Almighty God, may you guide us to
seek the truth: come whence it may, cost what it will, lead where it might.
Amen.
One
of my preaching mentors once told me to avoid the “should” in sermons, because
the preacher need not be in the business of telling folks what they should do.
Should-sermons, he said, often sound oppressive and holier-than-thou. And he
was right, the prophetic voice is best reserved for appropriate moments and is
best when it isn’t the tone for an entire sermon. But, today we do need to
consider the “must” of our faith. It’s similar to “should,” but is a bit more
open ended. So I’ll ask it now, and I’ll ask it again in the conclusion, but
“what must you do?”
We
find ourselves today at the midpoint of the gospel according the Mark. In the
section just before this one, Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah, and
after this, Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem, the city in which he will
die. In the first half of the gospel, Jesus is preaching and healing all around
Israel; in the second half, Jesus sets the wheels in motion that will lead to
his execution. Our passage today is often seen as the crux of the Gospel- “if
any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their
cross and follow me.” So before we get to applying that statement to our lives,
let’s first try to get our heads around it.
One
of the first issues we run into is the difference between faith and knowing. We
see this too in our Old Testament reading. This encounter between Abram and God
happens when Abram is 99 years old, and God is still yet to deliver the
promised child to Abram and Sarai. It has been 24 years since God first made
the promise to Abram. Abram had a lot of trust and faith in God, but he didn’t
have much knowledge. But as Paul points out, his faith was reckoned to him as
righteousness. Sometimes, believe or not, God knows more than we do. Sometimes
we know the answer to the question “what must you do?” but we don’t know how to
get there, or even why that is what we must do.
I’ve
always loved the Second Song of Isaiah, the part that reads-“for my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isn’t that how life is? We wish we
knew more, but sometimes all we have is faith and trust. That’s the problem
with Peter here. He, like many of us, likes to know the plan. We like
certainty, we like being able to draw the lines between cause and effect. Peter
does the math in his head, Jesus has been winning arguments against Pharisees,
he’s been healing, he’s been demonstrating God’s love, so this adds up to
Messiah, which means Jesus will be the military leader who defeats Rome and
establishes the peace of God over all the world. But when Jesus tells him about
his addition error, he doesn’t know how to respond. There is no way, using
Peter’s math, that Jesus’ actions add up to death. So he says to Jesus, “I
think you forgot to carry the 1, this doesn’t add up to the cross, but instead
to a crown.” And Jesus rebukes him, saying that he is setting his mind not on divine
things, but on human things. Jesus says “I know what I must do. You don’t have
to understand it, you just have to trust me.”
We
are finite beings, we don’t know it all, and we never will. In understanding
what must we do in life, we have to accept the fact that we’ll never know where
all the roads lead, but we can trust that God will be with us on any of the
journeys we find ourselves on. It is trusting in the words of Julian of
Norwich- all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
Next,
these readings say something about the self. After all, Jesus says that we must
deny ourselves, which is hard to do if we don’t know ourselves first. So the
question is, who are you? The first answer to this is that you are a child of
God. As we see in the Genesis reading, God wants to be with us, to covenant
with us. But that’s true for everyone in the world. In denying ourselves, we
don’t deny that love of God, but we have to look deeper into our individuality.
When you die, what will be said about you? One of the things I love about our
Wednesday Healing Eucharist is that we celebrate and preach on the various
saints of the church. Often, in doing a little research about these people, I
find that we know nothing about them, save a few basic details. Now, that of
course doesn’t tell the story of someone’s whole life, but what will people say
about you 100 years from now? They likely won’t mention the traffic tickets,
the C’s on your report card, or even the trophies you won in high school. They
might simply call you a parent, a lover, a philanthropist, a Christian. The
sooner we embrace that reality, the sooner we can deny ourselves.
Self-denial
it not self-loathing or self-hating. Self-denial is not about starving
yourself, or beating yourself up. Self-denial is about letting go of yourself
so that you can be found by God. It is about dying to your ego and pride, so
that God can raise you up again. In a letter from prison, Bonhoeffer once wrote
“who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, thou
knowest, O God, I am thine.” This is a radical statement for our
individualistic and narcissistic culture. We are not our own, we are God’s.
In
denying self, we deny any notion that we are self-made men or women. As much as
we like to think that we’ve pulled ourselves up by our own bootstraps, we’ve
only done so because others have made it possible. We are part of the problem.
We all know the saying about a housed divided cannot stand. If our interests
are split between our ego and the answer to “what must we do” then neither can
we stand. Leo Tolstoy once said “everyone thinks of changing the world, but no
one thinks of changing themselves.”
We have to see
things differently. We are all the recipients of the labors of others, as we
all reap the benefits of researchers, of doctors and nurses, of school
teachers, of police officers who keep us safe, of construction crews who build
roads and houses, of farmers who grow our food. No person is an island. It’s a
humbling reality, but it is reality. Jesus tells those who wish to follow him
to deny themselves, not because we are bad or evil and need to be denied, but
because we get in the way of the Kingdom of God by making it about us instead
of the Kingdom.
And the purpose
of this self-denial is so that we are able to take up our cross. Someone once
said that if you want to follow Jesus, you better be able to look good on wood.
The cross is a metaphor for death. Sometimes that death will be literal, but it
is always a death of some sort. The cross means that you won’t be in full
control, it means giving up certainly luxuries. It’s a paradox, the only way to
gain your life is to lose it; the only way to be truly alive, is to first die.
And
this is hard. One of my sayings is “Jesus didn’t say take up your lazy boy, he
said take up your cross.” If you ever watch Joel Osteen, you’ll notice that
behind him, there is no cross on the wall, but a revolving globe instead. The
cross is difficult. The cross means that we will have to die in living for
ourselves, in living for what is easy, what is convenient. Courage is the
ability to see the worst possible result and act anyway. Taking up your cross
will take courage, and lots of it. Just remember, you don’t have to do it
alone, we’re here to help each other, and so is God.
There
is a proverb that says “the heaviest burden to carry is having nothing to
carry.” Can you imagine a life with no answer to “what must you do?” What would
life be like if there was nothing greater to live for, nothing worth dying for?
What if Martin Luther King, Jesus, Oscar Romero, or Dietrich Bonhoeffer hadn’t
take up their crosses? Discipleship costs, yes, sometimes even death. But
aren’t there worse things than dying? Maya Angelou writes “to survive is human,
to thrive is divine.” Take up our cross is about choosing that higher path of
thriving, instead of simply surviving.
So
to summarize where we are: I’ve considered the difference between knowing and
trusting, I highlighted the importance of knowing self, and I discussed the
cross as the way to a full life. And now to bring it home. What must you do?
What is worth dying for? What are you here for? What would you cease to be if
you didn’t do it? What is worth giving your best and your all to? What must you
do?
Let
me share with you a story, it comes from a book called Friedman’s’ Fables by Rabbi Edwin Friedman. There was a man who had
given a lot of thought to what he wanted out of life. For years, he tried to
answer the question “what must I do?” He tried lots of things, never quite
finding his place. But at last, he finally began to see clearly his calling. So
he eagerly began his trip to another land. He walked out of his home and
started down the road. As he walked, he could barely contain the excitement to
be moving towards his goal. Eventually he came to a bridge and our friend
noticed another person walking towards him from the other side of the bridge.
He saw that the stranger was carrying something, and as he got closer,
recognized it to be a rope. When they were nearly side by side, the stranger
said to our friend, “pardon me, can you please do me a favor?” Our friend is a
charitable person, and agreed to help. The stranger handed our friend an end of
the rope and said “hold on tight, two hands” and proceeded to jump over the
edge of the bridge. The man’s body rocketed towards the ground and our friend
was dragged to the side of the bridge as well, but he held on. Our friend
braced himself against the edge and looked over to see the stranger dangling
safely above the ground. He shouted “what are you trying to do?” The man
replied, “just hold on.” He tried to pull the other man up, but he couldn’t
budge him. He looked around for a spot to tie the rope to fixture, but none
were to be found. He began to get anxious; after all, he had a mission to
embark on. He called out “why are you doing this,” and the response came “just
hold on, my life is in your hands, if you let go, I will be lost.” The man said
“just try to climb up the rope and I’ll hold it steady. I have somewhere I need
to be and I must go.” He said “no, I’m your responsibility now.” Our friend
looked around for help, but no one was in sight. Growing frustrated, he pleaded
with the man, just try to climb up and I’ll pull from my end to help you up.
The man said “just tie the rope around your waist; that will make it easier to
hold onto me. Remember, don’t drop me, my life is in your hands now.” Our
friend began to weight his options; he couldn’t let this man die, could he? He
wanted to try one last time, so he called down “I don’t think I can hold on
much longer, please tell me what you want, just try to help me save you.” And
the man shouted back “I just want your help, that’s all, I’m in your hands.”
Our friend, on the verge of tears, and at the end of his rope, cried out “you
can either help yourself up, or I’m walking away.” The man said “you cannot be
so selfish. I am your responsibility, you can’t let me die.” And our friend let
go of the rope, and began his journey.
Remember,
it’s a fable, and the question we ask ourselves after hearing this wisdom story
is “what must you do?” In your life, what begs you to hang onto a rope? What
keeps you from leaving the bridge and starting on your journey? What needs to
be let go so you can be free? What do you need to deny in yourself so that you
can let go of the ropes that hold you back? What demands the best in you? What
must you do, at all costs?
Discipleship
requires that we take up our cross and let go of our ropes. Discipleship is
answering the question “what must you do” and pursuing it at all costs. Jesus
said “Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders,
the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed.” Jesus had to let go of the
ropes of self-preservation, of safety. Not many of us are called to be martyrs,
but we are called to be disciples.
There
is a book called Good to Great that
begins “good is the enemy of great.” In our discipleship, in our lives, we must
answer the question “what must you do?” and pursue it with all of our being,
giving it our best, not simply what is good enough. Best doesn’t mean perfect,
but it means giving it your all. How can you be great at what you do? How can
you be a great spouse, a great lover, a great friend, a great parent, a great
child, a great colleague, a great neighbor? What is the best you have to offer
your church, to God, your community, your nation, yourself? Leonard Bernstein
once told an orchestra he was conducting “give it all you’ve got, then crescendo.”
And so it is in the life of discipleship, in living for the must.
You
will have to decide how to answer “what must you do?” for yourselves. I’ve seen
some of your answers in Stephen Ministry, in Helping Hands, in Heaven Help Us,
in the altar guild, in the choir, in the youth group, the Vestry, and I am
truly blessed to be a witness to such faithful living. This Lent, may we
continue to explore the question, “what must you do?,” may we pursue the
answer, and help each other along the journey.
Before
I close, I’d like to make a personal note. On Wednesday I will begin a trip
that I am looking forward to with all of my being, I will be going to Israel
for 3 ½ weeks. I am so very thankful to you all for this wonderful opportunity.
I cannot imagine the experiences that I will have, but I trust they will be
spiritual and life changing. I ask that you keep me in your prayers, for safe
travel, for God’s spirit to be with me, and for a magnificent trip. I will
remember you all in my prayers this Lenten season as well, and I look forward
to seeing you all again on Palm Sunday.
May
God bless you this Lent. May God move in your lives as you contemplate the
question “what must you do?” God grant you the faith to trust in God’s love,
the wisdom to know yourself, and the courage to bear your cross. And in all
things, may you be strengthened and blessed as we all pursue the musts in our
lives; that we might gracefully give ourselves and the best we can offer to the
glory of God’s Kingdom. Amen.
