Praying Daily Blog

            Last Sunday, 18 October 2009, was the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, and the Gospel proclamation for the day was read from St. Mark 10:35-45.  It’s quite a story, and Pastor Luckey, having given it his best lectio divina–the practice of “sacred reading”–throughout the preceding week, gave all of us at Faith Lutheran Church  the Good News as taught and lived by Our Lord Jesus.  During the sermon Pastor Luckey refers to Marie, a woman from Haiti.  She was our parish’s guest on Sunday morning.  I’m enclosing a photograph of her at the end of the sermon.   First, the Gospel, Mark 10:35-45:

 ³⁵ Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask.”  ^{3 6}“What do you want me to do for you?” he asked.  ³⁷They replied, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.”   ³⁸“You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?”  ³⁹“We can,” they answered. Jesus said to them, “You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, ⁴⁰but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared.”

 ⁴¹When the ten heard about this, they became indignant with James and John. ⁴²Jesus called them together and said, “You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. ⁴³Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, ⁴⁴and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. ⁴⁵For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Now the sermon:

            I have a big, fat book sitting on the shelf next to my desk entitled “The Synonym Finder.”  You know what a synonym is.  A synonym is a word that means the same thing as another word.  Take, for instance, the word, “congregation.”  You look the word “congregation” up in my big, fat book and you find words like “gathering,” “assembly,” “parish.”  This week, the word “glory” popped up in the gospel reading for today.  And since the word “glory” only appears three times     in the entire gospel of Mark, I knew it played a big part in today’s gospel reading. 

             So I decided to look up the word “glory.”  I found words like “majesty,” “splendor, “honor,” “recognition.”  That’s what “glory” is.  That’s what we’ve been taught glory is.  Glory is something that shines.  That’s what James and John were after when they “came forward to Jesus and said to him:  ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you . . . . Grant us the right to sit one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’ ”

             James and John wanted glory.  They wanted recognition.  They wanted to be honored.  And they figured a little splendor on the side wouldn’t hurt either.  You have to hand it to them.  They knew what they wanted, and they went after it.  “Teacher,” they said.  “We’ll cut to the chase.  We want the seat down front.  We want glory.”

             You know folks like that.  You remember that kid on the playground who used to hog the ball at recess and shoot every time he got it.  Nobody liked that kid in school.  After all these years, I still resent that kid.  I can tell you his name.  His name was John.  Or was it James? 

             The disciples didn’t like James and John for the same reason.  They were always hogging the ball.  Always wanting to be at the microphone.  They never wanted to be secretary of the committee.  There was no glory in that.  “Make us chairmen.”  Mark says:  “When the ten heard (this request), they began to be angry with James and John.” 

             I can understand that.  I never liked that kid on the playground.  But to be honest, as much as we pick on James and John for shooting every time they got the basketball, down deep we all wish we got a chance to score.  We all want recognition for something we’ve done.  We’d love to be honored.  Isn’t it true?

             Why do you think the other disciples got mad at James and John?  Because James and John were stealing their glory.  The fact is, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t want their moment in the sun.  There’s no better feeling than to be at the back of the room all humble and quiet, and the guy at the podium suddenly points you out to the crowd for something you’ve done.  It’s glory.  And it feels good.

             Yeah, we say:  “Aw, shucks.  It was nothing.”  Nothing, my foot!  There are few things more satisfying than glory.  We’ll go to war for glory.  We’ll die for glory.  Glory shines.

             That’s the reason Mark included this story in his gospel.  Because he knows that deep down we all want glory.  This story is not about James and John.  Mark didn’t tell this story to tell us about two historical characters named James and John.  He told this story, because it’s about us.  It’s about the James and John in all of us just below the surface. 

             Glory shines.  At least, that’s what we’ve been taught. That glory shines.

             But then, along comes Jesus—whom we call “Lord”—who has a whole different take on the subject of glory.  His book of synonyms is different from ours.  When he looks up the word “glory,” he doesn’t find the same words we do—recognition, majesty, splendor.  It’s obvious that Jesus didn’t care one bit for glory that shines.  Read the gospels.  He never flexed his muscles.  Never showed off his medals.  Never got mad when people didn’t notice him.  Never pushed his way to the front of the line.  Even at his baptism, he waited in line.  He didn’t cut in line:  “Pardon me, I’m the Messiah.  Let me go first.”  He was a strange man.  He wasn’t interested in recognition or being honored.  He just did his thing.  Went about the business of giving his life away on behalf of others.

             Majesty and splendor were the last things on his mind.  In fact, as we saw last week, when somebody even called him “good,” he immediately batted the compliment away and said: “Don’t call me good.  Only God is good.”

             This is a strange master we follow, you know that?  What makes this request by James and John so pitiful—so comical—is that right before they ask for glory, Jesus just told his disciples for the third time that he is on his way to suffer and die.  He and his disciples were on the road to Jerusalem, and he stops and turns around and says:  “I want to give you a heads up.  Where we’re headed I’m going to be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they are going to condemn me to death.  They will hand me over to the Gentiles.  They will mock me and spit on me, and flog me and kill me.”  Jesus is very specific.  It’s unmistakable.  And right after that. 

             I’m telling you the truth.  The words have hardly gotten out of Jesus’ mouth when James and John say:  “Well, that’s interesting and all, but if you don’t mind us changing the subject, give us the ball so we can shoot.”  They just didn’t get it, you see?  They didn’t understand this strange kind of glory that Jesus seeks.

             I can’t blame them.  Crucifixion was an outrageous path to glory.  When we think of crucifixion we think of the Romans just taking the prisoner outside and nailing him to a cross, and that was that.  But crucifixion was one long drawn out process of public humiliation—not glory.  The prisoner had all his clothes removed and paraded through the streets for everybody to point and laugh and mock.  The prisoner was beaten like a dog within an inch of his life.  The prisoner was hung out on a billboard like dirty laundry to bleed to death and suffocate while the crowds spit and jeered and booed.   This is glory?  That’s not what we’ve been taught.  But for Jesus, you can’t have any greater glory than to suffer and die for somebody else.  It’s a strange kind of glory Jesus calls us to. 

             I have a dear friend named Marie.  She was born and raised in Haiti and lived her early life there.  Then she went to the United States to live.  She had a pretty easy life in “the States” nursing rich folks and being a housekeeper for them.  She did such a good job that one of those rich folks left her a house and a fine car when he and his wife died.  Marie was set for life.  But then one day, as she was praying Jesus offered her glory.  In her prayers she heard Jesus say:  “Marie, I want you to go back to Haiti and serve me there.”  And she said:  “But Jesus, I have glory here.”  And Jesus said:  “No, no, no. No, you don’t.  I’ll show you glory.  Go back to Haiti.  And drink the cup I drink.”  So, Marie left everything—the house, the car—everything—the full grocery stores, the nice restaurants, a safe, clean neighborhood—she left it all behind and moved back to Haiti.

             And today, she lives in Port au Prince.  Dangerous, dusty, poor Port au Prince.  And she runs an orphanage and a school for 200 little kids who would not last two weeks without Marie.  Like Jesus said:  “Whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”  That’s the glory of God.  Because you see?  Glory doesn’t shine.  It bleeds.