Pentecost 16, Proper 20, Year B
Wisdom 1:16-2:1,6-22
James 3:16-4:6
Mark 9:30-37
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
WHEN I was in England last month, I noticed what appeared to be a television station that only showed reality TV. Despite the name, reality TV is not to be confused with TV news, which seems to me to have less and less to do with reality. As best I can tell, reality t.v. lets us be voyeurs, usually watching ordinary people in unscripted situations. They often find themselves in difficult, traumatic, or comedic situations, and we get to see how they cope. It’s shows like Big Brother and Survivor.
Reality TV has been enormously popular. I suppose that its primary pleasure is allowing us to identify with other people on TV. We recognize ourselves in these dramas, which seem more immediate, more real than movies or ‘traditional’ television. It celebrates us just for being us. It’s all about us – as we are. It rarely – if ever – gives us a much exalted view of what we can be.
All of us want good, full, happy lives, and that does not come from being completely content with who we are. We want to grow up, to mature, to become better, even to achieve greatness. God loves each of us, infinitely, and just as we are – no matter what, but he also doesn’t want us to see ourselves as a finished product. We’re hard-wired with ambition of some sort.
All of us have had at least moments where we consider becoming great, great in the eyes of the world – having more responsibility, more fame, more recognition, more power, more admiration, more prestige. We all have ambition. A worker starts as a construction laborer, then develops skills to become a carpenter, then a foreman, then a project manager, and then he starts his own small company, and expands it until he’s building airports and hospitals. The hedge fund investor makes his first ten million and strives for twenty-five, and then a hundred, then billions. Is he ever satisfied?
Let’s also remember that Jesus frequently warns about ambitious religious leaders. A priest may dream about becoming a rector, and a rector wants to become a rector of a wealthy, prestigious, famous church or a bishop, and a bishop wants to become a more important bishop, even the Archbishop of Canterbury, and it may cross the mind of the Archbishop of Canterbury that he would be a mighty fine pope. (And, incidentally, I believe that he would and that it’d be good for the gospel.) And even the Pope wants more. A pope might strive for the influence and acclaim of Oprah.
The idea of having more always occurs to us – no matter what position we have. We always think that our situations could be improved in some way. Are we ever satisfied? Not if we think greatness comes from position, or money, or power, or fame, or honor. Not if we think greatness comes from things that gratify our desires or allow us to assert our will more successfully.
What sort of ambition do we have? What do we want? What do we think will make our lives better, greater? Ambition is essential for a good, full, happy life, but it has to be ambition for the right things. In today’s gospel, the disciples have been seeking the wrong things; their ambition was not healthy. Jesus had just predicted that his death – that he’d suffer, be rejected, and killed. And the disciples were arguing about who among them is the greatest, but a greatness defined by who’s the most important, the most powerful, about who’s going to exercise the most control.
Jesus asked his disciples, “What were you arguing about on the way?” The question stuns the disciples. There’s a big silence, a uncomfortable, terrible silence. The disciples are caught out, embarrassed by their ambition, their hearts full of shame for their maneuvering and scheming for worldly glory and position.
So many of the things we want – power, prestige, wealth – are really not about us; they’re external to us, not part of our character. These are important gifts, which can be used in a godly way, but they are not who we are, not part of our inner being. Like all things of the world, we can’t take them with us. Jesus wants us to be ambitious for the things that don’t perish – character, nobility, virtue, true strength; for friendships, loving relationships.
Jesus says in effect, “If you want to be great, you have to welcome this child. You have to identify with this child.” He doesn’t say this because children are pure and innocent; children are tremendously self-centered. But there are two ways disciples need to be like children. First, children are vulnerable, wholly dependent upon others. Part of being a disciple is being vulnerable, opening ourselves up to other people. When we are vulnerable, willing to expose our inner selves, then we can be powerful witnesses.
We had a vestry retreat on Friday evening and Saturday. One of the things our parish leaders talked about was our stories – how we’ve changed, how our relationships with God have grown, how we know God’s love through this parish. Our parish family is a safe place where we can be vulnerable and open and not fear ridicule. We know that we’re accepted and loved. Being vulnerable is essential if we’re going to know God’s love for us, if we are going to learn to trust God.
A second way disciples need to be like children. In much of the ancient world, children were essentially chattel, the least valued people in society. The Greek words for child and for servant have the same root; they’re virtually the same word. When Jesus tells his disciples to welcome a child as they would welcome him, he is telling us, “You have to identify with the lowliest, with the powerless, with the forgotten, with those in need. Greatness comes from serving other people, not being served.” Jesus turns the values of the world upside down.
All of Jesus’ life shows that serving other people comes first. It’s why Jesus was such a compelling person, such a great leader. Among the best-selling books of the last five years is Jim Collins’ Good to Great, a book about how good companies become great companies. Of course, it has to do with leadership, and one of Collins’ central themes is that all great leaders have two essential qualities: 1) passion, a definite mission, a fierce ambition for something bigger, more important than ourselves; and, 2) humility, modesty, knowing that it’s not all about me.
One of the stories I tell our new vestries is about conversation I saw on TV; a reporter was interviewing a highly successful CEO.
Q. What's a leader?
A. Great servant. A leader is a great servant.
Q. What does that mean?
A. Well, they help people do a good job. That's what they call a leader. . . you inspire people and you help them do a good job.
Q. Do you think of yourself as a leader?
A. I think of myself as a servant.
Q. But do you also think of yourself as a leader?
A. Well, you could put it that way. But I'm responsible to a lot of people. I work for a lot of people. 1
There are parts of corporate America that get it better than the Church when it comes to leading by serving. One of Jesus’ recurring complaints is about leadership, be it religious, or political, or economic, leadership that is full of itself. True greatness turns away from the temptations of pride, ostentation, self-importance. Where does Jesus most reveal God’s glory? On the cross, in agony, in suffering, in dying for others.
We should be ambitious for greatness – for true greatness, and we see true greatness in service, in being part of something bigger than ourselves, having a goal bigger than ourselves. That’s not the way the world thinks. But as is evident in today’s gospel, Jesus wants the community of his disciples to renounce the world’s values and to be a community of service; a community willing to risk, to be vulnerable; a community of welcome and inclusion; a community as open to learning as a child. If these qualities mark our lives, we’ll lead the world to him.
God calls each of us to greatness, and we shouldn’t think for a moment that it’s unattainable. There are heroes, many great people out there, doing things God has called them to, even when less able, less virtuous, less deserving people seem to get all of the power and acclaim.
Sometimes true greatness even makes it into the papers. Last month, the Post had a story about a group of volunteers down in New Orleans, cleaning up the Katrina mess. The Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana has organized many such efforts. The story was about a cleanup crew organized by a New Orleans parish, St. Andrew’s.2
The author of the piece described those working with him as “black and white, male and female, from all over the country [and mostly students or recent graduates].” Their task was to gut houses so they wouldn’t get bulldozed. The author wrote, “You feel like a mortician washing a corpse. You try to do it with both efficiency and respect.”
New Orleans homeowners turned to the St. Andrew’s crew if they couldn’t afford $6,000 to have their house gutted or if they couldn’t get anyone to go near their house. After the body of Dorothy Ward’s fiancé was discovered in the debris in her home, no one would touch it. Dorothy was in a fix, forgotten, but the St. Andrew’s crew showed up for her and saved her house from the bulldozer. She wept: “God sent you all to me. You are my miracle. You can’t know how much you’ve done for me. I feel so blessed.” Stories like Dorothy Ward’s are pretty much the rule – not the exception.
Katie Mears has been one of the leaders of the St. Andrew’s program. She says, “Our chief principle in everything we do is that it’s not about us, it’s about the homeowners we serve.”
What I saw the last couple of days at our vestry retreat is that’s the kind of leadership taking form and deepening in this parish, and it’ll exalt us because it’s living the gospel, it’s living beyond ourselves, it’s a great ambition, and it makes for a joyful life, a great life.
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
1. Aaron Brown interviewing Russell Simmons on CNN ‘Newsnight’ February 11, 2005.
2. Ken Ringle, ‘Empty, and Fulfilled,’ The Washington Post, August 3, 2006, p. C01.
© 2006 Lane John Davenport
