Preached at Grace and Canadochly on Feb 4, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 1:29-39
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago in my sermon that one of the characteristics of Mark’s version of Jesus’ life shows the disciples to largely be buffoons. Fools, idiots, who do not truly get Jesus and what he’s about. The whole Gospel is, in many ways, a bit of a joke, one that we as the reader are in on. Hah hah, those who were closest to Jesus in his time here on Earth did not understand him, but you do.
If the disciples didn’t understand Jesus, why did they follow him? Well, I think our Gospel text today gives us some insight into that. This is good stuff. They’re witnessing amazing impossible things, people healed, demons exorcised, crowds of fawning admirers who are equally awed and impressed by Jesus. And there I am, standing next to him, basking in all his glory. Everybody loves us! We’re the talk of the town, the countryside, everywhere we go the crowds gather and sing our praises.
For a bunch of ordinary fishermen, standing next to the “next big thing” must have been like heaven, an opportunity they never thought they’d have to BE SOMEBODY. They’re like the roadies at a rock concert. “You want to meet the big guy? Heh, come talk to me. I can get you backstage.”
The funny thing is not much has changed. The numbers of disciples are far greater, but many are still just content to stand next to Jesus and look important. And they don’t really do much else. They’re there for themselves, to look good, to seem important, and nothing else. In fact, I’d argue the VAST majority of people who claim to be Christian are like that. They, like the disciples in Mark’s telling, don’t get what this is really about. They don’t realize it’s not about them and it never was.
In fairness, there are those who have earned the privilege of standing next to Christ and doing nothing else. I think of Roger, for instance. Roger was the treasurer at St. Paul in Charleston, my home church. He did that job diligently for years. Went to Bible Study. Held that church together in many ways in its final years. I would guess he’s in his late 70s, if not 80s, now. He’s done his time. Well done, good and faithful servant. But most of those folks standing there next to Jesus are not like Roger. They claim the title of disciple without doing the work of discipleship. And why not? Because they are afraid.
Deep down, they know what Jesus will ask of them. Deep down, they know what he DOES ask of them. And they know that being a real disciple is hard work. It’s frightening work. It forces us to change our perspectives, our attitudes, our prejudices, our opinions, nearly everything about ourselves. He’ll make us grow and transform and become something else, and growth is never easy. It’s uncomfortable, sometimes downright painful.
If in your encounter with Christ everything doesn’t change about you, something went wrong.
Most of you folks know me by now. You know I’m not shy about my thoughts or opinions of the world around me. I make very plain my feelings about the world as it is now. What might surprise you however is how I didn’t use to be this way. Twenty five or so years ago, I was pretty much the exact opposite. Conservative in my politics and opinions and theology. Not quite bigoted towards, but certainly very suspicious of and stand-offish towards people of color. Very homophobic. Very Islamophobic. Ironic, perhaps, given how libertine I was during many of those years, but humans are complicated and often illogical. None of us are really an exception to that, myself least of all.
And then I went to seminary. Dove right into the heart of the Church in many ways. Dove into Scripture, but perhaps most important of all was I met people. People who were very different from me, people who were likewise Christian and seeking to become pastors. People who I could not avoid on that tiny campus in Philadelphia. That setting matters. Intimate, yet surrounded by one of the most cosmopolitan cities in our nation.
There was John, who was just this big gregarious black man. Loud, boisterous, no inside voice, everything about him is BIG. You probably know the type. Scared me to death and for some crazy reason he chose to befriend me. He showed me the city through his eyes. Took me places I would never have otherwise gone. Told me stories about what it was like to be him, to be a black man in America, about how it didn’t matter how good or kind or intelligent or dignified he was, for some he would never be anything other than a nigger. And it broke my heart. And it broke all the more because I knew that I, with all my attitudes and mindset and privilege, was a part of that. All the hells he’d walked through in life because of his race were there because of people like me.
And there was Steve and Sean. They were upperclassmen, students who assisted the professors. Helped teach me Greek and Hebrew and theology and philosophy and so much more. Some of the smartest people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. But they were also gay and they were happy with their partners, in good loving and caring relationships. But this was back when that was a taboo in our church and they worried and wondered what would happen to them. Would they be denied ordination? Denied the chance to serve the church and the Christ they loved? They spoke openly of these worries and again, it broke my heart that such fine people would be denied that. And it broke all the more because I knew that I, with all my attitudes and mindset and privilege, was a part of that. Those taboos that stood in their way were there because of people like me.
That’s why people are afraid of being true disciples. They know what Jesus will do. They know that he’ll drag you out of your car at those intersections where the man is standing with the sign. They know he’ll not just compel you to give a few dollars or a bag of chips and a soda. He’ll tell you to look him in the eye and talk to him and get to know him, find out who he really is, and why he’s ended up where he is. They know that Jesus will break your heart. He’ll make you look at yourself and make you ask yourself is there something you’re doing or believing or thinking that contributes to this tragedy. And he’ll ask you to do something about that, to repent of it, to correct it, to do better for the sake of others. Because it’s not about us, it’s not about me, it’s about them. That’s what it means to be a disciple.
It means to do as Christ did and give all of ourselves for sake of others. What Jesus did for you and for me, he tells us to do for others. We take up our cross, metaphorically if not literally, and die for them.
Jesus asks a lot of us. He asks everything of us. I know. I’ve been there. Because I love my Jesus and because I know he loves me, I’ve had to leave behind all of who I once was. And I’m still working on that. I ain’t done yet. I probably won’t ever be done. In fact I know I won’t. I know that sins and flaws and vices are not something I can ever fully overcome on my own. But I have to try. I have to try because I know what my life cost our Savior. And you know what your life cost him too. He gave us life eternal by his cross and empty tomb, by his death and resurrection. He gives freely but what shall we do in gratitude for this wondrous gift?
So we come again to that great question of the Christian life. What now? What are we to do? We don’t get the pass that Mark gives the first disciples. (For what it’s worth, their pass ran out in the long run. There came a time when they too could not simply stand there anymore.) We understand what faith is really about. It’s about following one who came to change the world one soul, one life, at a time.
He standing before us, pleading with each one of us. “I love you. I died for you. I rose again for you. Let me transform you into the person you are meant to be. So that you can help me transform this world in what it’s meant to be.” How do you answer? Amen.
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