Self and Selflessness: A Sermon For the Twenty-second Sunday After Pentecost

Preached at St. Margaret of Scotland Anglican Church, Diocese of Toronto, Barrie, ON, 21 October, 2018, the Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost

 

Texts:  First Reading) Job 38:1-7, Psalm 91:9-16; (Second Reading) Hebrews 5:1-10, (Gospel) Mark 10:35-45

 

 

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whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. 45 For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:44-45)

 

Last week I was at a conference of my fellow military chaplains, and a familiar complaint was raised.    “What do I have to do to get promoted?”  “Why was so and so promoted after only a few years, while other good chaplains work hard but are still not promoted?”   “I would like some recognition for the good things I do.”

 

The ironic thing was that these complaints came after a discussion that focused on our common mission as chaplains and officers:   caring for military members and their families, looking out for subordinates, and generally being true to our chaplain corps motto, “Called to Serve”.  

 

You can see the contradiction quite clearly.  Here are a group of religious people who are trying to live out a common vocation of service to others.    At the same time, as members of a military system that uses rank and medals to measure seniority and prestige, these caring and selfless people also cared about themselves.    

 

I’m not surprised, therefore, when James and John come to Jesus and ask to share in his glory.   Sure, they sound like a couple of shallow numbskulls, but their behaviour is hardly unusual among the disciples.   Just a bit earlier in Mark’s gospel, Jesus hears the disciples arguing and bickering as they are walking along.   When he asks them what the argument was about, they shuffle their feet and awkwardly admit that “they had argued with one another who was the greatest” (Mk 9:34).    

 

After that episode, Jesus told the disciples that “Whoever wants to be the first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mk 9:35).  Nevertheless, here are James and John, just one chapter later, asking Jesus to be seated beside him in what they think is his heavenly glory.  So yes, James and John may be especially obtuse in not understanding the kind of kingdom that Jesus is offering, but I don’t think they’re alone.   I think of my chaplain colleagues, wanting to serve others but also wanting to make Major or Lieutenant Colonel, and I see a bit of James and John in them.  It’s a bit of a contradiction, the call to selfless service and the need for recognition.

 

Surely this is a contradiction that most church people can relate to.   I think we understand selflessness at some level because we are schooled in it by our life in the church.  As children we hear chancel step talks about being nice to others.   We sing hymns like “Sister let me be your servant”.   We hear scripture readings like today’s gospel, which check our ego and tell us that “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant” (Mk 10:43).   

 

Nevertheless, our egos stubbornly refuse to remain in check for long.    We like to be recognized.   Lots of clergy delight in getting titles like Canon.   Clergy and lay people like to be thanked at Synod for their service on committees and projects.  Congregations are grateful when the Bishop comes and tells them they are doing a good job.    Remember the last time that Bishop Peter came here and told us how proud he is St. Margaret’s and the work we do as a parish?   That made us feel pretty good, didn’t it?  The desire for acknowledgement and recognition is pretty universal in the church, because it’s a human desire, and churches are made up of people.  

 

Parishioners, being people, like to be recognized for all their various ministries.  A simple shout out from the priest during the announcements — “Thanks to all the hard work of Jane and Jim, our yard sale raised XX dollars” — carries a lot of weight.   And why shouldn’t we thank people?   I learned early on as a priest that two of the most effective words I could say in the parish were “Thank you”.

 

In the ancient world, in the courts of the rulers and tyrants that Jesus mentions in Mark’s gospel, no one said “thank you” to a servant.   Servants and slaves were meant to be efficient but invisible, only noticed if needed, like so many household appliances.    We say “thank you” to acknowledge service and express gratitude.   It’s a way of saying, “I see what you did there, I noticed how hard you worked, and I’m grateful for it.”  Every Sunday I’m grateful for all the ministries that make our worship happen, for the leadership that keeps the parish running, and for all the selfless giving of money that keep Simon paid and the lights on and the doors open.  I know that you don’t do these things for fame or glory, but I still want to say thank you, to all of you, for all that you do.

 

In the two years I have been here, I often look around at this parish and think, “Wow, this is a great place.  We could do some things better, but we really get being church, and we do it well.    Is it wrong to think that?  Is it prideful to think that all of this talent and energy and selflessness makes St. Margaret’s a special church?   Is it wrong to want St. Margaret’s to harness all of its potential, to want it to be a leader and a role-model for other Anglican churches in this part of the Diocese?   Yes, I suppose it would be misguided pride, if we wanted these things solely for the gratification of our egos.    It would be certainly be wrong if we thought that God loved us for being such a good church.  Because, really, God just loves us.  Regardless.

 

The whole point of church is to bring people together to rely on the love and grace of God.  That’s it.   Our second lesson from Hebrews makes this point well.   The author of Hebrews reminds us that even the priest, yes, even Simon and me and everyone else at the front, relies on this love and grace just as much as every person in the pews.   Hebrews says that the priest, “is subject to weakness” and must therefore “offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people” (Heb 5:2-3).  All of us, even the folks in the fancy white robes, are imperfect.   None of us could not stand before God if it wasn’t for God’s love and willingness to set aside our shortcomings.   

 

Everything good that we do as a church is because of God’s love in Christ.   Everything important that we should do as a church going forward is because of God’s love in Christ.   Hebrews says that Christ is “the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him” (Heb 5:9).  If we take pride in St. Margaret’s as a parish, it should be because we bring people to relationship with Christ.     If we make plans for St. Margaret’s to grow, or to improve, or to build a new wing of our building, then Christ should be at the centre of our plans.  

 

There is nothing wrong taking pride in our parish, or feeing good when Bishop Peter tells us that we’re doing a good job.  There’s nothing wrong with finding satisfaction in our various ministries to make it all happen.   It’s very human to want to be seen and recognized for our contributions, whatever they may be.   Some of us are at places and stages in life where we need to be helped and served by others in the church, and that’s okay.  Others of us have gifts and talents and energies to serve as Christ calls us to serve.    All of us can say thank you.  All of us can say I’m glad you’re here.   All of us say how can I help.  When we do and say these things, we will look around, and we will certainly see Christ in our midst.   A church with Christ in its midst is certainly a church, well, not to be proud of, but to be grateful for.