We work at jobs and go to school and raise our families and just get on with life. It’s not like most Nashvillians take their lunch break to go downtown, jump on a pedal tavern, and drink a few rounds before they go back to work. In fact, the quickest way to pick out the tourists in Nashville is to look for the people in cowboy hats. Unless you’re a country music artist, most Nashvillians don’t wear cowboy hats. If you come to Nashville and think you’ll fit in by wearing a cowboy hat, you’re more of a Nashville wannabee than a Nashvillian.

            But this kind of thing is true in a lot of places, probably most places. We have an idea of what something is like, but the reality is very different. The first time I went to New York City, I was both thrilled and nervous because I expected to be mugged at every corner. I mean that’s what happened in the police shows I watched. And I knew a woman who worked in Yellowstone National Park as a park ranger. One of her duties was to give tours, and she told me that the number one question she was asked by tourists over and over again was,

            “When do you let the animals out?”

            Ummm. This is a national park, not a circus. The animals live here. We’re just visitors. They came out when they want to. You’re not really into nature, are you? You’re more of a nature wannabee.

            This makes me wonder if the question that James and John asked of Jesus revealed that they were really disciple wannabees more than actual disciples. These sons of Zebedee, who we met first when Jesus called them to be his disciples, go to Jesus asking for glory. One commentator describes the way they make their request of Jesus as being like children to a parent, except these are supposed disciples making a request of their Rabbi.

            “’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 is 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 in 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. I also suspect that Jesus recognized this too, because he says 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?” 

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

So, Jesus says 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. And Jesus reminds them that the privilege is God’s alone. This would all sound, if not okay, perhaps understandable, if we just read this story by itself with no sense of what was happening all around it. But immediately before these verses, Jesus tells the disciples for the third time that they he will suffer, die, and rise again.

And they were on the road to Jerusalem. Whenever we read that Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem, we know that this is not merely a geographical destination. Jesus on the road to Jerusalem is Jesus on the road to the cross. Jesus knows that everything will come to a head once he reaches that city, so for the third time he pulls the disciples aside and tells them, point blank, I’m going to Jerusalem to die. I’m going to be handed over to the religious authorities. They’re going to condemn me to death. I’m going to be mocked, spit on, and I will die. But after three days I’ll rise again.

Jesus didn’t mince words because he did not have the time to do so. He did not try to soften the emotional impact of this truth. He just told them. And this is the third time that he has told them. And in response he has been rebuked by Peter, endured the disciples getting into an argument about who among them was the greatest, and now after telling them this third time, he is asked by James and John to promise them seats of glory next to him. I think this calls for a palm to the face. 

Because clearly the disciples do not get it. Do. Not. Get. It.  

When the other ten hear about James and John’s request, they get angry with them. But I don’t think it’s because the ten were upset that James and John remain clueless. I think it’s because they were offended that James and John would go grabbing for glory ahead of them. What about their glory? James and John had the audacity to ask the question before they got a chance to. My reason for believing this is because Jesus then pulls them all aside, one more time, and tells them that with Gentiles, or others, there are lords and tyrants that have the power. But that’s not true for them. 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 this literally is to believe that Jesus buys back our lives with his own. But when James and John ask their question of Jesus, they were not thinking about giving their lives as a ransom for many. I doubt they were thinking about giving their lives up for anything at all. Their question was about power and fame, and dare I say it, celebrity. They saw glory as something bright and shiny and worldly to be grasped. They saw Jesus as having worldly glory. To James and John, I think glory equaled with success and they were success wannabees. They wanted to be seated next to him in all that splendor. They wanted to be next to him in those seats of power. They were wannabees when it came to glory, and they were wannabees when it came to discipleship. And all I can say, is it’s a good thing we don’t fall into that same trap, amiright?   

But we do fall into that trap. I know I do. The disciples, especially as Mark portrays them, had to battle their cultural understanding of the way things should be in contrast to the way Jesus said they were.  A messiah was supposed to be strong, invincible, a warrior, someone who would come and, you should pardon the expression, kick the butt of the oppressors. Following that, messiah meant greatness and it meant glory. It should bring about accolades and victory. 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 dying, there will be life. In his sacrifice, there will be glory. Jesus did not come for military uprising or earthly victory, he came to make the love of God and the kingdom of God visible. But guess what? That happens through suffering, through serving, through compassion, through death. 

So Jesus tells James and John and the other ten, that if you truly want to be great, if you really want to sit with me in glory, then you must share with me in my baptism and drink from the cup I will drink. If you want to be first, you will have to be last. This was not easy for the disciples to hear.  It wasn’t easy for them to comprehend or to live. They wanted to be the disciples Jesus called them to be, but reality was very different from their expectations. And even though we know the rest of the story, it’s no easier for us. What James and John asked for, and what the all the disciples misunderstood comes from being very, very human. They wanted some acknowledgement for discipleship. They wanted some worldly glory, and so do we, so do I. It’s hard not to want some acknowledgment for discipleship, for trying to live lives that have purpose and meaning. Whatever criticism I may level at the disciples for just not getting it over and over again, the truth is I also want a little of what they asked for. I too am a wannabee when it comes to glory, which in turn makes me a wannabee when it comes to fulfilling true discipleship.

It’s not just that I hope to be rewarded in the sweet by and by for anything that I have done for Jesus, for anything that I have sacrificed, it’s that I wouldn’t mind a little glory, a little reward, a little success in the right now. It would be nice to have just a taste of glory, and it would be nice if Jesus would just give us all what we ask for.

Yet I think what Jesus want the disciples and us to understand is that the reward of discipleship doesn’t come at some point down the road, at some future, far off moment in time, the reward comes from doing now. The reward comes from serving now. The reward comes from giving more than receiving. Glory comes when we are finally and truly willing to share in his baptism and drink from his cup, no matter what the cost may be to ourselves. That’s when we are no longer wannabees but become true disciples. And that does not happen quickly or easily. It is a lifelong pursuit. But how wonderful it will be when we fully understand, when we fully embrace this truth: in turning the world upside down, Jesus made and is making everything and everyone all right. Thanks be to God.

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

Amen.

What Must I Do?

 Mark 10:17-31

October 10, 2021

 

            When I moved to Oklahoma in 2011– which is where I lived before I came home to Tennessee – I went ahead of my family, so I could get started in my position at the church and find a place for us to live. I stayed at the home of some of my new parishioners, who were out-of-town when I arrived. Another parishioner met me and helped me get me settled. After she left, I unpacked a few more things and went to bed early. Around 2 in the morning, I woke up sick to my stomach and with a terrible pain in my chest. I got up. I walked around. I laid down. I got up again. I kept thinking that the pain would go away or at least ease up. It didn’t.

I finally realized that I probably should go to the emergency room, because clearly something was wrong. The problem was that I didn’t know where I was. It was my first night in Shawnee. I had no idea where the hospital was. I barely knew where I was, and I couldn’t think clearly enough at that time of the morning to figure out how to get myself to the ER. So, I called 911. When I explained my symptoms to the dispatcher, they sent an ambulance. When the ambulance arrived, they didn’t take me the hospital right away. They hooked me up to the heart monitor installed in the ambulance. It turns out that I was not having a heart attack – thankfully – but I was having a gall bladder attack, which can make one feel like one is having a heart attack.

The EMT’s who worked on me were super nice, and as we had some time while I was hooked up to monitors and we weren’t going anywhere, I asked them questions about the town, their job, and most importantly to me at that moment, the best place for me to buy my first smart phone. Should I go to Verizon or AT&T or some other vendor? What was their suggestion? What kind of smart phones did they have?

Yes, that’s right, I asked about where to buy my first smart phone. And the next day, after I’d finally gotten some sleep and felt a little better, I went and bought one. It was something I had been planning on doing when I returned to full-time work, and I couldn’t wait a minute longer.

Now, smart phones are ubiquitous. But back in 2011, smart phones were still the big new thing and I wanted to get in on the excitement. I realize today that my phone is, what Milton Nesbitt said just recently, an electronic leash. But back then, I was so excited to have a smart phone. So eager to join the ranks of smart phone users, that even when I was on a heart monitor in an ambulance, wondering if I was having a heart attack or not, buying a smart phone was foremost on my mind.

A smart phone is a thing, just a thing, a material, finite possession. But I wanted one. And to be honest, I like to have things. I wrote this sermon on my laptop, which is another material possession, but it serves me in getting work done and in searching the internet – for knowledge and … more things. As much as I appreciate having the ability to have things, I get anxious at times that instead of me possessing my things, my things start to possess me.  I don’t know if this particular anxiety was behind the man’s question to Jesus, but I do think it was anxiety that drove him to kneel before Jesus in our passage from Mark’s gospel.

Although he’s commonly referred to as the “rich young ruler,” Mark does not describe him this way. In Mark, he is just referred to as a man. What we can surmise about him is that he had some wealth because Mark tells us that he many possessions. Wealth was considered a sign of blessing in that time and context, but it seemed that his wealth wasn’t adding up to a contented life for this man. 

He came to Jesus and knelt before him. Usually when someone knelt before Jesus, they were seeking healing – either for themselves or someone they loved. Perhaps this man wanted healing as well. Perhaps he wanted healing from a deep, gnawing fear that nothing he could do, even following all the commandments to the absolute letter, would bring him the eternal life he desired. Perhaps the man was seeking reassurance about just that. He wanted to know that he was living a life that was good enough, that what he did to be a good person was good enough. But there was a dis-ease about him. Something was missing in his life; something was worrying him. Was it only that he wanted to know with certainty that he was good enough, or did he sense that something about his life did not add up?

Whatever it was that gnawed at him, whatever it was that caused him anxiety, he seemed to understand that this man, Jesus, would have the answers he was looking for. So, he runs to Jesus and kneels before him, asking,

“What must I do?” 

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

Jesus answers by asking the man why he would call him “good?” No one is good but God alone. As if Jesus suspected that the man had gotten the difference between good and goods mixed up. Jesus goes on to reiterate the commandments, assuming rightly that the man knew the commandments as well.

The man certainly knew them, and reassured Jesus that he had been keeping them his whole life, since he was a child. This begs our question, what did the man want to hear from Jesus? What answer was in search of, what anxiety drove him to put this question to Jesus?

If it was reassurance the man was seeking, I suspect Jesus’ answer did not satisfy or help him.   

“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.”

I think this a prime example of not asking a question that you really don’t want to know the answer to. The man clearly did not want this particular answer. In fact, it would have seemed liked a shocking, even radical answer to receive. As I said, wealth was considered a sign of divine blessing. If you were wealthy, you must be doing something right with God. But Jesus tells this young man that the opposite is true. The way to inherit eternal life is to sell all that you own, give the profits away to the poor, then follow him.

The man can’t do it.  He walks away from Jesus grieving, sorrowful it would seem that he would have to give up his many possessions. 

What must I do?

We live in a society where the material – material possessions, material wealth – are given high value.  To not own the latest, the greatest, the newest and the most improved is to somehow fall short of being the best person you can be. None of us are completely immune to this. None of us are exempt. I know that I can live without a lot of material possessions, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want them. I lay strapped on a gurney in an ambulance, not asking about the state of my heart, but instead about where I could buy my first smart phone. I’m not immune to the lure of possessions.

Does wanting that phone, does that buying that phone mean that I have about as much chance of getting into heaven as that camel does in going through the eye of the needle? I don’t know. 

Maybe material possessions weren’t all Jesus was referring to here.  Maybe he wanted the man and all who would listen to consider what it is that impedes them in their life of discipleship.  What stops them from answering the call to follow him?

Perhaps Jesus was saying that it isn’t what we own, but what owns us that throws a stumbling block in our paths when we try to follow Jesus. What is it that owns us? What do we need to root out of our lives so we can follow? Is it a thing? A person? Is it a belief or an ideology or a behavior? Is there something in our lives that could literally come between us and our call to follow Jesus? Is it our fear?

What must we do?

It seems to me that there is a tension in this passage that we cannot ignore or make light of. We live in a world caught of enormous wealth and equally enormous scarcity, and that divide is only growing exponentially. Poverty is literally and figuratively all around us. It camps out on our doorstep. The number of people who are hungry, homeless, and hurting haunt me. But I still wanted … things.   

I want to be a disciple. I want to be faithful. I want to follow Jesus. But I want the comforts that are out there as well. I know how lucky I’ve been, in my opportunities, in my lifestyle, in the riches I’ve been given. But could I give up everything up and follow? What owns me?

Tension. What we must do and what we want. What we are called to do and what we can do. How to be in the world and yet not of the world. 

This is the tension of this passage. Jesus continues to call us through the gospel, reminding us to look first at the least of these, and calling us to accountability through his words and actions. To whom much has been given, much is required.

There is no easy, all-sufficient way to resolve this tension, and I don’t have any quick answers to offer. I know that I’m not going to leave here today, sell my car, pack up and sell our house and give everything to the poor. Are you? But it does seem to me that leaving this text without feeling unsettled, without feeling a sense of dis-ease, that all is not well with us, means that we have somehow missed the radical nature of Jesus’ words.

This passage is about a man looking for reassurance, and in his story, I suspect that we look for our own reassurance as well. What must I do? At first glance, that reassurance doesn’t seem to be there. But listen again. Listen carefully. Jesus looked at the man and loved him. His love for him didn’t end even when the man turned and walked away. Jesus loved him. When the disciples, who are just as shocked by Jesus’ words as the man, ask,

“Then who can be saved?”

Jesus gives us a far greater reassurance than any we could imagine. 

“For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

For God all things are possible. I know that I can be a better steward of God’s gifts then I am. I know I can be a better disciple. I can do more. But I also know, and this is not an attempt to let myself or any of us off the hook, that sometimes I can only do the best I can within my limited realm of possibility. There will always be more need than I can meet, and those needs will always have to be held in tension with what I want. My realm of possibility is limited.  But God’s realm isn’t. That’s the good news. That’s the good news of Jesus’ words. For God all things are possible. The world and all that is in it, including us with our conflicting wants and desires, belongs to God. For God all things are possible. Our hope lies within the realm of God’s endless possibility. 

To that, let all God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

God's Mindfulness -- World Communion Sunday

 Psalm 8

October 3, 2021 

            The word mindfulness seems to be in the air these days. With so much of the world shutting down last year, and with our lives slowing down drastically, the word mindful took on new meaning. For some, the pandemic was the universe telling us here and all around the world that we needed to slow down, reevaluate how we were living, and become more mindful.

            One of the first things that I think about when I hear the word mindful is about eating. If the universe is trying to tell us to slow down, then mindful eating is one response to that. How many of us eat our food too quickly? How many of us wander through the kitchen, snacking and grazing on whatever we find? How many of us eat mindlessly more often than we’d like to admit? I certainly do, and when I fall into mindless eating, I don’t enjoy or even taste the food that I’m taking in, much less consider how many calories I’m ingesting.  

            So, mindful eating, just like mindful living, is about slowing down. It is about being intentional about what you are eating, where you are eating, and how you are eating. Here is what I understand about mindful eating. You sit down to eat. You eat at a designated place for eating, like the table, and not standing up or in front of the television. You consider what food you’re eating, what is the most healthful and helpful to your body, mind, and yes, even soul. Mindful eating means being aware of your body’s hunger cues and knowing when you have had enough food, and not eating past the point of being full.

Mindful eating is about enjoying your food. Slowing down and tasting it, savoring it. Eating mindfully begins before you even take a bite. Mindful eating means looking at the food on your plate, appreciating its color and presentation. There’s an expression that says, “we eat with our eyes first,” so being mindful when you eat means enjoying the look of your food too. When I’ve made a meal that is colorful and healthy and plated well, it just looks better than the bright artificial orange of Cheetos. Not that Cheetos aren’t sometimes the orange bits of joy that I crave, but you know what I mean.

Mindful eating is about enjoying your food and paying attention to your food. It encourages a better, healthier, saner relationship with food. Eating mindfully is good for our health and it is also good for our spirit. Mindful eating is a spiritual practice as well.

Giving thanks for the food itself, and for the farmers who grew it, the people at the grocery store who stocked it, the hands that prepared it, and for our God who makes it all possible to begin with is not only reserved for the blessing at the beginning of the meal.  

The spiritual practice of mindful eating is about giving thanks with each bite for the food and our Creator who provides for us in so many ways and through so many people. When we can slow down and be grateful for our food and for the people involved in getting that food to the table, it reminds us to be grateful for more than just the meal that is set before us.

            In our psalm today, the psalmist speaks of God’s mindfulness. One commentator talked about verse 4 as being the ultimate question.

            “What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?”

            But let’s back up a second. The psalm begins with a classic ascription to God.

            “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            You, majestic Lord, have “set your glory above the heavens.” Look at this expansive and wondrous universe that you have created, O Lord. Look at the heavens, look at the stars. Look at the moon, look at everything in creation. All of it bears your fingerprints. The mark of your hand is upon all creation. And that creation includes humans?

            While the translation reads this in the plural, this is really an intimate conversation between God and one person.

            “What are human beings that you are mindful of me, mortals that you care for me?”

            How is it God, when you have created the universe, the heavens, the stars, the moon, all that I can see and touch, all that I can see and only long to touch, that you took the time and care to create me as well? You could have stopped with the heavens, O God, and your glory would be evident. You could have stopped with the mountains and the seas, and your creation would have been complete. But you made me. You, who created the big things, also created me, so small in comparison, so seemingly insignificant. But you are mindful of me, O God. You consider me. You take time to look at me and love me and desire good things for me.

            You made us humans a little lower than you. You made us to be in relationship with you and to care for this glorious creation you have given us, this creation that we are part and parcel of. Are we as mindful in response? Have we treated your creation with care? Do we love others, are we mindful of others, as you are mindful of us?

            Have we harmed all that you have given us? Have we taken your commands seriously or have we used them for our own purposes? Have we forgotten what it means to be stewards – of the earth, of its creatures, of one another?

            Why are you mindful of us, O God? Why do you stop to consider us, to love us?

            “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            According to the psalmist, God is mindful of us. According to the gospel, God is mindful of us. According to all the scriptures, God is mindful of us. And if God’s mindfulness is, in some small way, a little like the mindfulness we are considering giving our food, does that mean that God takes the time to think about us, care for us, and love us?

            I know that our human understanding of things never meets God’s understanding, but I think the answer the psalmist gives that question is a resounding “Yes!” And while it feels incredibly good and wonderful to know that God is mindful of us, that God takes the time to love each one of us, I don’t think that basking in the glow of God’s love is where we are called to remain. It seems to me that realizing that God is mindful of us, trusting that God is mindful of us, and loves us, is just the beginning. God’s mindfulness calls for a response.

            How are we mindful, not only of our food, but of the heavens and earth God created; the ground on which we walk, and the air in which we breathe? How are we mindful of the creatures in God’s creation? How do we love the land, and the animals, and the world God gave us? And how are we mindful of one another? Do we stop and give God’s creation the thoughtfulness and love that God shows us? Do we show that concern and compassion to other people, not only the people that we know and love but also the people that we don’t?

            In a few minutes we will come to the table and partake of the Lord’s Supper. We will hear the ancient words of institution and open our hearts in the prayer of thanksgiving, and together we will eat the bread and drink the cup. As Presbyterians we don’t believe that the bread and the juice actually become the body and blood of Christ, but we do believe that Jesus is spiritually present at this meal, at this table. So, as we celebrate this Lord’s Supper, let’s take a moment to be mindful. As we eat the bread, think about where it came from, who made it, who prepared it, and give thanks for all of those people. And as we drink the cup, let’s do the same. And in all of this may we be mindful of God who is mindful of us. May we be mindful of what this table represents, of the memories it invokes. May we be mindful of what God did for our sake, of what God the Son prepared for when he sat at this table with his disciples. May we be mindful of God’s care, God’s compassion, God’s love that was made manifest in Jesus the Christ, in his sacrificial death, and in his resurrection. May we be mindful of God, in this time of worship, at this table, and always, because God is always mindful of us. And may we, like the psalmist, declare with joy and thanksgiving,

            “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            Let all the children of our mindful God say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

Stumbling Blocks

 Mark 9:38-50

September 26, 2021

            There is a beautiful scene in the movie, The Apostle. It is one that I suspect is overlooked or quickly forgotten by most viewers, but it stunned me when I watched the movie, and it is the scene that remains most vivid in my memory today.

            The Apostle is about a charismatic, Pentecostal, slain by the Spirit, whip people up into a frenzy kind of preacher named Sonny. Sonny is played by the brilliant actor, Robert Duvall, who also wrote the screenplay and directed the movie. As much as he is a fiery, showy preacher, who at the beginning of the movie, dresses in flashy suits, dances through the church in sunglasses, and drops $100 bills into the offering plate, is also a sometime womanizer, drinker, and someone who can become violent, Sonny also seems to legitimately want to bring the salvation of God to people. His long-suffering wife, played by the late Farrah Fawcett, ends up leaving him for another man. After showing up at a little league baseball game drunk and taking a baseball bat to the other man – also a member of his church – Sonny flees Texas and heads East.

            Even on the run, Sonny is an apostle. He can’t stop preaching, reaching out to people, trying to save souls. He goes to a Black Pentecostal minister and tells him that he believes God has sent him there. Together they grow a church. Sonny attracts people. He is dramatic and compelling, and he is insistent that people must be saved here so they know that they will be accepted into the Kingdom of Heaven when they die.

            Still, out of the all the amazing scenes in this movie, the one that stands out to me is not a moment when Sonny converts someone or when he preaches or even when has a whole church standing and dancing and raising their arms in the air shouting and singing.

            The scene that I remember so vividly is when Sonny is walking along a bayou, and he stops and looks over and sees a Catholic priest standing on the shore at the edge of the water. The priest is clearly making the sign of the cross, blessing the fishing boats in the water before him. Sonny stops and looks at the priest and he smiles and says,

“You do it your way, I do it mine, but we get it done, don’t we?”

There is no animosity, no judgment. The viewer gets no sense that Sonny thinks he is better than the priest, or that he has found the true way to heaven while the priest is still stuck in the dark ages of religiosity. No, Sonny means what he says.

“You do it your way, I do it mine, but we get it done, don’t we?”

Sonny is the opposite of everything that I hold dear as a preacher. I reject his theology and his understanding of what the gospel is about. But that moment made me wonder, then and now, if I were in Sonny’s shoes would I be able to say what he says? Would I be able to look at this other preacher, this other minister, this other apostle of God and say the same thing?

“You do it your way, I do it mine, but we get it done, don’t we?”

Clearly, from our story in Mark’s gospel, John and the other disciples could not say that. They see an unnamed person exorcising demons in Jesus’ name, but instead of rejoicing that this was being done in the name of Jesus for the sake of kingdom of God, they run to tell Jesus. In many ways, it sounds like John tattles on the other man.

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

We don’t know anything about this other person, this other disciple. One of the Biblical scholars I refer to commented on this and said, “We don’t know this disciple’s name, so let’s just call him Bob.  

Why would the disciples have been so upset about Bob casting out demons? I think the first answer is that he was doing something that they were unable to do. They had tried to cast out a demon already and failed. But Bob the disciple did what they could not do. That must have irked them, to say the least.

Another reason, and perhaps the biggest reason, Bob bothered the disciples is that he was not one of them. They were the disciples. They were the ones Jesus called to follow. No one knew anything about Bob. How could he be a disciple if Jesus himself had not called him? How could he do the work of a disciple if he was not in the in-crowd? There is an aspect to this exchange between John and Jesus that I had not noticed before. When John complained to Jesus about Bob the disciple casting out demons, he didn’t say, “We tried to stop him because he was not following you.”

John said, “We tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

Jesus did not question John about using us instead of you. In fact, Jesus responded in the plural.

“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.

John may have been presumptuous in asserting that he and the other disciples were to be followed same as Jesus. But Jesus didn’t seem to have a problem with John’s use of the collective as much as he did with them trying to stop Bob. Whoever Bob was and however he heard about Jesus, his work in Jesus’ name was legitimate. He was not against them, so he was for them. Even though he was not one of them, he was still for them. He was still for Jesus, and his deed of power in Jesus’ name was not to be dismissed.

This is yet one more misunderstanding of Jesus’ message, mission, and purpose by the disciples. This follows immediately after our passage last week when the disciples argued among themselves about who was the greatest, and who carried the most status as a disciple. Their argument was preceded by Jesus telling them for a second time that he would undergo great suffering, death, and resurrection. Jesus even went so far as to embrace a little child so they would understand his words about the first being last, the last first, and the greatest of all being the servant of all. But the disciples don’t get it.

They don’t get it, and their lack of getting it comes out in jealousy and insecurity over Bob the disciple. Here was this unknown person doing what they were not yet able to do. So, they tried to stop him. When they couldn’t, they tattled to Jesus about him. But Jesus knew that what was more important was that anyone who was not against them was for them. Bob the disciple was for them, and that was all that mattered.

Then, amid all the hard and challenging truths Jesus had been telling them about his own suffering and death, Jesus speaks some more hard words about stumbling blocks.

“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.”

That should have been enough to get anyone’s attention, but Jesus does not stop there.  If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. If your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off. If your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out. It is better to go into heaven maimed and lame and one-eyed, then to go into hell sound of body, but lost in mind, heart, and soul.

Every biblical scholar I have ever read in relation to this passage states emphatically that Jesus did not mean any of this literally. He was speaking in hyperbole, using great exaggeration, to get the disciples’ attention. This is about the kingdom. This is about the work of God in this world through me. This is about getting people to understand that the kingdom of God is in their midst right now, right here. This is about opening the eyes and the hearts and the minds of God’s people to see God, to hear God, to recognize what God has done and will do for them. This is urgent. I’m not here for long, so I need people to understand. So, don’t put a stumbling block in front of anyone who is doing deeds of power and healing in my name. if you cause them to stumble, it will harm you. If the stumbling block comes from your own body, cut it off before you harm someone else. Because whoever is not against us is for us.

Bob the disciple was not against them. He was for them. But the disciples were too afraid and too insecure to see it. They wanted to stop him. What they could not understand was that their own fear was a stumbling block – to Bob and to themselves.

How does our fear cause us to stumble? How does our fear cause others to stumble? Are we as urgent and emphatic in our understanding and our sharing of the gospel as Jesus was, as Sonny was? Who are the Bobs in our lives? What can we do to remove the stumbling blocks we throw in people’s way, in our own way, rather than add to them?

I don’t ask these questions with any specific answer in mind that will serve all of us, because we all have to wrestle with our own stumbling blocks. We all have to wrestle with our own fears and insecurities. We all have to face up to the Bobs in our lives.

I don’t have answers, but I do know this. When it comes to the kingdom, there is room for all of us. When it comes to God’s love for the world, we are all included. It seems to me Jesus wanted the disciples to understand that God’s love, God’s kingdom, was expansive. It was open to all who accepted God’s call to share the good news. Jesus wanted them to see, really see, that whoever is not against us is for us. Whoever is not against us is for us. Remove the stumbling blocks, clear the path, make room, and make welcome all those who are for us.

“You do it your way, I do it mine, but we get it done, don’t we?”

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

Amen.

The Greatest?

 Mark 9:30-37

September 19, 2021

 

            Somewhere, sometime in the neighborhood where I grew up, someone dug a big hole. And from that big hole came an even bigger pile of dirt. It was more like a hill of dirt really, and when the neighborhood kids – me included – saw that great big hill of dirt there was only one thing we could do. We played king of the hill. If you’ve never played king of the hill, I’ll quickly explain the rules to you. There are no rules. It’s just about trying to climb to the top of hill, stay on top of the hill, and keep the other kids from reaching the top of the hill. And you accomplish those three goals any way you can.

            In my neighborhood, the girls generally ran with the girls and the boys stuck with the boys, but on that day, we all played together. We climbed and scrambled and pushed and slid. We’d get close to the top and then go sliding back down, only to make our way back toward the top once more. I suspect that sometimes king of the hill can get pretty vicious, but I don’t remember anyone getting hurt that day. I don’t remember any of us leaving angry or upset. I don’t even remember how it ended really. I suspect it concluded when our parents started to call us in, or someone remembered somewhere she had to be, or we realized that certain members of our families would not be thrilled at how dirty we had gotten. No matter how the game ended, we played king of the hill until we couldn’t anymore. And if anyone achieved lasting king of the hill status, I don’t remember it. All of us worked hard to get to the top, but none of us stayed there very long. However, it began and however it ended, there were no lasting hard feelings when we finally went our separate ways. That didn’t always happen, I can assure you.

            I’d like to say that was the last time I ever played king of the hill. But adults play this game all the time. We just call it “life.” Who can get to the top? Who can stay on the top? How do we keep others from getting there before or instead of us?

            The disciples were not engaged in a literal game of king of the hill that day, but they were bickering with one another about who among them was the greatest. We cannot know from the text the details of their argument, but it may have sounded something like this.

“I’m the greatest because I have served others better than you.”

“I’m the greatest because I have actually healed someone without any help from Jesus.”

“I’m the greatest because Jesus relies on me.”

Obviously, Jesus noticed that they were quarreling and squabbling amongst themselves. He probably couldn’t help but notice. And when they came to Capernaum and were settled in a house, Jesus asked them,

            “What were you arguing about on the way?”

            For all their big talk and bickering and quarreling while they were traveling, now the disciples are silent. They have been caught and called out. They know what they were arguing about and so does Jesus. But instead of reprimanding or chastising them, he does something even more astonishing and unexpected. He takes a seat, calls the disciples, and says,

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

            Then to illustrate his words, he takes a little child into his arms, and says to the disciples,

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

            Wait one minute there Jesus. What do you mean that in order to be first you must be last? Who’s really the greatest, the one on top or the on the bottom?

            Greatness means not being served, but serving? And then if we truly want to welcome you, to welcome the one who sent you, we must welcome a little child in your name? I suspect more than one disciple was thinking that this had to be a joke. This could not be true. Because then, as now, status was not achieved by serving others. Status was achieved by making sure others served you.

            And what about this welcoming of a child? A child? Don’t get me wrong, people loved children then as they do now. Parents loved their little ones. Having children, having families was considered a blessing. Barrenness was considered a punishment for sin. It’s not that people did not love children or loved them less than we love our own children, it’s that a child – no matter how loved or wanted – had no status in that society and culture. A child had no legal rights or protection under the law. Until that child grew old enough to be productive in the family and in the society, that child had no status.

            But Jesus picked up this little status-less child and said that if you want to welcome the Father and the Son, then you must welcome the child – this little powerless, helpless, status-less child.

            I have this picture in my mind of the child in Jesus’ arms babbling in baby talk while Jesus spoke. I can imagine the little one turning to look at Jesus, maybe stroking his face or examining his whiskers. Maybe that baby even gave him one of those open-mouthed baby kisses that my kids used to give me. And I can see Jesus finishing his words to the disciples and looking back down at that baby and smiling, maybe giving him or her one last squeeze before turning the toddler back over to Mama.

            Perhaps this image of mine is too rosy a picture, but Jesus taking that baby in his arms would have driven the point home to the disciples – or at least attempted to.  Because the disciples, especially in Mark, just did not get it. Did. Not. Get. It. One commentator wrote that the disciples are so dense light bends around them.

Consider how this passage began. Jesus and the disciples were traveling incognito in Galilee. Jesus did not want anyone to know they were there; I suspect so they would not be interrupted. Jesus was once again teaching them about the reality and truth of Messiahship. He was going to be betrayed into human hands. He was going to be killed. He was going to rise again after three days. And Mark tells us that the disciples, even though they had heard this already, even though Jesus was telling them pointedly what would happen, they did not understand. And they were too afraid to ask Jesus to explain what he meant.

            They were too afraid. Do you wonder if the argument about who was the greatest sprang from that fear? Do you wonder if it was their fear that kept the disciples from understanding what Jesus was telling them, what it meant, not only for Jesus, for them as well? Maybe their desire to be the greatest was a way of dealing with that fear? They could not let go of their worldly understanding of power and status to see or accept the upside-down kingdom that Jesus described. They were fearful of that upside-down kingdom, and I suspect fearful of what it would require of them to achieve it.

            Fear creates obstacles we cannot see or even recognize. Fear keeps us stuck. It keeps us stuck in a worldview that is the opposite of what Jesus preached and taught and lived. Jesus not only talked the talk, he also walked the walk. But what he had to undergo, what he had to sacrifice, that was terrible and frightening. If we are called to follow in his footsteps and be willing to undergo what he did, then our fear is understandable. But what Jesus tried to teach the disciples and what we struggle to learn everyday is that we have to let go of our fear. Because first and foremost our fear stymies our trust. The more we trust God, the less power our fear has over us. The more we trust that God is with us, the less we fear losing what we have.

            The disciples were afraid, and that fear will be their constant companion throughout the gospel. And I think we are afraid too. I mean I know I am. I am afraid of not having enough. I am afraid of being left alone. I am afraid that I will never measure up to others’ standards and my own standards. I would like to be king of the hill just once, for a little while, but I am afraid that may never happen, or worse, that it does.

            The disciples were afraid. Life was hard. And Jesus was telling them that the way to deal with life’s hardness was not to push others down on the way to the top. They shouldn’t even bother with trying to get to the top, because the top was really the bottom. No, if they wanted to follow him, and to live a life that was truly great, then they needed to serve. They needed to willingly, even joyfully, be last. They needed to love others and serve others and welcome those with no status as graciously and profusely as they would welcome those with it. They needed to welcome a little child in Jesus’ name, and when they could do that and mean it, then they would be welcoming Jesus and the One who sent him.

            When they could do this, then they would understand what Jesus was trying to teach them, then they would overcome their fears and their doubts and their misgivings. When they could live this upside-down life, this great reversal, then they would finally understand what makes greatness. They would finally see that the greatest one of all was the one who gave his life for the love of the world. Jesus embodied greatness, not because he pushed down others to reach the top of the hill, but because he chose the bottom.

            What would the world look like if we chose the bottom as well?

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