Reposted
The Gospel, aka the Good News, for September 23, 2018
Mark 9:3-37
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
Maybe the flood waters are starting to recede in some places, but that will only reveal the destruction left behind. Whole communities are underwater; roads are washed away; thousands are displaced, temporarily or forever. People have died. A baby and her mother were killed when a tree fell on their house. Another child was swept from his mother’s arms. There are tragedies beyond knowing, beyond words. The rich and the poor alike have suffered, but the poor will suffer longer and harder.
I cannot reach my church building, so we are not physically together today. But I hope I have reached our congregation by prayer; I hope we are together in spirit. I continue to pray that everyone is safe. Recovery will take a long time and may never happen in some places.
And in the midst of this, Jesus reminds us of resurrection. He was teaching his disciples, and it was a hard lesson. He would be betrayed and killed. He would suffer. But he would also rise again. They did not understand what he meant and were afraid to ask him – afraid, maybe, because he would explain it and it was easier to pretend they did not know what was coming; afraid, maybe, because his suffering might mean suffering for them, too; afraid, maybe, because they would lose access to the power he had if he was no longer with them.
I think the third explanation is most likely. He was healing and saving and feeding and touching and teaching, and they were part of that. It must have been a heady experience, in the presence of all that power. And indeed, it went to their heads, because they started arguing about which one of them was the greatest. They seemed to think that greatness was the same as power and privilege. They missed the kind of greatness Jesus was trying to teach them about.
In the past ten days, I have seen folks open their homes to people they barely know who have no place to go. People have purchased toys to comfort children who now live in a shelter with food and cots, but precious little to play with. Others have volunteered to cook and clean up, no questions asked.
Who is the greatest?
State troopers have kept lonely vigils at washed out roads to keep people safe. Volunteers with boats have rescued people from flooded homes. Volunteers with boats have gone back to rescue the animals.
Who is the greatest?
Line crews from Tennessee and Ohio and who knows where else worked on the power on our road. Nurses drove for hours to get to the hospital that is only 30 miles away. A grocery store manager paid for food when someone’s credit card was not accepted.
Who is the greatest?
Jesus answered the question this way: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” And then he put a child in their midst. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
A child. Not a great and powerful figure, not a person of influence and stature. A child. A vulnerable, powerless, needy, dependent child.
There are so many like that child right now – vulnerable, powerless, needy, and dependent. Those who welcome and care for them are welcoming Christ, welcoming God. They are caring for Christ, caring for God.
And remember what Jesus was trying to teach the disciples. After his suffering, there would be resurrection. It will be hard to trust that here, that promise of resurrection. But somehow already there are tiny signs. A woman gave birth to her first child in a mobile medical unit in the Family Dollar parking lot. Someone took a photo (above) of the medical folks with her and her new baby, and she was smiling, they were all smiling. One couple from our church got married right in the midst of the storm. Another couple, also from our church, got married yesterday in the midst of the floods. Yet another couple, friends of mine, are hoping to be able to wade to their wedding today. Elders are pumping out and cleaning up our church building. Members of our congregation are checking on each other (but, of course, they do that anyway!). People are eating hot meals that they could not cook, finding places to take showers and wash clothes, taking stock of what comes next. There are glimpses of resurrection in the goodness around us, a goodness that shines like a light in the darkness, serves as a shelter in the storm, gives of itself, welcomes and cares for others.
Recovery will be a long, long process. My heart aches for all the loss: loss of homes, loss of livelihood, loss of life. In many places it will be hard for folks to rise again.
And so I remember the last line of one of my favorite poems: Practice resurrection.
Practice resurrection. I don’t hear this as a command to get up and get going, to get past all this and get on with things, to get over it. I hear it, instead, as a holy invitation, to look for signs of new life, to rise every morning and put feet on the floor and do one more day, to hope, to believe, to trust.
Because Christ is in our midst. God is with us. Welcome the Holy.
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