A People of the Last Word (Revelation 21:1-6a)

A People of the Last Word

        The book reviews keep coming in.  Reviewed in last weekend’s Bennington Banner, or perhaps you read about it in the New York Times, Slate.com, or on NPR.  A “graphic novel” (comic book) of The Book of Genesis, readers might be surprised to find out the illustrator is the “underground comic” artist R. Crumb, whose body of work makes an odd statement indeed to add the title of “bible illustrator” to his resume.  Crumb spent the past four years drawing the book of Genesis, taking care to read biblical scholarship to develop his take on Genesis.  Surprisingly, for such an iconoclast, Crumb offers a fairly earnest depiction of Genesis, demonstrating his skill as an artist as well as the complexities of the actual text of Genesis.  For a book about God, creation, and humanity’s “origins”, Genesis does not R. Crumb’s help being controversial.  On its own, Genesis is a challenging set of tales replete with human failings, violence, and an “R” rating.  Sacred stories are closer to our lives than we sometimes want them to be.

        On the other end of the Bible, we encounter a story of “the End”.  Ironically, some folks tend to sugarcoat Genesis, yet people tend to remember the Book of Revelation more for its violence than its scenes of great hope.  I grew up in Kansas churches that loved the rainbow over Noah’s ark yet lived in fear of Revelation’s scenes of “the End Times”.  (You would not believe some of the books I found in shopping mall Christian bookstores growing up out in the Midwest….)   The book of Revelation is filled with stories of the nations of the world going into disarray, armies battling, and Evil’s forces battling it out with the heavenly powers.  To say the book of Revelation tends to be inscrutable and difficult to understand is an understatement.  Nonetheless, if you read the whole book, you see a different story at work, not like the version of Revelation you might hear preached about on many AM radio stations in parts of the Midwest and the South.  The violence, the battle between forces above and below, all of this is in the text, yet a powerful theme resounds throughout: not of fear, but of hope.

        The end vision of Christianity is hope.  In the End God shall have the last word.  After much tumult, suffering and pain, the world described by Genesis shall pass away and a new heaven and earth, a new frame of reality, shall take its place.  Reading Revelation, the careful reader recalls T.S. Eliot’s poetic line:  “In my end is my beginning”.  The book of Revelation unveils the brokenness of our world and the transformation, the magnificent future, God alone shall bring about.  Revelation is a passionate book, calling the reader not to live in fear or speculation.  Rather, the Christian is encouraged to live in anticipation and hope.   We live as a people who already know what the last word shall be.  It will not be “anxiety”.  It will not be “fear”.  It will not be even “death”.  In the end, we shall hear “Behold, I make all things new”.  This is the story that Christians live by.  You cannot understand us without it.

        Stories have a powerful way of shaping our lives.  Over the years, I still remember my Grandmother Hugenot reading the story of “Stone Soup”.  I have the book among my books, and I will never part with it.  The physical book is precious to me.  The story of “Button Soup”, a tale of a miser who learns to be generous by sharing of his abundance with his neighbors, is one that I claim as a “core story” I retain from my childhood.  I remember with great fondness my grandmother reading me many stories over and over, yet that particular story, a variant of “Stone Soup”, is the one that nestled down deep within me.  The story makes sense of the world, or the way the world ought to be.

        As a grownup, I find myself telling people another story, one that I find deep down in my bones just like “Stone Soup”.  You heard Marion tell that story to you a bit earlier, as told by the book of Revelation.  Where I tell this story is less a matter of standing in a pulpit and more when I stand on a hillside.  It’s a quiet time when I tell this story.   It’s time for that final ritual up there among family and friends.  We have been telling stories already, sometimes told with rollicking detail during an eulogy delivered by a friend (clergy sometimes blanche at the stories of the deceased that get told at funerals).   Now it’s approaching time for that last word.  What will it be?

At the graveside, I tell one story.  It’s really the best one for times like these.  As the liturgy draws to a close, I am nearing the amen, but I still have this story to tell.  I say in the midst of the sadness and as that sense of finality hangs a bit thick in the air:

“We look forward to that time, when the one who has made us shall not leave us in the dust.  For as scriptures promise, there shall be an end to death, and to crying and to pain, for the old order has passed away”.

The Christian cannot speak of any other last word.  We sometimes forget when the anxieties of the day make us think things are otherwise contrary to our knowledge of the promised End.  Indeed, there are times when we lose sight of that which is promised, or we let another story take precedence.  Those who are able to stay the course, those who are able to keep “their eyes on the prize”, we have a word for these sort of folks:  saints.   The book of Revelation mentions saints quite frequently, the people who live a faithful witness on the earth, even in its broken down state, and once up in the heavenly choirs, just can’t stop praising the Lord. 

The saints are those who live in this world with the same frailty and fallibility as any other human being, yet they are able to live a faithful and unshakable witness to Christ.  It does not happen overnight for these folks: the process varies, yet the result is the same:  people who are able to be the faithful and beloved of Christ.  They take the long view, knowing that God will have the last word, not the powers and ideologies of the day, or the belief that things will end in disarray or without meaning.  They see the world as a place where the gospel can indeed take root, no matter how tough and stubborn the soil appears to be.  The Baptist saint Clarence Jordan lived through the difficulties of mid-20^th century racism as a witness to racial reconciliation and peace.  Only a saint could take the long view, despite the many forces against him.  Jordan spoke prophetically when he observed, “Hope is believing in spite of the evidence and watching the evidence change”.  In other words, God shall have the last word, and it shall be one that is glorious and just.

Now the Church has various traditions and practices about counting the saints.  Some parts of the Church have quite a process to declare a person officially a “saint” of the Church.  The New Testament, though, takes a fairly broad definition of the term, depicting the saints of the Church as those who live a faithful life, one testifying to the gospel.  In other words, no list shall be ever exhaustive of the saints.  Saints are great and obscure alike.  Saints are plentiful, yet not all of them can ever be named adequately.  So, I want to make sure that we remember “All Saints” aright this day.  We are not just looking at the people known far and wide.  I ask us to enter into a time of recalling those saints who made the gospel come alive in your witnessing of their lives.  Let us remember “all saints” this day, those who know how the story shall end, and remind ourselves that we are likewise called to be a people of the last word.

Lessons in Power (Mark 10:35-45)

                All of this sounds so familiar:  the disciples have an internal scuffle about the pecking order among them, and some barely veiled jockeying for position takes place.  Who among us the greatest?  Which one of us gets the choice seat by Jesus’ side?  Haven’t we already dealt with this story a few times over of late?

                You can rest assured, if you have been here most Sundays lately the gospel readings have tread down similar paths.  In Mark, chapters 8 through 10, the narrative prepares to move into the critical days of Jesus drawing near the fateful time in Jerusalem, and three times Jesus predicts what will unfold.   Each time, the same pattern occurs:  Jesus predicts his passion.  The disciples miss the point.  Jesus gives a corrective word.   The repetition might seem a bit redundant however we see in each instance, the disciples are not quite ready to embrace the fullness of Jesus’ discipleship.  Jesus asks them to follow a path that is not easy.  As the old hymn asks, “Are you able,” said the Master, “to be crucified with me?”  The response to Christ comes from disciples the hymn calls the “sturdy dreamers”, the ones who will say yes to a life shaped by a cross-carrying, gospel attuned life.  Unfortunately, for the disciples in Mark’s gospel, they daydream of power and influence.  They do not know that the real story of discipleship unfolds in sometimes harrowing ways.  As Gandhi said in more recent times, people tend to want a religion shaped by worship without sacrifice.

The disciples keep falling back into familiar ruts or “scripts” innate to human nature, grasping the ways they know rather than risking themselves fully and taking up the way of Jesus.  Even after hearing of the passion about to come, James and John, the Zebedee boys, are more worried about the seating chart in the glory and power to come.  I find it remarkable that Jesus did not bawl them out on the spot.  No, Jesus keeps it gentle.  To follow the way of Jesus Christ, the power that the world lifts up is not what you learn with Jesus’ teachings.  He gives a lesson about power that the Zebedee brothers might not catch onto right now.  Be careful what you ask for, as the way of Jesus will be one of sacrifice.  Behold the rest of the gospel after this, as Jesus stands up for principles and evidences unshakable obedience to God.  By the gospel’s end, it is unmistakable: Jesus’ difficult way and the bravado (the false or untested bravery) of the inner circle followers.  As Jesus dies on the cross, his disciples have scattered, Zebedee boys included.  Those at his right and left are two anonymous men, two criminals, who die alongside Jesus.  The way of Jesus is not easy, shaped by a glory strangely unknown amid the competing views of fame and power.

The brothers Zebedee need a lesson in humility.  They ask for favor when Jesus comes into his glory.  Jesus tells them of the difficult days ahead and his foreknowledge of the same difficulties await those who follow.  For all he knows, for all he teaches, Jesus still reserves the last word, the final authority to God alone. 

A few years ago, psychologist and writer Robert Coles recounted a conversation he had as a young man while working with Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker movement.  Day was a fiery spirit, comfortable staring down civic and religious authorities if it allowed the basic needs and rights of people to be met, particularly for those who were poor and marginalized.  Day noted that such a life of service and advocacy was not easy.  Some days, it seemed as if the work was endless and the results were minimal.  Day observed that it can be a long stretch of time before one has a sacred moment, a time when one has great clarity about one’s purpose and service to God.  You have to learn how to live in the times of “sacred moments and long secular days”.  (AMERICA, Nov. 1996)

The Zebedee brothers want confirmation they are on the right path and indeed will experience a great payoff in the end.  The life of faith does not work that way, though we sometimes try to make faith about what we would like to have rather than what the way of Jesus asks us.  We are called as the finite and fallible people we are, people with individual strengths and weaknesses.  We follow, taking leave of the world’s scripts about what matters as well as our own ego, desires, passions, and myopias.  It is a challenge to put into checks our fears, anxieties, pretenses, and sinfulness, so that we can live out our lives in Christ.  (And that’s just the list of things I need to work on!) We follow, working out the edges of our lives all the days of our journey on this earth.  And to live the life of faith, one able to wait, to watch and pray, this takes a fair acquaintance with humility.

To be humble is to know your place in the scheme of things.  The saints of God, those who followed Christ and are remembered by the Church, were not people with their heads up in the clouds.  They practiced a form of obedience to God and a witness to the gospel that each one of us is called to undertake.  As we near “All Saints” in the church calendar, think of those “greats of the faith” known to you in your life, and you will see a common thread:  persons who were merely human yet lived a life of trust in God.  They might be among those some parts of the Church has put on a list declaring them “saints” or they could be people just known to a few.  There have been saints among us, those who follow Jesus intentionally.  And pray for yourself and for these others around you this day that you might too be in this good company.

Humility often gets elevated to a high and unattainable standard or confused with a veneer of piety people put on so as to appear important or “holy”.  Humility is a stripping down of self, allowing the goodness of Christ to suffuse and reshape us.  You cannot follow Christ without being humble in your discipleship.  From the ancient witness of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, we are reminded of a wise Christian woman named Syncletica, who observed, “A ship cannot be built without nails and no one can be saved without humility”.  (The Desert Fathers, edited by Benedicta Ward, New York, NY: Penguin Books, 2003, 161)  

The other night, I heard two lectures given at the Southern Vermont College course on comparative religion.  (I was delighted to listen, as it meant I was not on the docket myself as a course lecturer!)  The evening featured a lecture on the traditions of Catholics and Quakers.   The Quaker lecture was given by Bain Davis, a member of the Interfaith Council and the Bennington Friends (Quakers) Meeting.  Bain’s task was to explain Quaker ways, especially in relationship to the tradition’s social activism and pacifism.  For most of the outside world, Quakers are known for being silent in worship (something admittedly puzzling to Baptists) and their commitments to be a “peace testimony church”.  As Bain explained Quaker ways, he noted that the tradition aims to bring the best out in a person by helping a person develop religious habits that enable a more peaceable life.  In turn, a person who is so attuned enables others to discover this goodness within them.  Quakers strive to see the goodness in all persons, even those who might be considered less good or without much good at all.  Humility brings the best within us to the surface and empowers us to move through the world with peace, love, and grace.  We give ourselves over to becoming the person where the label “humble” just seems to fit.

One of the books I treasure is Henri Nouwen’s book In the Name of Jesus, a small book he wrote on Christian leadership.  Nouwen’s book is a quick read, yet he traces a model for ministry that still serves as a touchstone in my own work.  I read it for the first time on a college choir tour, however, I read it from time to time even today as a reminder of what I am called to do.  Nouwen wrote the book after a period of life where he felt a bit lost.  His successful career in academia had grown less attractive, and Nouwen found himself searching for new meaning in his life and ministry.  Nouwen was invited to live among disabled persons as part of a communal living approach to disability care.  Nouwen served as a chaplain to a gathering of disabled persons and their care providers, learning a markedly different way to serve and care as a minister.  As he recounted later, he was not the Ivy League professor or noted author to the members of this community.  He was called to be Henri.

Humility is not easy.  It disarms us of our pretenses.  To be humble admits the Christian story ends in a way shaped by the cross and points to the new life Christ gives us in his resurrection glory.  We do not seek out the seat at his right or left.  We allow ourselves to flourish in our simplicity and our devotion, not in the pursuit of matters seeking to self promote.  We are humble because we have chosen to be nothing else.

It is similar to the story drawn from Nikos Kazantzakis’ book about St. Francis.  As Francis instructs his followers on living simply and trusting God alone.  Francis tells his disciples,

Strengthen the world that is tottering and about to fall:  strengthen your hearts above wrath, ambition, and envy.  Do not say: “Me! Me!”  Instead, make the self, that fierce insatiable beast, submit to God’s love.  This “me” does not enter paradise, but stands outside the gates and bellows.” (St. Francis, p. 309)

To illustrate his point, Francis tells of a holy man who goes to the gates of heaven after living a devout life.  Each time the holy man comes to the gate, a voice cries out, “Who is there?”  And the holy man says, “It is me.”  The voice says, “There is no room for two here.  Go away.”  The holy man winds up plummeting back to earth, given a chance to learn again and approach the gates when he has learned his lesson.

Finally, after a number of times approaching the gates with the same result, the holy man realizes his error.  When he approaches the gates, the voice calls out again, “Who is there?”  And the holy man says, “It is you.” 

With that, the gates to paradise open.   (See St. Francis, 309-10).

Measuring Our Worth (Mark 10:17-31)

You may have seen the commercial on television during primetime or while surfing the ‘net.  It depicts a man in a baseball cap and jacket running around the front entrance of a skyscraper in New York.  He stretches police tape across the grounds, as if securing a crime scene.  Guards from inside the building look nervously at the camera crew following this man around, trying to politely remove the man from the premises.  The man holds up a bullhorn to his mouth and announces he is “here to make a citizen’s arrest of the directors of A.I.G.”

            At home, some viewers watch the commercial and chuckle.  Others get the remote and turn the channel with disdain.  Like it or not, audiences at home or in front of the screen are getting the word.  Another film is coming from the controversial documentary director Michael Moore, whose films are geared to critique the political and social issues of the day.  His new film is entitled “Capitalism: A Love Story”.  Hailed by some, scorned by others, the film represents Michael Moore’s perspective on the ways that the U.S. and global economy have been handled, the federal bailout efforts, and the political finger pointing that goes along with it.

            Stepping aside from the headlines and the cinema box office, do you know where the word “economy” comes from?  The word “economy” comes from the Greek:  Oikos (house) and nomos (rule), quite literally, an economy deals with how a household is structured or organized.  And just as we struggle with 21^st-century ideological differences regarding the structure and stability of an economy, rest assured, talking about the economy was just as volatile and ideological in Jesus’ day.  The first century economy of Palestine differs remarkably from our present-day U.S. context.  Nonetheless, talk about money long enough, and there will be strong disagreements arising.  Talk about money and religion, and well….

                The person who approaches Jesus is referred to as “the rich young ruler” in popular recollections of the gospel narratives.  The difficulty, however, is when we gather together the three similar stories told by Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and combine them together.  We will look at the differences and similarities during Adult Forum after services today, but for now, note a key difference of Mark’s gospel.  Mark notes little about the man, saying only that he has many possessions.  Instead of thinking of this fellow as a rich young ruler, we will call him “the man of means”.

The man asks Jesus a question that sounds primarily theological (“what must I do to inherit eternal life?”), however, the question is aimed at sniffing out Jesus’ thoughts on the economy.   Just as the Pharisees and the Sadducees have come forward, asking questions to test Jesus’ teachings on religious orthodoxy, just as the Herodians will step forward to help entrap Jesus in a question of politics, the man of means appears on the scene as a representative of another sector of society unnerved by any upstart religious teachers:  the financial elite of the day.

            The gospels are told from the perspective of a limited good society.  Very few people owned land.  Very few people controlled the commerce of the day.  And in turn, many people lived under the rule (and whim) of the very few:  certain families inheriting great ancestral power and privilege, members of the ruling establishment, especially those in collaboration with the Roman Empire’s resident government.  The man of means who presents himself to Jesus wears the robes of the upper echelon, a far cry from most of the other characters who interact with Jesus.  Most everyone, Jesus and the twelve included, are part of the peasantry.  No “middle class” exists in the New Testament.  A select few enjoy the high life.  Everyone else scrapes by at the subsistence level, working day and night and having very little to show for it.  Some New Testament scholars would label the man of means kneeling before Jesus as part of the “elite”, one who keeps a style of life largely denied to anyone who is not already part of the power and financial base.  When one lives in a limited good society, a person with significant finance is a person not to be trusted.  There is a deep suspicion of the elite, as they have not evidenced anything less than self interest and self preservation at the expense of the multitudes. 

            The economic background is helpful, as we hear the exchange between Jesus and this man with a bit more barb to it.  The edge to this gospel story is economic and theological:  what is the measure of a person’s worth?   Who has the last word on economics?  Will the “house rules” be determined by the elite, the “powers that be” that work with Rome and the Temple, aka “the established powers that be”, or the Lord God whose kingdom Jesus is proclaiming?

            Initially, the man of means would claim “God” is the determiner of all things.  After all, he claims, the man of means is an observant man.  The commandments Jesus cites are all agreeable to the man of means, yet he does not realize Jesus has cited only part of the Ten Commandments, those focusing on those commandments dealing with one’s behavior toward others.  Like many opponents before him, the man of means has stepped into the snare awaiting him.  As New Testament scholar Bill Herzog notes, the man of means is “moral, but selectively moral” (Prophet and Teacher, WJKP, 2005, p. 138).  The man of means has been so vested in maintaining his own economic privilege that he has claimed to be observant of a religious faith steeped in traditions of protecting the poor from exploitation and decrying covetous behavior and been part of the effort to create a different economic reality that left most of the populace in systematic impoverishment. 

            There is a common myth that the New Testament has no use whatsoever for persons who are wealthy, and this story of “the rich young ruler” (as we tend to hodgepodge the three stories together) is cited as the final word.  In truth, the New Testament depicts the earliest Christians as socio-economically diverse, including persons who are well to do.  Nonetheless, the Christian teachings would side with those who are vulnerable and condemn those whose wealth has been attained by exploitative practice.   Thus, the man of means who kneels piously before Jesus represents a class of people who have not lost a wink of sleep over their exploitation of others.  

            Bill Herzog cites Jesus’ reframing of the commandment about covetous behavior.  Jesus slips it in the midst of the commandments, a sly word in Greek (apostereō) we would render in English as “do not defraud”.  The man of means has visions of the good life continuing in the life to come.  He is not bothered in the least that he has spent this life taking advantage of others.  He wants the free pass he has enjoyed since being born into the right family or being at the right time at the right place with the sweetheart deal that sets him up for life.  He claims faith, yet he does not know the economy (house rules) of God, the One whose law provisions for all persons as part of the most sacred covenants of God with the people Israel.  This man’s wealth is at the cost of covenant obedience.  His faith extends only so far.

            As for the disciples, their response to Jesus makes sense.  We usually stop with the incredible image of the camel squeezing itself through the eye of the needle and chuckle a bit.  (Indeed, this part of the story has kept me amused since third grade Sunday school!)  The disciples wonder how anyone can get into heaven.  Hear Jesus’ response again:

Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, ³⁰who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. ³¹But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.

The economy (house rules) that matter most to Jesus are the ones ensuring the covenant is kept:  no one is left out in the cold while others kick back and reap the benefits of kicking others.  The little people of the rural villages are not the lower rung functionaries of the elite’s monopoly or Rome’s all consuming empire.  Indeed, the economics of Jesus are astonishingly defiant of the way things usually work out with humanity.  We can craft our economic theories down the generations, yet we still have the all too human tendency to create chasms between the “haves” and the “have nots”.  The early Christians practiced a way of life that we still struggle to be at peace with and follow, for we are too much a product of the economics we devise, craft, and inhabit. 

The house rules set up by the gospel look out for those who are told to stand at the back of the line.  In fact, Jesus turns the order of things around, just as the covenant and the Ten Commandments described before.  Persons who are of means have their place in the kingdom of God, yet there are no “gold card level memberships” to be found in Jesus’ vision.  Persons of all means, great and small are welcomed into the kingdom, or as I like to say it, there are no second class citizens in the Kingdom of God.   The system that keeps elite elitist and the peasant majority invisible shall not stand.  The early Church became a subversive alternative, providing a place where all folks from all levels of socio-economic status learned to live together as a counter-testimony to the ways of Empire.  And indeed, those accustomed to being told they are the last will have the last word.

In the meantime, the followers of Jesus have to ask pressing questions of the economics of the day.  What should be the house rules of a country that consumes more than its relative share of the world’s resources?  What should be the house rules of a nation that can write a blank check for warfare yet balks at the provision of healthcare?  What should be the house rules for Christians who live in the “first world” while most others (even fellow Christians) live in the hell of the two-thirds world? 

My friends, the Church has much to ponder in the first century or the twenty-first.  What are our house rules?  Where does the economy we live under diverge from the economy of the gospel?  How do you get a camel to fit through the eye of the needle?   You cannot.

Open Source Theology (Mark 9:38-50)

            “Whoever is not against us is for us.”

            In three act plays, the first act sets up the plot and the third act brings everything to a conclusion.  The second act is a place where plays can founder, a bit of story padding to stretch the play or where actors can gain or lose steam.  The second act can be the transitional moment when a story can amp up the audience’s attention, or it can be a time when people start praying for the last curtain to fall, all while pondering why you said yes to see this play with friends.

            Mark 9 is part of the second act of the Mark’s gospel.  The third act is well known: the passion of Christ and the unexpected ending of the empty tomb.  You can see the third act begin in Mark in just a few verses.  After Mark 10:52, the narrative starts to move into very familiar territory: Jesus sends his disciples ahead for a colt so he can enter Jerusalem.  The shadow of the cross only grows over the story. 

            Mark 9 draws together the middle section of the gospel, demonstrating Jesus in his authority and power and the disciples learning of the gospel, yet not so secretively jockeying for authority and power.  While out on the road, Jesus hears them bickering.  It is similar to a parent who hears the kids arguing in the back of the van: when the parent asks what they are talking about, the kids suddenly grow quiet.  Jesus chastens them with a reminder of greatness in his sight, not theirs.  He places a child in their midst and says, “This one is the greatest.”  And the lesson is quite clear:  disciples on power trips are not.

            The “kids in the back of the van” analogy is handy to explain what happens next.  When called out on bad behavior, children often try to distract the parent with another matter.  The disciple John speaks up and notes a person unknown to him and the inner circle is exorcising demons in Jesus’ name.  While the inner circle feels jealous toward one another, they attempt to circle the wagons and keep out others unknown to them. 

            “Whoever is not against us is for us” is Jesus’ reply.

            As the story begins to shift into the third and decisive act, this scene of Jesus teaching his disciples about greatness is necessary.  Mark 9 shows how “the kingdom of God” is found among those who are otherwise marginalized and disregarded by society and the powerful. We also learn that even among the insiders, it is not an easy word to follow.  The jealousy of the disciples among themselves is disturbing, but understandable.  Human nature predisposes us to such behavior.  The sense of propriety among the disciples is quite familiar as well, deeming themselves judges of who is and is not a disciple of Jesus.  Stick around the church (upper and lowercase “c” church alike), and you will find the inner circle mentality still lives on.  The contexts change, but the impulse to behave this way has been within down through the millennia. As one wise preacher observed, “The Church is bigger than you think.”

            As for Jesus, he offers another reversal of the disciples’ expectations.  The disciples’ preconceived notions about power are unraveled by the child.  Their hunger for control (or perhaps certainty) is shown for what it is:  the circle is always bigger than we think it is.  Jesus invites more than twelve to follow him, gathering together a diverse group of people, not to be kings or high priests of heaven’s interests on earth.  Instead, he teaches of a way of life reordered to a different scale and scope, opening up the way of discipleship to all who believe and serve in his name.

            Mark 9 reflects a narrative strategy within Mark.  Note that when the gospel begins, John the Baptist sets the stage for Jesus.  In turn, when Jesus begins his ministry, John leaves the narrative.  Jesus gathers the disciples around him and teaches them.  Soon, as Mark comes to its end, Jesus will depart the narrative as well, leaving the story of “the kingdom of God” up to the disciples to continue.  For themselves, the disciples here in “act two” are not ready for the tumult of what is to come, only half-listening to Jesus’ predictions of what is to come when the Son of Man is betrayed, killed, and then raised from the dead.  The story will not end with Jesus’ death, as the empty tomb attests.  The story does not end with the eleven (one less with Judas’ betrayal of Jesus) being the only ones who can continue.  Teaching and healing will continue, thanks to the many, not the select few, who believe in Jesus.  The gospel shall be spread by persons who might not even know the twelve, taking the stories of Jesus to heart and giving their lives to share in his name.  The kingdom of God is bigger than the disciples think it is.

            Go back a bit in Mark 9, and you will note this whole scene with the disciples’ bickering, the greatness of the kingdom being found in the child, and the complaint about followers unknown to “us” (i.e. the inner circle disciples) comes on the heels of the twelve failing.  In the earlier section of Mark 9, some of the disciples try without success to perform an exorcism.  John and the others are irritated, rather than chastened, to observe a complete stranger succeeding where they could not.  Instead of marveling at the power of God being known in the world in unexpected ways, the inner circle falls prey to the temptation to restrict who speaks and ministers in Jesus’ name. 

            As I read this passage, I thought about the open source approach to software programming.  When a company designs a software program, the work can be deemed proprietary, restricting access to the inner workings of the software and protecting the right of the software owner to turn the most profit from the program without competition.  Over the past few years, there has been a growing movement to create “open source” software.  Open Source allows any person access to the software’s core programming codes, meaning the software can be developed through collaboration, sometimes by people who span the globe.  Open Source software trades proprietary secrecy for collaboration and creativity.  In theory, open source software allows more people to participate, and the software keeps developing, sometimes beyond the expectations of those who began laying out the code.

            Ministry in the name of Jesus is not reserved for a select few.  Over the centuries, individuals and groups have tried to say otherwise, seeking to construct structures of power and authority to keep control of the Church vested in the hands of a select few, keeping a tight rein on orthodoxy, and turning in some cases to outright persecution, claiming some as heretics and valorizing violence. 

For example, my family name is synonymous with a persecuted religious movement, the Huguenots of French Protestantism.  Our Baptist history and heritage is rife with accounts of Baptists over the past 400 years and around the globe being mocked, jailed, and martyred for preaching and mission work.  I know these stories well, yet if I choose, I could become just as hindering to the ministry and witness of other Christians.  So what does it take to be a follower of Jesus and welcoming partner of fellow disciples, near and far?  Here are some thoughts:

1)      To speak of the gospel as innately “open source”:  in other words, any person who believes in Christ has the ability to contribute something to the furtherance of the kingdom of God. 

2)      To live peaceably with Christians who seem to us only to embody difference to us because of theological, cultural, political, or economic differences between “them” and “us”.

3)      To speak of the Church as bigger than the four walls around us, bigger than our own convictional/denominational/tradition’s horizons.

4)      To live the gospel, knowing that Christ’s ways are delightfully contrary to the way the world works and even the Church in its “institutional” sense works.  In the end, Christ shall welcome all who believe in him. 

The cautionary tale of reading Mark 9 still holds up well:  do not be threatened by the reality that the kingdom of God is bigger than you think.  Rejoice in the many following Jesus and be at peace with one another, or to be worth our salt in faithfulness and openness to the wider gathering of disciples.  The use of salt might strike modern day readers as an obtuse choice, as we find salt plentiful and inexpensive.  To the first century disciples, salt was a commodity not to be wasted and certainly worthless if leached out of its saltiness.  What good is salt that is not salty?  In turn, what good is a disciple of Jesus if he or she cannot imagine the kingdom of God being capable of more?

This day is given to the observance of World Communion Sunday, when Christians are reminded, whether they partake of wafers and drink wine from a chalice, or take individual pieces of bread and individual cups, Christians partake in the same meal given to us by Christ.  Our theologies differ, our rituals diverge, our theologies vary, and yet we are likewise being obedient to the same Lord.  On days like this, indeed we remember with due humility, the circle is always open. The Church is bigger than we think.  The table of the Lord is open to all who call upon the name of Jesus and follow his gospel.  Take, eat, remember, and then serve in Christ’s holy name.

The mighty potential of the little ole acorn (Mark 9:33-37)

Last Sunday, just before worship, Travis Oakes arrived with his three daughters in tow.  Tea, his oldest daughter, came up with a big smile on her face.  “Look!  I have an acorn!”  Then she showed me a small acorn she found on the ground that she had been carrying around with her.  The look on her face confirmed that this acorn was indeed a treasure.  Tea beamed with pride.  “Why do you like acorns?” I asked.  Tea looked at me with a look of complete giddiness:  “’Cause squirrels eat them!” 

                A few weeks previously, the cabinet, the senior lay leaders of the congregation, got together to talk about stewardship.  Usually, when congregations talk about money, they are not giddy.  Instead, we tend to get quiet and a bit nervous.  Instead of joy, stewardship conversations around churches is more like those times where you stand around, looking somber, and say, “Well, did you know the deceased?”

It is interesting to note that the senior lay leadership actually got excited talking about stewardship.  What would be the difference?  The cabinet affirmed that we have a lot to celebrate.  Early in the meeting, the cabinet received a report that the budget is doing fairly well.  In a down economy, First Baptist is not feeling the brunt of the times in a way that threatens our continued existence.  I note with sadness this is not the case for other faith communities, and I add caution that First Baptist could have been there quite easily.  We are a smaller congregation however, our financial outlook is positive because we have spent the last couple of years asking ourselves hard questions and tackling difficult and often complex issues to get to where we are today.  

When I talked with Tea last Sunday, she knew acorns were great food for squirrels.  She was less convinced of my suggestion that acorns turn into trees.  That sounded a bit farfetched, but she humored Pastor Jerrod nonetheless and off she went bouncing down the corridor to worship.

Meanwhile, back at the cabinet meeting….

In addition to the financial report, the cabinet also received a one-page photocopied article.  In mid-August, First Baptist received a package from National Ministries, the home mission board of the American Baptist Churches/USA.  Inside was a thank you note for our America for Christ offering and the annual report of National Ministries, the document that shares what they did with our mission support to make ministry and mission happen in the United States in the past year.  I gave the cabinet a copy of one particular page from the annual report.  What was so important about that page?

  In some ways, you could say the one-page article is a sketch of an acorn, one that got buried into the ground, thankfully not one of the ones that became a squirrel’s midnight snack.  This little old acorn did not look like much in the eyes of some people:  a story about a small congregation that might not look that impressive up against churches with three Sunday services and ten thousand people in the pews.

 It is interesting to read about a little congregation National Ministries claimed as one of their success stories.  In fact, every church in our denomination received this acorn.  Where would you find a congregation like that?  You might want to go collect some of their acorns and grow a few trees of your own.  The folks at National Ministries note with the same concern that we do:  churches like this are in short supply and as the old cliché goes, they don’t seem to grow on trees like they used to.  National Ministries hailed the church as a small congregation aiming not only to transform their church.  They are trying to transform their neighborhood as part of it and make a difference.

It’s quite a story about a congregation doing good work.  Best of all, National Ministries told this story about you.  National Ministries notes its calling is “to support and empower the local church to bring healing to its neighborhoods that brings, in turn, transformation.  That happened for a church in Vermont, and the community will never be the same.”  And that church is you.

To set the 2009 stewardship theme, the cabinet decided to go out on a limb (sorry, been working on that line for weeks).  In the midst of our conversation, the cabinet talked about the stewardship of our congregation as a significant part of our lives together.  We have started some projects and made some organizational changes that are paying off early dividends, yet the cabinet realizes long-term growth is just that:  long term.  Around the table, we pondered how to best talk of stewardship, knowing where 2009 and the most recent years before have taken us and where we hope 2010 and beyond takes us next.  Cindy Watson spoke of trees on her land up on the mountain.  When she and Ralph moved onto the property in the early 1970s, they made a decision about planting trees that now three decades later are bearing witness to the good decisions made early on and the long-term commitment made by Ralph and Cindy all along the way. 

This morning’s congregational meeting is about acorns and forests and how First Baptist is somewhere between “acorn” and “forest”.   We have a great deal of potential possible, even though we look (and sometimes feel) small.  Talking about the future of our congregation is similar to forestry work: one has intentionally to give the care of the acorns and the subsequent saplings and trees the best care possible.  The stewardship of the church is all about that.  We work together to make sure ministry and mission take root and grow.  We work together to decide when to trim back and when to add more water.  We have the blessing of wise adults who make decisions, balance budgets, and provide countless hours of committee and board service each year. We have the blessing of many households who provide out of their household budgets a faithful pledge or tithe to make this household of faith flourish.  And, indeed, in the joy of one congregational child, we are reminded as Jesus’ disciples were reminded, what the Lord takes most delight in is not the grand buildings we build.  God takes delight in the potential of those who might otherwise feel or get treated as insignificant or of little consequence.  Just as Jesus sees the greatness of the Kingdom in a small child, God envisions forests where we only see a tiny acorn.   

Oddly enough, I heard that same wisdom from Vermont in a memory of a trip to Africa.  Quite jetlagged from a long transatlantic flight, several time zones difference, and feeling pretty worn out from already being gone from home for twelve days, I sat in worship at the Baptist World Alliance meetings in Accra, Ghana.  I was half-asleep. (Confession time: Getting drowsy during worship might feel old hat to long-time churchgoers, but it is a mighty strange feeling for a minister.  We’re the ones who are supposed to stay awake during worship.  A trade secret:  When you start falling asleep during your own sermons, it’s time to retire!)  Sitting there, trying desperately to keep awake before worship started, I found myself staring at the projection screen up front.  On the screen, announcements about the conference were being displayed, with an occasional “quote of the day” tossed in.  I woke right up when this message came up on the screen:

Old African proverb:  “The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago.”

I thought of that proverb many times since that hot July morning in 2007.  It is an astonishingly wise proverb.  And I couldn’t stop thinking about First Baptist, a congregation sometimes mourning that it was no longer twenty (or thirty plus) years ago when the pews were bustling with people every Sunday, and the sanctuary had people overflowing in the chapel to the point of “standing room only!” on Easter Sunday morning.  The past two years, I believe First Baptist has shifted in a new direction, embracing not “what was” as the benchmark.  Rather, the last two years have been an exploration of “what we hope will be”.  Right now, First Baptist is in a better place financially and missionally than we could have been if it were not for our decisions made along the way to be something different and yet the same.  We decided to take our acorns, even though we thought we did not have enough of them to do anything of consequence with them, and planted them.  Two years hence, we are starting to see signs of new life and new identity taking root.  Up on the wall, we see our own little proverb:

“First Baptist: A place for healing, community involvement, and spiritual grounding”

We have started to move in this direction.  We are not fully there yet.  Nonetheless, something’s been planted, and we explore this morning at the forum that the roots are starting to build underneath the ground.  If we are good stewards of our vision, five years from now, you will look back and say, “My goodness. We have quite a tree line.”  Right now, we just stuck some acorns in the ground awhile back and we wonder, “So, what’s next?”

Jesus said of his disciples, do not fuss about what you think that matters.  Instead, be like the child, the one who most folks would not give a second glance, yet in this child is the greatness of the Kingdom.  I love the gospel, as Jesus’ words give me comfort yet cause me to be more honest and open-eyed about how God works in the world and not in the way sometimes that you, me, or the world in general think it ought to be run.  The gospel plants a new seed in the midst of the hardened ground of our sin-fractured, broken world.  Where it takes root, love, peace, justice, and grace flourish.  The gospel offers us an alternative view of the world, claiming that even in the child’s giddy delight over a little ole acorn, entire forests are possible.