On Trusting a Prince

Psalm 146
November 3, 2024
William G. Carter

On the week of a national election, the scripture texts offer a faithful context of the work that is always before us. The call to worship comes from the central affirmation of the Jewish faith: Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord alone; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and might. God is first in all that we feel, think, and do. Nothing comes before the One who gave us life. We love the One who first loved us.

The Gospel lesson takes a snapshot from a moment when Jesus was questioned by a Bible scholar. Which of the 613 divine instructions is the first, greatest, and best? Naturally, Jesus says, “Hear, O Israel, love the Lord your God.” Then he immediately glues it to have a verse from Leviticus, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” God comes first, and God gave us every person around us. We love the One who first loved us, we love the ones that God has given us. Jesus will not separate what God has joined together. That’s the foundation for all public policy and every decision we make. 

And then there is the psalm for today, which speaks of God and neighbor. Listen to this:

     Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul!

I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
   I will sing praises to my God all my life long.

Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help.
   When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day, their plans perish.

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God,
   who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them;
   who keeps faith forever; who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow,
   but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.

The Lord will reign forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations. Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord, love the Lord your God. Psalm 146 declares the primary theme of the book of Psalms, that God is the ruler over every human life. That the God of eternity will outlive every human life, for “the Lord will reign forever.” That the Holy One of Israel, church, and whole world, is worthy of human praise, because God offers help and hope and faithfulness. 

There’s also mention of our neighbors, especially those who are struggling: the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoner, the blind, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow. The God who rules over everything is on their side. That’s the clear testimony of scripture. If there’s anybody out there who takes advantage of other people, who puts them down or keeps them down, God the Ruler will become the judge. As the psalmist says, “The way of the wicked (God) brings to ruin.” This is God’s world. These are God’s people. There is no dispute.

And then there’s that sticky little line in verse three: “Do not put your trust in princes.” The word for prince is a royal word, a leadership word, a word of economic privilege. The princes are those people who believe they are in charge. Don’t sink all your hopes in anybody like that, says the psalm. It’s a line repeated from Psalm 118:9, under the general Biblical rule that if it’s worth saying once, it’s worth saying again.

So, in the middle of a poem offering elaborate praise of God, the poet says don’t put all your faith in a mere mortal. Mere mortals cannot do everything they promise. Mere mortals are never going to live long enough to get it all done. In fact, they may be full of hot air and bluster, aiming to gain popular approval at best, or to scam you at worst. This is the word of the Lord; thanks be to God. And we know it is the word of the Lord because it tells the truth.

Regardless of its truthfulness, it is an unusual line, like finding a pebble in your oatmeal. Yet it’s worth remembering that a line like that is based in years of practical experience. In Israel’s case, at least five hundred years of experience. Some scholars believe the book of Psalms was collected as early as 500 years before ethe birth of Jesus, if not a good deal later. During that long history, the people of God had been disappointed by one bad national leader after another.

It began early, with the prophet Samuel. The people of Israel said, “We want a king. Every other nation has a king. We want a king, too.” Samuel said, “We already have a king. God is our king.” The people said, “But we want a king. Ask God to give us a king.” Samuel was beside himself. So, he prayed to the Lord, “What should I do?” God replied, “Remind them of what kings are like.”

So, Samuel said, “Let me tell you about kings. They send your kids into war. They take your fields and your crops. They demand you make his weapons for him. They steal your daughters. They take your livestock. They take your servants. They make you their servants. And when you wake up and see what kings are truly like, you will whine about it. You don’t want a king.”

And the people said, “But everybody else has a king. Why can’t we have one?” Samuel reported this to the Lord. The Lord shook the divine head, and said, “Well, give them a king.” They aren’t going to learn any other way.[1] And for the next five hundred years, they had one inadequate ruler after another. Inadequate is a kind word.

Saul was the first. Tall, good looking, subject to emotional turmoil. He made terrible decisions, got a little batty, finally exposed himself as a coward. Then came David, wise, good looking, morally suspect, beloved but with a profoundly ambivalent legacy, depending on which Bible book you read. Then it was King Solomon, a builder, a very wise man, who couldn’t keep his tunic on. After that, it really unraveled. Five hundred years of bad leadership can do that.

So, the psalmist looks back and says, “Don’t put your trust in a prince, in a mere mortal. Put your trust in God. God give help and hope.”

It was an important word for Israel. The historians kept a record of all the achievements and failures of Israel’s princes. It was so long they had to break it into two scrolls, titled “First Kings” and “Second Kings.” If we read them, we discover two things noteworthy about those scrolls. First, the primary characters are not the kings, but the prophets. The truth tellers of God. The preachers. They are the mighty ones. When they are full of God’s Spirit and clearly speaking for God, the prophets interpret God’s ways. That means they are constantly going up against the long chain of imperfect kings.

The second thing noteworthy is the title of the scrolls: Kings. In his commentary on the book, one scholar says the title should have a question mark. “Kings? You call these kings?” They are certainly a poor substitute for God, who rules over all.

All of this is the backstory for the lesson from the Psalms. The people of God need good leaders. But none of them are perfect. Some of them aren’t even close. The possibility of power twists them away from the virtues of public service. As one of our retired county commissioners said once to one of our adult classes here, “If money gets in their pockets, elected leaders can easily forget what they are there to do.” We asked, “What are they there to do?” And he replied, "Serve the public good.” There it is. 

So, what’s the word of God for us? “Don’t put your trust in princes.” By subtraction, that means, “Put your trust in God.” It’s all about investing in the things that God cares about. To care about the people that God created. And Psalm 146 provides a list. The end of the Psalm sounds like a drum beat of righteousness:

The Lord executes justice for the oppressed; the Lord gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the strangers; the Lord upholds the orphan and the widow,

but the way of the wicked the Lord brings to ruin.

It’s clear to me that the Lord undertakes these tasks through the people who care about God’s own values. None of them will be perfect. Yet perhaps they can prove that they are worthy of our investment in their service. There is no reason for us to name names. The names change, the issues are the same. We are fortunate to have a democratic system to choose our leaders or replace our leaders. It’s imperfect but it is the best system we have, and it means we are not stuck with whoever was born next into the royal line. We have choices.

Back in 1989, I attended an event at Muhlenberg College. It was the bicentennial of the American constitution. That Lutheran college brought in Martin Marty, the Lutheran church historian, to talk about the constitution. The first thing that Lutheran said to that mostly Lutheran audience was, “Thank God for the Presbyterians!” All the Lutherans gasped, then he explained.

When James Madison was drafting the American constitution, he drew from his college education. He surprised his family skipping out on the College of William and Mary, choosing instead to study at the College of New Jersey, now called Princeton University. He studied Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and theology, and then stayed on to study political philosophy with John Witherspoon. That’s the Rev. John Witherspoon, Presbyterian minister, the only clergy person who would go to sign the Declaration of Independence.

Witherspoon taught him two key ideas. First, drawing upon Presbyterian principles, the people must be empowered to elect their own leadership. No princes, no kings, no endless tenures. Second, and just as important, Witherspoon taught we should never put absolute power in the hands of a single person. They can’t be trusted with it. The possibility of corruption is too high. There must be checks and balances. Leaders must be accountable to the people who elected them to serve.

So, when Madison sat down to work out the constitution, he rolled both of those ideas into our founding document. He knew it was an imperfect system, but there would always be the possibility of amendment and improvement. And it all began with his studies with a Presbyterian: elect your own leaders, don’t give them unchecked power. Or in the words of Dr. Martin Marty, thank God for the Presbyterians.  

The good news is that the election season is coming to an end. It’s been long. It remains contentious. It could be contested. But it’s almost over. Some will cheer the outcome. Others will not. The challenge of an imperfect system is the imperfect people who run for office and the imperfect people who vote for them.

Yet here’s the one question that lingers for me. I hope it will linger for you. How will the decisions that you and I make reflect the values of the Lord our God? Will we move toward improving our love for God and neighbor? Or will we settle for something far less than the hope and help that God sets before us. All of us get to decide that one. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, God will continue to rule over heaven and earth, watching to see if we are paying attention to what really matters.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] See the grim recital in 1 Samuel 8.

My Teacher, Let Me See Again

Mark 10:46-52
October 27, 2024
William G. Carter

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

We have been heading this way all through the Gospel of Mark. If Mark tells how the disciples of Jesus struggled to make sense of him and follow him, it’s all been coming to this. A man who could not see is given back his sight and then uses his restored vision to follow Jesus “on the way.”

It’s a rare story for Mark’s Gospel. Finally, somebody comprehends. Finally, somebody jumps up and gets in step. Lord knows, it’s taken long enough. This is the end of chapter ten. Back in chapter eight, we heard about another man who is given back his sight. It didn’t go well. The crowd pushed him toward the Lord, who took him aside and applied the standard healing procedures of the day. It didn’t work, so Jesus had to do it again (8:22-26). Apparently, some maladies are so deeply seated that it takes extra effort to relieve them.

By contrast, the healing of Bartimaeus is at the end of chapter ten. This time, the sightless person has a name. He lives in Jericho, the oasis city down south, where he begs for a living. This time, the people in the crowd don’t lead him by the hand to encounter the Christ. Rather, the people in the crowd tell him to be quiet, to keep still, to shut his mouth.

But the blind beggar is persistent. He cries out to Jesus at the top of his lungs. With Roman soldiers all around, Bartimaeus calls out for the “Son of David.” That’s revolutionary talk. That’s Messiah talk. The Jericho folk don’t want any trouble from the Romans. They tell the man to hush. Jesus stops, stands, calls him to his side. Then he heals his sight, this time on the first attempt.

It’s a study in contrasts. I believe it’s intentional. Two blind men are healed. The first is led by the crowd, the second hushed by the crowd. The first needs extra help, the second needs no help; he springs up and leaves his beggar’s cloak behind. As Jesus moved from success in Galilee to the cross in Jerusalem, a good part of his ministry has been equipping people to see.

For here is the irony of the account: between the healing of the blind person in chapter eight and the blind beggar Bartimaeus in chapter ten, his own disciples haven’t seen a thing. Their eyes are wide open, of course, but they remain blind in all kinds of other ways.

He tells them, “I’m going to Jerusalem, where I will be arrested, suffer, and be killed.” The disciples say, “No, not you. That’s never going to happen to you.” It goes downhill from there.

·       They stammer when Jesus is transfigured on the mountain, then say the wrong thing.

·       They try to do a healing of their own and expose themselves as inept.

·       They argue about which one of them is the greatest.

·       They stop somebody who is doing Christ’s work but is not part of their little group.

·       They chase away the little ones that Jesus is blessing. And so on. 

In one vignette after another, Mark says the disciples cannot see what Jesus values, how deeply he is committed, and where it will take him. He tells them three times, “I am going to Jerusalem to give my life.” They aren’t tracking what he’s saying. They do not see. They don’t connect the dots. It seems to be a common experience.

A couple went out to dinner on a Saturday night. They were celebrating a special anniversary. They dressed up, went to a swanky place, ordered wine, oysters, shrimp cocktail, all the courses. It was going well until a woman at the bar started yelling. She was loud, she was obscene. When the bartender politely asked her to tone it down, she responded with obscenities. The couple hurried their meal and left before that lady fell off the barstool a second time. It was a disappointing Saturday night.

Imagine their surprise on Sunday morning. They went to church, opened the hymnal for the first hymn, looked across the aisle, and there she is, singing at the top of her lungs. full voice. At the door, they shook their heads and murmured, “Some people just don’t see.”

The diagnosis is not limited to Presbyterians on or off their barstools. For the past eight years, I’ve spent time with groups of clergy. As part of my responsibility to the wider church, I serve two weeks a year as a faculty member for a church conference on wellness. We delve into all the dimensions of what makes us human: spiritual, physical, emotional, financial, vocational. It’s a great program. But do you know why the emphasis is on wellness? Because so many struggle to be well.

The faculty has seen it all: fractured relationships, estranged children, teenagers with drug problems, college students with eating disorders, spending out of control, going into debt, emotions spiraling in every direction, serious obesity, anger, loss of faith. And that’s just with the clergy. As one of my colleagues says, “Just like the congregations we serve.” All of us have wounds and scar tissue.

What is so fascinating is the insidious nature of denial, the inability to see. Ask the woman whose credit score is shredded, and she says, “I should have paid more of my bills.” Ask the man with hypertension who carries an extra two hundred pounds, and he says, “I like my snacks, but I don’t have a weight problem.” It’s astonishing what blind spots we can have. The only thing more astonishing is how easy it is to see the blind spots of others when we refuse to see our own.

Jesus says, “What do you want, Bartimaeus? What can I do for you?” It’s the question that runs through the whole chapter. A wealthy man approached Jesus, kneeled at his feet, begged Jesus, saying, “What must I do to get God’s kingdom? Jesus looked him over, saw the designer clothes, the golden shoelaces, the $100,000 watch, and loved the guy for who he was, not what he had, so he said, “Give it all away, so that all you have left is me.” And the man couldn’t do it. He slinked away.

And immediately, James and John, two of his star teammates, with him from the beginning, said, “Give us what we want.” He shook his head, smiled, said, “What do you want?” And they said, “You know those box seats in Yankee Stadium that are selling this week for $27,351 on StubHub? We want two of those seats in the Kingdom of God. And everybody can look at us and say, ‘Woo whee! Moving on up from the Sea of Galilee!” He sayeth unto them, “That’s what you want? Doesn’t work that way, boys.” And they looked shocked, for now their hunger for status will be permanently inscribed in the scriptures.

By contrast, “Bartimaeus, what do you want? What can I do for you?” He doesn’t want to be addicted to affluence. He throws away the cloak that caught the pity donations. He signals he will be totally dependent on Christ. So, he says, “I want to see. Once I could see, now I want to see again.” That’s a request Jesus can meet. No more denial. No more dependence. No more playing the victim. No more twisting the truth. No more inventing nonsense or scamming others or begging for others’ pity. Just to see. To see again.

Now, do you know how risky that is? Because once you see, you can’t pretend you didn’t. Once you admit to yourself or anybody else that you are now seeing clearly, there’s no more faking it. You must act on what you know.

My friends in the addiction recovery community report what happens when they see what they pretended they didn’t. The embarrassment at parties, the wrecked cars, the legal bills, the way that the kids hide from the parents, the way that kids pick up the same habits. Then comes the confrontation, the intervention, and someone says, “I love you so much I’m not going to tolerate this anymore.” They call it the “come to Jesus” moment. It’s the moment of seeing again.

The school nurse sees evidence of neglect. The accountant decides not to ignore the client’s illegal secrets. The true believer says, “I refuse to be a hypocrite any longer.” The true friend says, “Listen, we have to discuss some bad habits we’ve been avoiding.” We see these things, and there’s no going back. It will mean a commitment.

Just like our text. Bartimaeus sees what the twelve disciples were still fuzzy about. He’s not merely giving up the life of begging on the street corner in Jericho. He is taking on a journey with Jesus. He sees where Jesus is going – all the way uphill to the cross – and he commits to going with him. That’s why his name got written down in the Bible. Vision leads to commitment.

Yesterday, a team of fifteen volunteers from our church, supported by scores of others, provided two hundred and three meals to the South Side of Scranton. Did they do it because they are nice people? Well, yes. But they really did it because they saw people who are hungry, and they saw those people as neighbors, and they could see there was something we could do about it. Seeing always leads to commitment. We see, and we do.

In fact, I was thinking about today as Stewardship Sunday, when we commit our money to God’s purposes. It reminded me of a moment here years ago. Our generosity team was looking over trends in giving. They noticed something. The biggest jump in donations occurred that year in church leaders who were serving the second year of their terms. Elders and deacons jumped in their generosity after they served on their boards for the first year.

This was reported at the next session meeting. One man said, “I must confess. I was coasting along for years. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Then I began to see all the good things that are going on around here, and decided I wanted to be part of it. I want this ministry to flourish. So, I tripled my pledge.” Then he looked around the table and said, “Who’s with me?” Or to say it better, “Who’s with Jesus?” Vision leads to commitment.

The life in Christ is one of continuing growth. We keep going, we keep growing. Sometimes it’s a stretch. Sometimes it’s a challenge. Usually, it is expressed in works of service that benefit others, and this takes energy. Yet it all begins with an awakening of sight. If your faith has gotten flattened, if your edge has grown dull, you could do worse than pray the prayer of Bartimaeus, “My teacher, let me see… let me see again.”     

I believe it’s a prayer that Jesus always answers. He’s not going to promise you can hold on to your riches. He’s never going to provide you tickets to those seats in Yankee Stadium. But he is going to invite you into the places where your heart will be broken open for other people, where your skills can meet the world’s needs, where during service you will be filled with joy. Because it’s a journey to keep traveling with Christ. And you’ll never be the same.

The journey begins with a prayer: “My Teacher, let me see, again and again.”

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

Mark 10:35-45

October 20, 2024

 

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to Jesus and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”

 

When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many." 

Gimme, gimme, gimme. It’s not the most elegant sermon title. Yet it captures the impulse driving James and John. “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Would any of us ever say that to Jesus? Would we dare to make such a request? I don’t know.

 ·       Sometimes we pray for the most extravagant results. “O Lord, give the New York Mets victory over the Dodgers.” I haven’t made that prayer, but I might. 

·       Many are praying for their favored candidate to win a tight election. Win quickly so we don’t have to endure any more commercials. Win decisively so we won’t have to listen to the other side whine about it. 

·       What else might we ask? For the restoration of health, or a clear mind, or a peaceful heart, or wars to cease, or children to return home safely. All are important requests.

 Yet listen to what the two fishermen from Galilee want from their Lord. They want to be lifted above those around them. To be granted a place at the front of the line. To be exalted over the rank and file. To be Somebody, and not remain a nobody. They want an increase in status., To have more power and authority than everybody else. To sit beside his ultimate throne. “Grant us to sit in your glory, one at your right hand and one at your left.”

We can question their motivation. Give them credit for following Jesus from the beginning, ever since he spotted them along the Sea of Galilee. They’ve have been in the circle. They’ve seen it all, heard it all, done it all. Doesn’t that count for something? Shouldn’t they be recognized? Shouldn’t they be rewarded for their faithfulness? Oh, if only it worked that way.

No, the way it works is that the other ten disciples hear what they’re saying. They blow a gasket. Some of them are angry that they didn’t make that request first. James and John are trying to nose ahead. Others of them, well, they were just angry. The twelve of them had traveled together with Jesus. They shared everything in common. Here are the Sons of Zebedee requesting preferential treatment at their request.

It’s like the kid who sneaks into Daddy’s hospital room to say, “Hey Pop, can you make me the executor of your estate?” Where are all the brothers and sisters? “Well, I thought I would get here early. After all, you always liked me more, right?” It’s shameless.

So, here’s my question this morning. What kind of church puts a story like this in its Bible? Why was this text written down, published, and distributed? I can think of a handful of quick answers:

First, the story is told by an honest church. All of us like to be noticed. We want to be affirmed. Some of us want to be lifted above the others. Others of us want this but don’t want to be caught. Here’s a story so real it is almost ridiculous. James and John say, “Give us a promotion.” The others say, “Why them? Why not us?”

Second, a story like this is told by a church that teaches an alternative to our natural inclinations. Jesus said to them, “The world out there is run by tyrants.” That’s all the world knows. Some strong man stands tall, says, “Look at me,” promotes himself endlessly, cons others to gain support, all for the sake of getting power and keeping it. The pages of history are full of one egomaniac after another, most of them forceful, all of them tripping over their own feet, none of them ruling forever.

Jesus says, “Do you want that? You don’t want that.” No one wants that except for the tyrant. But there’s an alternative. For those who gather around Jesus, who truly sit on his right and his left, they have learned that service to others is the only way to life. What counts is not our achievement or presumed authority, but our willingness to work for the benefit of others. That’s the definition of “love” in the deepest sense: to make a constructive difference for other people, rather than push them around or steal from their pockets. So, the church teaches an alternative.

Third, this story is told by a church that understands nobody stands taller than anybody else. We have differing abilities, differing circumstances where we can serve, none better than any other, just different. That was the genius of the Protestant reformation of five hundred years ago. It rejected the hierarchy of the medieval church, choosing instead to declare that all of us are Christians together, none better, all of us with gifts differing.

One of my professors put it poignantly. “In a time when the church was split into an exclusive priesthood and the laity, the Reformation eliminated the priesthood and elevated all lay people to become priests.” He was identifying the phrase, “the priesthood of all believers.” In other words, James and John, if you’re going to take a seat, sit here with everybody else.

And there’s one final reason why a Bible story like this is kept by the church. It is a continuing reminder that we are never finished. The Gospel of Mark is offering a critique of Mark’s own congregation. All of us have the continuing temptation to get too big for our britches, to inflate our own importance, to perceive we are more significant than we really are.

I remember the church organist, a wisecracking old soul. He’d sit on the bench, watch all the maneuvering in his congregation, and shake his head. There were always folks in that church trying to pull strings, or make unnecessary speeches, or blather on to say, “Look at me!” His favorite line: “It’s the only place in town where a dollar in the offering plate gives you a million dollars’ worth of opinions.”  

The truth is all of us have a way to go in our moral development. We won’t be finished until we are done. There is a place in each of our souls that requires the Holy Spirit to pull out some sandpaper and keep polishing. It is simply the nature of life, faith, and growth. After all, we have been hearing these Bible stories of these unfinished twelve disciples since July. Haven’t they learned anything yet? Maybe, but there is a way to go.

Meanwhile, the temptation comes all the time – to be important, to make our own turf and defend it, to push ahead of the pack. And to what end?

My friend Dave served for a while as a pastor in a sunny resort town. It was one of those communities where people of great means retire. He said, “Coffee hour was a time for people-watching. They loved talking about how important everybody is. Look, there’s the retired CEO of the rental car company. Over there is the retired senator. Here’s the health care executive; she departed early with a good buy-out.” Everybody was somebody. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it?

The only problem was the church was a mess. Most of those folks were accustomed to being in charge. They excelled at telling others what to do, but they wouldn’t lift a finger to do anything themselves. Those retired bosses were driving their spouses crazy, so the spouses had said, “Go and bug somebody else – why not go to the church and drive the minister crazy?”

Dave said, “I knew it was time to look for another church when the conversation turned to hiring ushers. It was beneath them to hand out worship bulletins. None of them would do it.” On the face of it, it was an exceptionally talented church. Sadly, they were too full of themselves, and not full enough of the self-giving love of Christ.

Are we able to drink the cup? Will we be baptized with the baptism of the servant Christ? The sons of Zebedee say, “Sure!” But were they able? It was too early to tell. As he promised them, Jesus faced certain suffering while James, John, and all the others would run away. In time, they did drink the cup - they found themselves baptized into service. According to the book of Acts, James was beheaded as a martyr (Acts 12:2). According to tradition, John was exiled by the emperor to a small island. Did they think it would be easy to follow Jesus? It certainly was not easy for him.

So, the text reminds us of something essential about the Christian life. To follow Jesus is to serve as he serves, to give as he gives, to give away as he gives away. The Christian life is a life of service and self-giving. We are called to give ourselves to the needs of the world, not to the promotion of our own prestige.

Wrapped in this passage is Mark’s deepest reflection on the cross. Jesus speaks for the first and only time in this Gospel about the power of his death. He calls it “a ransom” payment, to redeem those held captive by sin and its selfishness. He gives his life for the benefit of others – for you, for me, for many. Jesus does not hold back what he can do in the power of his Father’s love. Fear does not immobilize him. Self-importance does not disqualify him. He gives himself freely.

Let that be the lesson learned from those silly sons of Zebedee. Thanks to the love of God, the call of Christ, and the presence of the Spirit, all of us have some sort of power. We have lives full of God-given abilities. So how will we use them? To destroy or to build up? To heal or to break? To love or to punish? It all comes down to service.

Recently I came across wisdom from Leo Buscaglia, who taught at University of Southern California, and called himself “The professor of love.” He said:

The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no tickertape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our encouragement, who will need our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give.

 

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. It's overwhelming to consider the continuous opportunities there are to make our love felt. 

“Whoever wishes to become great must be your servant,” he said. That’s you and me: loved by the Lord, ransomed, set free from whatever chains us to lesser aspirations. We are freed to be great women and men who serve others, emptying ourselves for them as He has emptied himself for all. This is the shape of true greatness, not expressed in puffing up our chests but serving on our knees.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Stumble Bumbles

Mark 9:38-50
October 6, 2024

William G. Carter  

“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. 

 

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell.^, And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.

 

‘For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

 Yikes. I am not sure it is the best text for World Communion Sunday. This is the day when we affirm God has a dream. One day, all God’s children will dine at the holy table. Yet Jesus issues a warning: “Don’t lead any of my little ones astray. Otherwise, you will be wishing you had a concrete necklace and were thrown into deep water.” Yow! It sounds like there is a great deal at stake.

By this point in the Gospel of Mark, the Lord has been working on his disciples for some time. He has shown them signs and wonders, evidence that God has come close to us. He displayed acts of compassion and fed huge crowds from their own limited resources. He stepped over the invisible boundaries of fear and prejudice and cure frightening disorders that afflict innocent people. And he punctured the religious hierarchies and unjust rules that diminish those who want to believe. He has been making a difference. He has been showing the twelve how to do it.

Now he pauses long enough to say, “Don’t trip up anybody else who wants to believe. Especially the little ones.” Apparently, there are things we can do that provoke others to stumble and fall. Can you think of anything? I can.

I heard a true story about a church like this one. It was a communion Sunday. The prayers were offered, the bread was broken, the elders took the trays down the aisle. One of the elders worked his way to the back of the church. As he approached the back of the sanctuary, he saw what he had not noticed. His daughter’s ex-husband was seated in the last row. So, what did he do? He skipped over him. Didn’t serve him the bread.

The former son-in-law gave him a pass, thinking his presence had unsettled the guy. But when the elder brought the tray full of the blood of Christ and skipped over him again, worship was over for the son in law. As he said to the pastor on the way out, “I am done with this. I will not be back.”

Wow. Did you know that it is possible for religious people to sin? That some of them can sin so extravagantly that the sin damages the hearts of those still growing in their faith? In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus calls it “a scandal.” The Greek word is translated for us as “stumbling block.” The original word is “scandal.” To offend on that level is to “scandalize.”

Think of the lost opportunity. If you’re in church, and you see somebody your daughter came to despise, and you have trays of holy communion in your hands, you could witness to the grace and forgiveness of Jesus by leaning forward to say, “The body and blood of Christ for you, too.” Whatever you have done or neglected to do, it’s forgiven. It is canceled by Christ whose grace is bigger than the both of us. You are free, I am free, let’s begin again.  

Instead, we could choose to stay citizens of a fallen world. Withhold grace from one another. Hang on to old grudges. Stick it to one another. Make it hurt. Keep it broken. And that, says Jesus, is the scandal. It declares the Gospel does not matter.

In the instruction he offers today, he says scandals can come in three ways: the hand, the foot, the eye. Fortunately for modest people, he doesn’t mention any other appendages. No, these three are suggestive enough.

The hand: the hand can slap, the hand can pinch, the hand can punch. All are expressions of violence. Yet there is more. The hand can type poison e-mails. It can inscribe anonymous letters. The hand can clinch and withhold affection. And the hand can take. It can grab and steal. I have been around the church long enough to know there are a whole lot of scandals caused by hands.

Some don’t seem like much. Like the two little girls who attended church for the very first time. It was overwhelming to them. Everybody singing, or being quiet, and standing up and sitting down. It was a lot to process. Finally, something else happened. Some nice people came down the aisle with plates full of money. They passed the trays back and forth. Afterward, one kid says to the other, “How much did you get?”

Funny story, but I will tell you I have seen Christian people scandalized when other Christian people take what is not theirs. A congregation can thin out after a significant theft. Even after the loss is remediated, those who left in disgust will not come back. The loss of trust is too much for them. “If your hand leads you astray,” he says….

And then, the foot. What could the foot do to scandalize somebody else? I suppose it could give somebody the boot. Or you could hurt someone if you gave them a swift kick. You could tear the fabric of the fellowship if you stomped on somebody for any reason.

But what I have noticed about feet is that they take us places. I suppose they could take us to dens of iniquity, although most of us are most people; scandals are not our currency. Yet feet can carry us to places of inconsistency. They can expose our hypocrisy, especially to those more innocent or naïve.

Like that night at the Hershey Lodge when my father tried to sneak our family into a small hotel room. There were six of us, but he was only going to pay for two. It really shook me up. I was thirteen or fourteen, back when I still saw everything in black and white. Here was my dad, trying to cheat the clerk out of twenty or thirty bucks.

It was the only time my father ever sinned. I sat on the curb, broke into tears. Teenage righteousness will do that to you. As I recall, my mother gave him a look, and he walked back inside to the desk and made it right. If he had not have done that, I would have lost some respect for him. Or worse, I might have grown up thinking it was OK for me to cheat others too. The feet took us there.

And don’t forget the eye. “If your eye causes you to sin,” says Jesus, “pluck it out.” What is he talking about? Fortunately, we have an idea. Back in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “The eye is the lamp of the body.” It is the portal by which we see what we want. It opens us to the possibility of acquisition. If we see it, we will want to walk to it on our feet and grab it with our hands.

As he goes on to say, “If your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness.”[1] So, he is talking about health. He’s talking about sufficiency. He’s talking about satisfaction. And if we give in to our hungers, if we pursue what we see but is not ours, it can lead us down the road to destruction. “If your eye causes you to sin,” he says, “pluck it out!”

Now, please do not take that literally. Through the ages of Christian history, a few people have done so. No, do not take it literally, take it seriously. For the point is to not lead others astray. To not scandalize the faith of others by our bad choices. To care so much for the rest of the Christian household that we will not willfully embarrass them. Or demean them. Or to live and behave in such a way that they begin to think that the Gospel is not true.

It will take self-discipline for each of us. It will require patience with one another and perseverance for ourselves. This is why Jesus concludes with the admonition, “Have salt in yourselves.” He is calling us to be the seasoning of a bland world. He invites us to live with the same generosity and grace that he has brought us from God. There is something distinctive about loving others as God has loved us.

Will we get it perfect? No. Yet we do not stop trying to become more like Christ. He is our model for living and our example for loving. He is the One who calls us together as strangers and equips us to become friends. He can lift us up when we fall down and take us down a few pegs when we get too big for our britches.

He is the One who stays with us, in life, in death, in life beyond death. Something happens to us as we stay with him. We change. We deepen. We extend ourselves. So deep is his transforming love that we can believe it is possible to embrace the final invitation of today’s text, “Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.”

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Matthew 6:22-23.

More Than Us

Mark 9:38-41
September 29, 2024
William G. Carter

John said to him, ‘Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.’ But Jesus said, ‘Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterwards to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us. For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.

It was an interview, almost 75 years ago, back when television was young. They put a poet on CBS News and asked him to sit for an interview. The poet was no ordinary wordsmith. It was Carl Sandburg, three-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize. He was a man who loved words, who juggled words, and who adjudicated words. 

Edward R. Murrow was the interviewer, an ever-present Camel cigarette in his hand. After a bit of small talk about Sandburg’s work, Murrow gave him this question: what is the ugliest word in the English language? Sandburg looked him over, then started working over the question. “The ugliest word, what’s the ugliest word?” He rolled the question over his tongue. “Ugliest? Ugliest word? Hmm…the ugliest word.”

Then, rather abruptly, he gave his answer. “The ugliest word is exclusive.”

Edward R. Murrow blew a bit of cigarette smoke, then asked the question, “Why? What makes that the ugliest words?” The reply: “That word ‘exclusive’ shuts out a large portion of humanity from your mind and heart.”

It is a word that has often been used to make people feel special. We live in an exclusive community. We vacation in an exclusive resort. We are inducted in an exclusive society. We are offered an exclusive deal. We worship in an exclusive church. It’s not so ugly if you are one of the insiders, if you count yourself among the brightest and the best, the richest and the most privileged. You might be tempted to boast, “I am a member of an exclusive club.”

Yet, that, precisely that, is why the poet named it the ugliest word. Because it separates you from the rank and file. It presumes to lift you above everybody else.”

And the disciples announced to Jesus, “We saw an exorcist out there, healing in your name. We told him to stop because he was not following us.”

Last week, we overheard the twelve of them bickering over which one of them was the greatest. Which one was superior? Which one of them was most faithful, most loving, most generous, and most handsome – to say of most humble? Jesus took them off at the knees, declaring the greatest would be the one who serves everybody else. He punctured their view of competition. You cannot be a follower of Jesus if you are obsessed with superiority.

Today, it is their notion of exclusivity that Jesus takes on. John the disciple, one of the inner circle from Galilee, boasts with pride about what he has done. “Teacher,” he says, “we saw an exorcist who didn’t have a union card. He was casting out demons in your name, but he wasn’t following us. We told him to stop!” In other words, John thinks he himself belongs to the only show in town.

Now, we know Jesus is going to take him on. Redirect him. But Jesus is simply gracious. He chastises the opinion by speaking to the best capacity within his own misguided followers. The Lord says, “Don’t stop him. Anybody who does a deed of power in my name will be unable to speak evil of me.”

Then he cuts to the chase: “Who’s not against us is for us.” That unnamed exorcist wandering around out there by himself is really part of a bigger work. Imagine that: that there might be people out there who are doing the same work and pursuing the same purposes. In fact, we are already on the same team. Call it “Team Jesus.”

I like that word “team.” I am old enough to remember when churches worked together on matters of common concern. The two high rise apartments in our town began when religious leaders agreed that our senior citizens on limited incomes needed affordable housing in this community. The pastors worked together; the churches worked together. Can you imagine everybody working together?

These days, so many churches are struggling even to keep their doors open, so they find themselves obsessed with survival. Some are so anxious they steal sheep from other flocks and call it “evangelism.” Or they profess to be the only true believers, declaring in word and deed, “We are the only show in town.”

There is an alternative. Jesus hints at it. You know what it is. It’s called teamwork. What do we know about teamwork?

Somebody asked me the other day about teamwork. What was my experience of sports, and being on a team? Well, I played high school football for three seasons. Actually, I sat on the bench for two and a half seasons, while the superstars were out on the field. The coach put me in for a game in the third season. He was desperate. First play of the game, I was triple-teamed, and they carried me off the field with a ruptured knee. So much for my sports career.

But teamwork, what is it look like? At our best, we see it all the time. One of the best things our congregation does is to offer meals for those who have lost a loved one. We did it last Saturday. We did it yesterday. Whether we make the meal or serve the meal, we are engaged together. The work is collaborative. Collaboration always takes time, energy, and communication. There is something everybody can do. And in the end, everybody eats.

All this shared work is in service of the greater purpose. It’s in service to what we are here to do. If you are in choir, our purpose is to make music together. If we play a sport, we play the sport with others as well as you can. If we follow Jesus, we do the very things that he does, both for him, with him, and with all the others who are doing his work.

“Teacher, we saw somebody casting out demons in your name, and we told him to stop because he wasn’t following us.” Sounds kind of hollow, especially in the Gospel of Mark. In this Gospel, the predominant image for the work of Jesus is exorcism. The very first thing Jesus does after his baptism and a retreat in the wilderness is to cast out a demon.

It happened in a synagogue, in a holy space, on holy time. A man started yelling at Jesus. He hollers, “Jesus, I know who you are. Have you come out to destroy us?” The Lord stared down the evil spirit and said, “Get out of him!” In that confrontation, the tormented man is made well. That is the ministry of Jesus. It is the active force of God’s Spirit in him, repairing what is broken, healing what is ill.

One page after another, Mark wants us to know that this is why God sends his strong Son into our midst: to do an exorcism on the world, to make all things well. He confronts the evil that destroys, and he ushers in the healing power of God. The Jews have a phrase for that: “tikkun olam.” It means “to take the world in for repairs.” It is to restore all that is broken and to build shalom . . . peace, balance, integration, wholeness.

This is the work of the Christ. If you are not against it – and who would be against it? You would have to be out of your right mind to be against it, and that suggests Jesus will be coming to you, to make you well. – If you are not against it, you are for it.

And if we’re not entirely for it yet, I do believe the work of Christ is powerful enough and enticing enough to invite all of us into the deep gladness of his well-being. A world that was ill enough to crucify Jesus must contend with him returning in his resurrection, working persistently to heal and restore everything that belongs to God. If you are not against it, you will be for it.

“Do not stop him,” says Jesus.” The psychologist who unlocks the learning disorder, the dentist who fixes smiles, the social worker who connects, the resource center that provides a safe place for a frightened woman to sleep, the counselor who listens to the broken heart, the volunteer ladling out tuna casserole, the deacon who prays, the exercise instructor who calms the soul – all of them are part of the mission, God’s mission. And we are in it together. We are all part of God’s salvage operation.

Don’t stand in the way of any other person or group that welcomes people into the embrace of God. Do not deny the outcasts who can’t believe that anybody might love them. Don’t turn away the person whom you might lift higher. Put a muzzle on the ugly exclusivity and replace it with encouragement. And for God’s sake – for God’s sake – never insist you are the only one who does it right. Love requires us to put others first, to tend to their wounds before our own. This is how we drive out evil and welcome the Christ who comes to heal all.

Maybe that’s why Jesus says what he does: “Truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.” Imagine that – you are not only one of the healers, but you are also the recipient. Is there anybody in the dominion of God better than all the others? No, not one. All of us drink from the water of Christ’s mercy. All of us. That’s why we need to work together.

One of my teachers told the story of growing up in Appalachia. “We didn’t think we were poor,” he said, “because there was always somebody worse off than us.” It made him feel better, a little better. One day, his church group announced they would make up fruit baskets and deliver them to the poor families in town. Fred felt good about that. It would lift his spirits to do something kind for somebody else.

The fruit baskets, mostly apples, were put together. The group split up in a few different cars and headed out to the poor sections of town. Fred held his basket on his knee. He knew what he would do. He would sneak up to the front door, put down the basket, knock hard, and then run away. It was guerilla charity, he said. Unload the basket and split.

So, he approached a run-down clapboard house. Lawn was overgrown. One of the bedroom windows was broken. A single lightbulb on inside the home. He thought to himself, “Oh, these poor folks are really going to enjoy this bruit basket. I’ll bet nobody has done something nice for them in a long time. I’ll drop the basket on the porch, knock on the door, and run away. Good plan.

He leaned down to place the basket when the front door opened abruptly. He stood up, shocked. This was not the original plan. A grizzled sharecropper took the basket in his wrinkled knuckles. He brightened in a broken smile, then said, “How kind of you! Thank you ever so much.” Then he paused, held out the basket, and said, “Would you like one of these apples? They look delicious.”

The kid froze. This was definitely not in the plan. He was supposed to give away the apples, not take one. The old man stood there, waiting. So, Fred took one of the apples. Took a big bite. Indeed, it was delicious.

“Ever since that moment,” he said, years later, “I realized we all eat from the same basket. All of us, from the same basket.” Just as God intends for it to be.

(c) William G. Carter. All right reserved.