September 19th Sermon by The Reverend Loree Reed

Mark 9: 30–37, 
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your Name. Amen

It hardly makes sense. Last week, at least in our lectionary readings, Jesus and his disciples were in the beautiful mountain retreat of Caesarea Philippi, where Peter proclaimed Jesus Israel’s long–waited Messiah.  And Jesus confided to his disciples the nearly incomprehensible news that once they reached Jerusalem, he would undergo great suffering.  Indeed, he said, once they reached Jerusalem he would be killed by the elders and chief priests and scribes.  That much they had heard, though they could barely take it in.  So you would think, this morning, all of his disciples would be gathered around Jesus in sympathy, in grief, in deep commiseration.  But that’s not what Mark reveals to us this morning.
No, this morning Mark shows us those same disciples lagging behind Jesus on the road, bickering among themselves about which one of them is the greatest.  What is going on here?  Have we missed something?
We have indeed missed something.  Since the Church celebrates the Transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop at the end of Epiphany every year, we don’t usually get that story in its proper chronological sequence.  If we had gotten it – just before our story today — we would quickly realize that only three of those disciples had been invited to accompany Jesus up that mountain.  Only three of them glimpsed Jesus in his transcendent glory.  The other nine were left at base camp at the foot of that mountain.  And when Peter, James and John came with Jesus down that mountain, the others must have realized they had been left out.  They’d been excluded.  So now, finally, we can understand their bickering about which of them was the greatest, the most important.  An all–too–human sense of competition has entered into the picture.
And you know what?  Jesus understands that too.  So this morning, when he asks the disciples what they were arguing about on the road he doesn’t rebuke them.  He knows that being overlooked, being excluded hurts.  So he waits until they have arrived at the house where they will spend the night.  Then he begins to teach them, to demonstrate to them how radically different things are to be in the Kingdom of God.  He begins by saying, “Whoever wants to be first in the Kingdom must be last of all and servant of all.”  And lest they miss what he is saying, he takes a child, a small child who happened to be wandering through the room, and he embraces her, saying, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.  And whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me.”
In that day and age this was an extraordinary teaching, something none of the disciples had ever heard before.  For in that society children had very little status at all.  Indeed, they were perceived very differently from the way most of us see our children.  You see, when a baby is born to us today, by and large, we expect that child to survive and thrive.  So we welcome each newborn wholeheartedly and focus on his or her gifts.  Then we try to develop those gifts – by reading to that child, by encouraging her in sports programs, by finding good schools, good music teachers – whatever it takes to develop that child’s potential.  But in Jesus’ day 30 percent of newborns did not survive through infancy.  Another thirty percent didn’t live past the age of 16.  And no parent wanted to get too attached to a child who – most likely — would not survive to adulthood.  It simply wasn’t realistic.  It wasn’t practical.  So for Jesus to encourage the disciples to welcome a vulnerable little one like this – was to say that he and his Father valued everyone – even those his society said were expendable.
I can only compare that different point of view to the point of view my own family had when my brother’s first son was born with Down Syndrome.  Greg was born with several holes in his heart, and none of us were entirely sure he would survive the necessary corrective surgeries.  And then, when he did survive, we had to adjust our hopes and expectations for him.  Where we were prepared to welcome a child who looked like us, who would most likely excel in school, who would most likely go on to do well in some chosen profession – we weren’t so sure what Greg’s future might look like.  In fact, it took us a couple of years to appreciate instead his sunny disposition and extraordinary ability to sense when someone needed a hug.  Ours, you see, was an earthly way of looking at things.  And Greg, by contrast, was a heavenly gift.
Now, that’s an odd series of events to explore in one short sermon on a cloudy Sunday morning: the realization that Jesus was Israel’s long–awaited Messiah, lit up from within by God’s glory; the realization that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem to suffer and die for people who couldn’t fathom what he was about; the realization that Jesus didn’t shy away from weak people, suffering people, people the world around him easily overlooked.
And yet for us this morning – in the midst of climate change, political upheaval, racially–motivated violence and a world–wide pandemic that just won’t quit – it’s a perfect series of events.  For in the midst of all these crises, all this chaos and grief, we too need a Savior.  We too need wisdom and strength.  We too need One who not only knows us but loves us.
What Jesus is saying to his disciples in the Gospel of Mark this morning he is saying to us – that the answers are all around us.  For we too are surrounded with people who have been overlooked – overlooked politically, overlooked by healthcare, overlooked financially, and certainly overlooked emotionally.  If we can begin to notice the people around us who are feeling down and begin to embrace them and serve them – then we will find the wisdom and courage, the light and life we ourselves need.  As we enter the Kingdom of God.
Amen.
 
Return to Sermons Home Page Top of Page