“Dangerous Greatness”
Mark 9:33-37
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
1/18/15
In his play Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare puts these memorable words on
the lips of his character Malvolio: “…some
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ‘em.”1
I suppose a handful of folks are born
to greatness by virtue of some innate gift, or passion, or sense of purpose
that takes hold of them and catapults them toward extraordinary
achievement. Mozart, Leonardo DaVinci, and even Shakespeare himself come
to mind.
Others apply themselves to a discipline
or a cause with such determined industry that they arrive at an unimagined
level of prominence. That kind of diligence helped Abraham Lincoln become not just
another politician, but an authentic statesman.
Still others find themselves swept up
in circumstances beyond their control. Holding on for dear life, they find
themselves in the grasp of a grace and a strength which also lie beyond their control.
Being good stewards of those gifts, they not only survive, they make a
difference. Considering the influence of people like Abraham, Moses, David, Paul,
Mother Teresa, Ghandi, Malala Yousafzai, I think God has a particular
preference for this kind of greatness.
Simply being in the presence of
greatness can make one feel great, as well. During January of my second
year in seminary, I spent in 21 days in the Czech Republic and Hungary learning
about the church’s long history of struggle and triumph in Eastern Europe. For
three weeks I was immersed some of the world’s greatest stories. Walking across
the Charles Bridge and up to Castle Hill in Prague, I felt the weight of centuries
of proud achievement and almost prodigal confidence in the sheer magnificence
of that ancient city. Standing in the 700 year-old synagogue in the Jewish
ghetto I heard the echoes of a persecuted people’s great pain and great faith. In
the vibrant, uncomplicated people of the tiny hamlet of Biharkeresztes, Hungary,
I watched tempered hope hold hands with unhindered hospitality. And I had these
experiences in the company of professors and classmates whom I felt were so
much smarter than me. All of this made me feel keener, more alert, more aware
of the life with and around me. Never had I felt so confident, so capable
of doing great things.
Then I came home. And back in Decatur,
Georgia there were diapers to change, dishes to wash, clothes to fold, and game
after game of Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land to play. At first these
things felt like intrusions into the tight schedule of a great traveler, and
terrible strains on the delicate psyche of a great thinker. It took me a
while me to come around and recognize my pathetic selfishness. It took me
a while to embrace again the greatness
of the seemingly unremarkable responsibilities of belonging in a family.
Perhaps the disciples, after having spent
so much time around Jesus, begin to feel that heady surge of greatness. They
have seen Jesus perform indescribable wonders. They have heard him teach with an
authority that both silences and riles his opponents. Most humbling, he has trusted
them to minister in his name. Day after day the disciples feel the
presence of dangerous greatness. And I say dangerous
not just because Jesus calls us into dangerous situations, but because of
the temptation to think that his call somehow makes us greater than others.
To that temptation Jesus says, “No. If
you want true greatness, you must seek it in places that power and wealth do not
expect to find it. Don’t go the front of the line. Go to the
back. Kingdom greatness doesn’t sit at the head table. It works in the
kitchen.”
The Church has taught for 2000 years
that to “reach heaven,” one must avoid hell. But Jesus has always said the
opposite. The biblical image of hell derives from the word gehenna, the burning trash heap just outside of a town. Hell, then,
is our creation, not God’s. Jesus shows us, then, that the kingdom’s redeeming
path strolls directly, and necessarily, through every hell that humankind can
create.
To emphasize his point, Jesus sets a child in his lap and says,
“If in my name you welcome even one such as this…you have welcomed me, and not
just me…but the One who has sent me.”
We have lost the outrage of this image.
In our culture, children are held in much higher regard than in first century
Palestine. This is good, of course, but it also means that you and I have to be
very careful not to sentimentalize this passage. To imagine Jesus as some
favorite uncle is to gloss over the scandal. In his culture, most children live
in a deep hell. They are often neglected and abused, and occasionally
sacrificed to other gods. To feel the same impact, imagine Jesus honoring a one-legged
slave in the antebellum south, an elderly Jewish woman in Nazi Germany, or a
panhandling illegal immigrant in contemporary America.
“If you want to be great,” Jesus tells
his disciples, “put aside your selfish ambitions and fears and become
servants to all people, and to all the creation. I’ll decide what needs to be
changed,” he says, “within them and within you. You just love one another
and the earth. I’ll do the rest.”
To be at the far, desperate back of the
line, says Jesus, loving those whom the “great ones” of society do not even
know exist, this is to welcome and to
love God.
Today we ordain and install new
officers in Jonesborough Presbyterian Church. And these officers, like all who
hold any church office, have been chosen to lead a congregation into the
future, to guide them through exciting times and challenging times. But as leaders
of God’s people, the extent to which
church leaders can lead is dependent
on our ability to follow God’s
Christ. Church leadership is a matter not of power, but of the dangerous
greatness of authority, and that authority comes not from the leaders
themselves. It comes from the One whom the leaders follow with humility and
grace.
To those of you who will be ordained
and installed today, and to all who seek to follow and to serve the Christ:
Welcome to the back of the line.
1http://www.william-shakespeare.info/quotes-quotations-play-twelfth-night.htm
No comments:
Post a Comment