Sermon- 16th Sunday after Pentecost

The Gospel According to Mark 9:30-37
30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31for 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.’ 32But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Who Is the Greatest?
33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ 34But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. 35He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’ 36Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.

“You faithless generation- how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you?”
They were afraid. They were afraid, and they seem to be afraid pretty much all the time. Perhaps it is because it was only one scene earlier when Jesus said that to them, ‘how much longer must I put up with you?’ At every turn, these twelve disciples just don’t understand. They just don’t believe. They just can’t figure him out. And Jesus is starting to get a little short with them. How much longer must I put up with you?
He is talking about dying again. They still don’t understand, it is a bit of a refrain in the gospel of Mark. Jesus tells them what is in store, and they don’t really know what he is talking about. But, surely they remember him yelling at them only moments earlier, when a little boy lay sick and possessed by a demon, foaming at the mouth and writhing on the ground. The disciples can’t cast it out. They don’t know why. Jesus makes it look so simple. And then Jesus is stern with them, and they still don’t know what they have done wrong, and it just gets more confusing and so they stop talking.
Well, that is not exactly true. They stop talking about Jesus dying. They stop asking questions. When they don’t understand, instead of confessing him to be the Messiah like Peter last week, those gathered disciples remain silent. They are afraid to say anything, because they seem to keep landing on the wrong thing. They are afraid to ask Jesus, because he seems tired of their questions and they never seem to get it right.
So, because the dying stuff seems to be the most confusing, the disciples choose to take the silent approach. But, they aren’t ready to remain silent on all questions. In fact, on their walk from Galilee to Capernum, they are having a pretty heated argument- about who is the greatest.
Bizarre, right? I mean, who among us walks with a friend and lists out all those things that make us the greatest? We’re smart, charming, earn a good salary, volunteer for the right committees, have a happy family, find time to go to the gym… this is not the way we have been raised to talk about ourselves. Who among us wonders if they are the greatest? But, argue on this point those disciples do.
Who among them is the greatest? We don’t know if they resolve the argument, or if they are each harboring one really great comeback to defend or assert their position when Jesus asks them what they have been talking about. Silence. When it comes to telling Jesus what is knocking around in their heads, nothing seems to come out of their mouths. Maybe because they are afraid again. Afraid to ask the wrong questions, say the wrong things, not get it one more time.
It is easy to get afraid these days. There is a fair amount of fear going around in the larger Lutheran church. Not too many weeks ago, the greater church made some decisions regarding sexuality that are pretty tough for some to swallow. As I heard speakers at that churchwide assembly, many of them cried because it felt like the church they knew has been ripped away from them. But, other speakers would come to the microphone and cry because it felt as if the church they loved left them high and dry once they thought about bringing their same sex partner around to worship.
The fear has been building for a long time. Fear for some that the church will split in half, that we won’t be the people we have always been. Fear for others that they just can’t take another no, they just can’t take another disappointment, they just can’t deny their call to ministry and their sexual orientation anymore.
The fear is building. Some people are talking about leaving, some churches are wondering if they can still be a part of the ELCA anymore. The fear is building. Some are talking about death. The death of our faith. The death of the ELCA. Some say it is inevitable. Others suggest that we have just taken the first step toward being the church Jesus calls us to be.
When the fear builds, it seems like some of us get a little silent, and start the wrong conversation. We start talking about which churches are the most accepting, which churches are the most progressive, which churches are stuck in the past, which ones are inevitably going to leave. Urban, rural, suburban, inner city. The lines get drawn. Who is happy and who is sad? Who is angry and who rejoices? Who is the greatest at welcoming? Who is the greatest at remaining true to the gospel?
We might not be willing to say it out loud, but a lot of us are talking about who is the greatest among us, and we’re missing the point. It isn’t about who is growing and who is dying. It is easy to spend our time talking about growth rates when we’re just plain afraid. It is easy to make lists and congratulate ourselves or think longer and harder about snappy comebacks for those who disagree with us.
Ordering ourselves when we are afraid is the easiest of things. Marking our territory, making a list of who is in and who is out makes the fear a little less poignant, a little less severe. Congratulating ourselves or wondering if now is time to walk away doesn’t help us to live into the fear, it just makes its boundaries even more clear.
Jesus tells those disciples, that all the ordering, all the one-upping, all the self-congratulation, it really isn’t the main thing anymore. The main thing is being a servant. The main thing is being last of all, not first. The main thing isn’t self-congratulation, but self-service.
They sit around him, and Jesus takes a child and puts it in their midst. It seems like it must be a pretty cute scene, right? A baby held in the arms of Jesus, welcomed into the circle. But it isn’t meant to be cute. It isn’t meant to be cuddly. Children, in the ancient world, were the most disposable of commodities, they often didn’t live into adulthood, and weren’t of much value until they could serve the family. So Jesus isn’t giving these disciples a lesson in loving babies, he’s giving them a lesson in seeing the world through new eyes. If they are looking for Jesus, they ought to be looking to those on the outside of the circle. That’s where he is going to be. That’s where God is going to be.
The fear turns us in on ourselves, but Jesus isn’t having any of that. Those left out in the cold, those who can’t see God anymore, it is in their company that Jesus is going to be hanging out. Because that is what he does- that’s the kind of God he is. Not the God of the self-congratulators, but a God of the losers and the broken.
After the votes made by our larger church, many wept openly. I was certainly getting out the Kleenex myself. I couldn’t help but cry for my brothers and sisters who finally feel like they have a place here. And I couldn’t help but cry for my brothers and sisters who were walking out. Who couldn’t stay with us anymore. It isn’t about ordering who won and who lost. It isn’t about that at all. It is about seeing the fear and the uncertainty in our future, and living in the midst of all of it. Holding our brothers and sisters in pain and in joy, and being a community with all of them. Finding Jesus in the midst of all of them. Not because anyone is the greatest, but because all are broken, and need a God exactly like ours. A God who hangs out with the lost, the ignored and the broken, who is found always with the last and the least. Amen, and thanks be to God.