This sermon was preached on September 22 & 23,
2018 at Trinity Lutheran Church in Connellsville, Pennsylvania, based on Mark 9:30-37.
...
“Anything you can do, I can do better! I can do anything better than you. No you can’t! Yes I can! No you can’t! Yes I can!…” [Aside – I sang this, and it was by far everyone’s favorite
part of the sermon haha].
Perhaps in some future movie-rendition of the
Gospels, the disciples can break into song for their argument about who is the
greatest. Of course, the disciples are not unique in their desire to be the
greatest. This argument in various forms comes up again and again as we go
about our lives.
We’re constantly measuring, comparing, and competing in order to
claim the title of “greatest”. We measure greatness in many ways: the one with
the most money, or the biggest house, or the newest technology. The one with
the most followers or fans or “likes”. The one who is the smartest, fastest, or
most beautiful. The one who wins.
Often the ones named the “greatest” already have a lot of power
and privilege, and winning only serves to help them gain more. They are
well-known, celebrated, emulated. We wear their jerseys, give them parades, and
make them into bobble-head dolls. (You know you’ve really made it when you can
buy a bobble-head doll of yourself). Being great seems to mean that you’re a
“big deal”, above others, at the top of the ladder.
Let’s be honest, it feels good to be the greatest, to be
celebrated and cheered by others. We feel a sense of accomplishment, we feel
confident, we feel happy.
One of the problems with greatness, though, is that it is
fleeting. It feels good when we win awards and earn accolades, when others
celebrate and look up to us. But what happens when we’re de-throned; when
someone else is faster, richer, and more powerful? What happens when the
crowds disperse and everyone moves on to the next “best thing”? What happens
when we lose?
Another problem arises when our inherent value and worth are tied
to our greatness. When this is the case, being unseated as the greatest often
feels like being stripped of everything we hold dear. Our ego is bruised, we
feel embarrassed and anxious, and we seek after anything that will restore us
to our former position of power and privilege. At our most desperate, we only
care about others for as much as they can serve as rungs on the ladder,
footholds we can blindly step on as we attempt to race back to the top.
Greatness is valued highly by the world around us, but things look
quite different in the kingdom of God.
Jesus’ entire ministry was about flipping the script on greatness.
In his living and dying, Jesus redefined greatness for his followers. He tells
his disciples in today’s Gospel reading, “Whoever wants to be first must be
last of all and servant of all.” Then he takes a little child - the definition
of powerlessness and the very opposite of greatness - he takes a little child
and he tells the disciples, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name
welcomes me.”
Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells his disciples that those who
want to save their life will lose it. He washes his disciples’ feet and shows
them how to serve one another. He sits down to eat with outcasts. Has conversations
with women and foreigners. Heals those who can give him nothing in return.
Chooses for his closest followers not the best-and-brightest, not priests,
scribes, lawyers, or officials; not the who’s who of Jerusalem, but fishermen.
From podunk Galilee.
And then, most shocking of all, Jesus - the son of God, the word
made flesh, the power of God in human form, the Messiah - dies. He dies! And
not just any death, but a shameful, humiliating,
exact-opposite-of-glory-and-greatness death on a cross.
This is what we’re signing up for when we are drawn by the call of
the Holy Spirit to be followers of Jesus. Greatness that doesn’t look like
anything the world calls great, or powerful, or desirable.
For followers of Jesus, true greatness is found not in power or
prestige, but in humble service, in vulnerability, and in genuine relationship.
It’s found in welcoming those who are not usually considered “great” by the
world - children, and those with disabilities, and LGBTQ people, and
immigrants, and those who struggle with addiction, and those who are trapped in
cycles of poverty, and those without privilege in a system that so often
equates “greatness” with whiteness and maleness and wealth and health.
True greatness looks like humility - listening more than we talk; being open to ideas and strategies that are not our own, and which may not
result in our personal success. True greatness looks like considering the
well-being of others, especially the most vulnerable among us, even when it
comes at great cost to us.
Jesus showed us in his life and ministry and death what greatness
looks like in the kingdom of God. And as we compare this picture of greatness
with the version presented by the world, we are reminded of a few things:
First, our worth and value do not come from our greatness, but
rather we have value simply because we exist. We are God’s good creation and
called beloved by God apart from anything we do or fail to do, no matter what.
Our worth and value do not come because we are somebody’s sister, or daughter,
or son but because we are somebody.
And second, greatness in any form is not the measure by which our
salvation is determined. We do not earn God’s favor or end up in heaven because
of how great we are, or how humble we are. We are not forgiven because of our
power, or because of how we serve others. Instead, the salvation, forgiveness,
and new life we receive are given to us by God’s grace alone.
Win or lose, powerful or powerless, great or not-so-great, you are
cherished and loved by God. No matter what. Amen.
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