September 25, 2005

Do We Know What We're Asking?

Isaiah 53:4-6, 10-12
Hebrews 5:1-10
Matthew 20:20-28

There's a humorous caricature of Jewish mothers illustrated in our Gospel lesson today about the mother of James and John, who asks Jesus if her sons can have a preferred position in his administration when he gets into power. It reminds me of the story of the three Jewish mothers, sitting beside the pool in Miami Beach, bragging about their sons, each trying to outdo the others. "Let me tell you about my Theodore," begins the first. "What a son! Every week he goes out with a different woman, each one more gorgeous than the previous one." Really?" says the second. "You think that's something? My Henry is now in love - and not with just anyone - but with a woman surgeon!" Amid oohs and aahs the third mother speaks up. "No question, you both have nice boys who like nice girls. But my Seymour and me, we have quite a relationship. Every week he goes to a man and pays him $50 an hour. For what? So he can lay down on a couch and talk. And who is my Seymour talking about at such fancy prices? Me!" (i)

The Jewish mother, God bless her, has been caricatured as overinvolved and overprotective, pushing her children to excel - the all-engulfing nurturer who devotes everything to her children with each spoonful of chicken soup. But most mothers are this way, aren't they? It's natural that mothers should desire success for their children. It's natural they would want their children to get ahead.

The episode between Mrs. Zebedee and Jesus is also a natural one. She recognizes an opportunity for advancement for her two sons, so she asks Jesus in so many words, "How about making my sons your vice presidents when you finally make it into the oval office? Okay?" Jesus' response is interesting. He doesn't rebuke the woman but instead, directly addresses her sons. He rightly perceives that they'd probably been urging their mother to speak to him in the first place. "You fellows don't know what you are asking," he says to them. "Are you able to follow in the way I must go?" The two brothers eagerly respond without giving a second thought, "Lord, we are able." Jesus is trying to get them to realize that the way to glory is through suffering, but the brothers, we would surmise, are not thinking that way at all. They just don't get it. Jesus' way is the way of the cross, the way of suffering servanthood. All the brothers can think of is their pride, ambition, and future glory. Jesus' response is something like, "Yes, you will follow in my way, but the preferential treatment you ask for, that's just not possible."

Of course the other disciples are annoyed at their arrogant request, so Jesus again explains to all of them what true greatness in the kingdom really means. To be great, one must become like a servant; to be first, one must become like a slave. Even Jesus himself has come not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life - after the example of Isaiah's Suffering Servant - to give his life as a ransom for others. Jesus speaks of his life and death as achieving freedom for humankind. But the disciples still don't understand. Do we understand any better twenty one centuries later? We ask the same kind of questions, questions that show the same kind of ignorance. For example, we ask, in God's scheme of things, why aren't good folks given preferential treatment? Another way of posing this is to ask, why do good people suffer? Or, why is this bad thing happening to me, or to someone I care about? Why me, Lord?

In a Hagar the Horrible comic strip, there are just two panels. In the first, Hagar's Viking boat is sinking in a stormy sea, and he cries out to heaven, "Why me?!" The second frame shows a startled Hagar, and a voice coming out of the storm clouds, "Why not?" Do we know what we're asking when we ask for special treatment, when we question why we suffer, when we ask why me, Lord? Apropos the comic strip and the continuing devastation on the Gulf Coast, how about trying this: stop telling God how big your storm is; instead, tell your storm how big your God is!

Yet, whenever we experience suffering or grief, we're still tempted to question God's wisdom. "Why do bad things happen to good people?" is a natural question, but not an easy one to answer. Maybe it's all just fate, ice cold mathematical laws, a comfortless conclusion arising from nothingness in a world spinning out of control. No, I do not believe it's all just fate, but rather, that there's another force at work in the created order. I do not believe that God causes bad things to happen to people, but God does allow us to have freedom, and with freedom we make choices, and sometimes these choices put us into situations or circumstances - not always our doing, but sometimes they are - circumstances where evil can really grab hold of us, or where suffering can occur. In our freedom we have the choice to behave, for example, responsibly or irresponsibly. When irresponsible choices are made, at times we or innocent others get hurt. But this is not God punishing us or others for our offenses. (ii)

Even when we sin, even when we fall short of the mark, even when we don't live up to God's expectations of us, even when we suffer, God suffers with us, God loves us and forgives us. To the extent that we don't live responsibly, we usually have to pay a price, but this doesn't prevent God from caring about us all the more. God will never cause harm to come to us, nor will God ever abandon us. These assurances of our faith really are worth a lot more than anything we could ask for in our misdirected questions.

But there's one more thing. It has to do with the "law of reversal," a vital part of God's gospel of love. James and John wanted to be first, to be head honchos, right up there with the boss man, Jesus; they wanted to be management, not labor. This is probably a desire of many of us. We all long to be on the top of the heap, at the top of the ladder of success. It's part of human nature; it's part of society. But in God's scheme of things, it's the reverse that is accented. "The last shall be first." "Whoever would be great must be your servant." "Whoever would save their life will lose it." These and other sayings of Jesus emphasize that in the kingdom of God, we ascend by descending, we get ahead by going to the rear, we rise in the ranks of heaven by bending low in servanthood. We are to ask not what God's kingdom can do for us, but rather, what we can do to help bring in the kingdom. (iii) In God's scheme of things, it is not the powerful, but the meek who inherit the earth.

A shepherd in ancient Judah, while searching for firewood one dark night when the moon was hidden behind clouds, stumbles across a traveler in the bleak wilderness. They almost literally bump into each other, and the shepherd invites the stranger to join him at his fire. The other man wavers, then agrees to do so. But as they walk in the darkness, he keeps dropping behind, and finally says quietly, "You do not really want me at your fire." The shepherd reassures the stranger, and they continue walking on. But as they edge toward the firelight, the stranger stops and turns away. "As you wish," says the shepherd, "but you remain welcome." As the shepherd moves into the warm light, the stranger follows slowly, eyes downcast. His face is ghastly, distorted and scarred. Fingers on his hands are missing. He is a leper. Yet, the shepherd looks directly at him and smiles. "Over here is warmth and no smoke." The leper gazes at him for a moment in wonder, then responds humbly, "Yes, thank you." And then he smiles, for the first time in many, many years.

In this little story we note that the leper did not ask to come to the fire; he was invited by the shepherd. Our God in Christ, who we sometimes refer to as the Good Shepherd, invites us to come to the light, to be servant people. Jesus is our primary example. As we accept this invitation to be servanthood disciples we are reminded of the service Jesus renders to us. It's a compassion so genuine that it refuses to withdraw from any person, no matter how odious or obnoxious we or others have made ourselves. It's a righteousness so zealous that it makes common cause with every victim of oppression and injustice, no matter what the situation we or they are in. It's a faithfulness so loyal that it cannot be alienated by any disloyalty, betrayal, or violence any of us might return against it. It's a connection to others so deep that it cannot be pried away by any appeal to privilege, rank, race, class, merit, religious affiliation, or even holiness or sinfulness. (iv) This is the cup Jesus chooses to drink, and if we are to follow in his way, we must drink from this cup also, and serve others as Christ serves us - with compassion, righteousness, faithfulness, and with a deep connection to those in need everywhere.

"You do not know what you are asking," Jesus tells James and John, yet their request is granted in a way they never imagine. "Thy kingdom come," we pray, "thy will be done!" Do we know what we're asking? Probably not, but that's okay, because God still uses us to accomplish God's purposes even if we misunderstand, even if our pride and ambition get in the way, even if we still think we need to earn God's favor, even if we make irresponsible choices and fall far short of the mark. God still uses us as servant people, though we are far from perfect, because more importantly, we are Christ-inspired to be the very best we can be, and to do the very best we can do. "Lord, we are able, our spirits are thine; remold them, make us like thee, divine; thy guiding radiance above us shall be a beacon to God, to love and loyalty." (v) Amen.

The Pilgrim Church of Duxbury
Rev. Kenneth C. Landall

i Pulpit Resource, 10/20/85.
ii Charles F. Dawdy, Word & Witness, 10/17/82.
iii PR, op. cit.
iv Kenneth J. Ross, Word & Witness, 10/20/85.
v "Are Ye Able, Said the Master," Chalice Hymnal, #621. 5