Great and Humble
September 20, 2009
Scripture Reading: Mark 9:30-37
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
Sermon: Great and Humble By Pastor Doreen Oughton
Will you join me in a spirit of prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O God who is the ground of my being.
This week we continue our journey with Jesus and his disciples, as he teaches them what lies ahead for him. The story in this week’s gospel takes place not long after that of last week, when he also tried to tell them about the betrayal, the execution and the rising up. In between these times, the gospel of Mark tells us, Jesus took Peter and James and John to a mountain top and was transfigured before them, turned dazzling white and glowing. The three disciples were puzzled by what it all meant, and were gently mocked, then corrected by Jesus in their attempts to make sense of it.
When they returned from the mountain, the remaining disciples were arguing with some scribes over their inability to cast out the demons from a boy subjected to lifelong seizures. After Jesus successfully tended to the boy, the disciples asked him privately why they had been unable to cast out the demon.
And it is after these intense events that Jesus again brought up that puzzling business of betrayal, death and resurrection. I wonder, as they were walking along, how many of them were listening very deeply. I wonder if instead they were replaying in their heads these moments of failure, of rebuke, feeling embarrassed, defensive, maybe a little resentful. Can you blame them? Peter had been called Satan, they all had been called faithless, and Jesus wondered aloud how long he would have to put up with them. So they walked along, perhaps nursing their wounded egos, half listening, then realizing with dismay that Jesus was bringing it up again. And they still didn’t understand.
I wonder how the argument started amongst them, this argument about who is the greatest. Perhaps one of the three who’d been to the mountaintop started mumbling under his breath, “I wish he’d stop talking about this business. It doesn’t make any sense, and every time you ask a question, he bites your head off.” One of the others, seeing a chance to build himself up at another’s expense, says something like, “Who are you to criticize our teacher. You always were slow to catch on. You can’t fault Jesus for that!” Which gets the retort, “And who are you to criticize me? You couldn’t even cast out one demon from a mere child. Why last month alone I cast out demons from five people, and one had multiple demons. No one casts out more demons than I.” “Yeah, well if some demons only come out only through prayer, you’re in for it facing them, because your prayer life is in the toilet. I never see you on your knees. Whereas I pray for at least an hour every morning and every night.” And so on, each trying to one-up the other, exaggerating their own successes and the others’ failures. Nothing any of us can relate to, I’m sure.
Okay, I’ll confess. I am pretty competitive and it is fairly common for me to compare myself with others. I remember the shock I felt when a friend pointed out how competitive I was. Because I had no athletic talent and always associated competition with physical games and skills. But once I heard it, oh my goodness did I see it. I remember scanning the local newspaper in high school to see my name on the honors list, thinking with pleasure of the people in my classes who weren’t on it. Then looking with envy at the names on the high honors list. Believe me, I wasn’t competing against myself, trying to do my personal best. I was motivated to do better than others. Much as I try to be aware of and moderate this tendency, it still creeps in. I only recently realized that I drive slower when no one else is on the road. I speed because I want to be ahead of others.
And there are so many ways to compete, aren’t there? Have you heard the story about the preacher who, in a fit of religious ferver fell to his knees before the cross and beat his chest saying, “I am nothing, I am nothing.” The deacon, moved by this display of humility also fell to her knees beside the preacher, beating her chest, “I am nothing, I am nothing.” The custodian, who was hanging in the back after cleaning up early that morning was also moved and fell to his knees, beating his chest, “I am nothing, I am nothing.” The preacher turned his eyes up to see this, then mumbled to the deacon, “Hmph. Look who thinks he’s nothing.” And conductor Leonard Bernstein, when asked what the most difficult instrument was, answered, second fiddle. Lots of people want to play 1st violin, but to get someone to play second fiddle, that’s a problem.” But he points out that without them, there is no harmony.
So to me, it is all too human that the disciples got into this kind of discussion, and it was a helpful distraction from what Jesus trying to tell them. And as they distracted themselves with one up-man-ship, Jesus fell behind, or perhaps moved just slightly ahead of them, caught up in his own thoughts. Why can’t they understand what I am saying. They’ve got to see, this mission is important. They have to be prepared. He overhears their discussion, notices the tone of the conversation, sees the masks they are putting on. Perhaps he catches himself feeling impatient again, then reminds himself how much they too will be affected by the coming events, how futile all their superficial ego boosts will be then. “I need to connect with them,” you can imagine him thinking. You can almost feel his irritation turn to sadness and concern.
And so as they settled into the house where they were staying, he approached them with a question, what were you arguing about? And even though he knows what it was, I don’t hear this as a trap, a set up so that he can scold them again. I think he was trying to open up a discussion, give them a chance to be heard. Maybe if they brought their fear and confusion to him, it could be dealt with and they could focus on the things to come. Can you imagine how their stomachs churned hearing his question? Oh, no – how much did he hear? Instead of responding to Jesus’ invitation to share, they pulled into themselves further in guilt and shame.
Jesus sighs and sits down. How do I help them see. He sees the child of their host bustling about, setting out foot basins and towels, then plates and food. Jesus loves children and catches her eye and smiles. The child is captivated, beaming back, wanting to draw closer. Jesus notices that his disciples are so drawn into their own thoughts, so caught up in their own stuff that they have distanced themselves, some moving away from him physically, some just removed. He looks again at the child who can hardly look away from him as she continues with her tasks. Jesus feels connected, joyful even, and contrasts that with the distance he feels with the disciples. He knows what to do. “Come friends, sit down and let’s talk.” He’s gentle now, his joy and sense of connection carrying through. As he watches the child he tells them, this is what it means to be first – to serve, to go about your business of caring for others. He reaches for the child, both so happy for the embrace, showing the joy of welcome, of an open heart. This is how you do it. You don’t worry about greatness, you go for the joy. Open your heart to everyone and you open your heart to me, and to God.
And you know what, they still didn’t get it. Or maybe they got it for a little while, and then old habits of thought crept in. I can relate to that also. As I said, I have to be on guard about these insecurities, the need for external validation, the constant comparisons. It can be tricky, finding a sense of self worth and remaining humble. So easy to fall to one side or the other. How do I feel good about something I do or some skill that I have, without being boastful or egotistical. How do I acknowledge that I am, as Isaiah says, like the grass that withers, the flower that fades, and still have a sense of being loved by God?
Now I generally have no illusion that I could be the “greatest” anything, and yet I do aspire to greatness. I want to make a difference in this world, to leave it better than it was, to be a blessing to others. For me, my faith in God is essential to the process. It’s not that I want to please God so that I am rewarded in heaven. But rather it is my belief that all good things come from God that makes the difference. My belief that God has given this world an impulse toward care and compassion, that it is larger than us, more powerful than our small selves. When I focus on that, it is easy to feel humble when I am part of something great.
I remember when I first struggled to put words to this sense. I was teaching a driver alcohol education class, a court-mandated group for people arrested for drunk driving. I always tried to make it a safe and welcoming place to share, but for most it was an obligatory thing they just got through. But I had this group of women, all different ages, and there was something special happening there. Most weeks we strayed from the curriculum because people brought so much personal stuff. Deep stuff, real stuff, and they shared with each other. Sometimes I did a little education to help put things into context, but I wasn’t put in a distant “expert” role by anyone. It was amazing what happened there. It truly felt holy. I remember trying to tell someone about it, and she said something about how I must feel proud about it. But I didn’t. I felt honored, blessed to be part of it. Sure I had done some things well that helped open it up, but it was so much bigger than that, than me. I felt humbled and moved.
To be humble means to have a right-sized view of yourself. You are a daughter of God, a son of God, much beloved. And you are human, some believe born with sin. Whether we are born with sin in us or not, we certainly enter a world immersed in it. It is necessary that we miss the mark – which is what the word “sin” means – necessary that that we make mistakes, that we have illusions of control and independence. These things are part of our growth. If we can’t acknowledge either side, we cannot be right-sized in our self-image. We see ourselves as too big or too small, worth more or less than another.
Our mistakes of action or thought don’t make God love us any less, nor does our growth and right thinking and action make God love us any more. Just look at the example of Jesus. Sure he got irritated with the disciples, but he never abandoned them for smarter disciples. Even though they abandoned him at his trial, he came back to them after the resurrection. He sent them into the world as his emissaries, servants to spread his love. And you know, they got it then. They worked together, they were part of something so amazing, and they gave the credit to God. And you know, we can all be part of something great, we have it in us. All of us. It can be such a relief to let go of the competitiveness and just be swept up in the goodness, in the joy. But we are human, so when you forget and start to compare and feel anxious and insecure, be gentle with yourself. Turn to Jesus and experience his gentleness and the love of God that never changes.
I want to close with a reading by Marianne Williamson called “Our Greatest Fear.”
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
May it be so.
