To Die For

Mark 8:31-38

Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day, be raised. He said all of this quite openly. And Peter pulled him aside and began to rebuke him. But Jesus, turning and looking at the disciples rebuked Peter, saying, “Get behind me Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things.”

Then he called the crowds, together with the disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world and forfeit their life. Indeed, what would anyone give in return for their life. If anyone in this adulterous and sinful generation is ashamed of me and of my words, so will the Son of Man be ashamed of them when he comes again in the glory of his father with the holy angels.”

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I’ve been curious about and captivated by the death – and presumed murder – of Alexei Navalny, the Russian activist, lawyer, and political prisoner, who dropped dead in captivity just a week or so ago. If what so many believe to be true, is true, the bold, brazen way his death came to pass, is another terrifying example of who Vladimir Putin is and how his Russian regime operates. I don’t know enough to comment on the politics of it all with any wisdom or detail, so I won’t. But Navalny’s dedication to his cause in standing up for justice and in the face of an oppressive, power-hungry, president, is admirable.

And I’ve read some things from Navalny that indicate much of his work as an activist for justice and against corruption is rooted in his Christian faith. I’ve read that he was once quite a militant atheist, but that now he’s a believer, and that his faith has been the source of constant ridicule from many of his friends and colleagues in the Russian Anti-Corruption Foundation. His faith was also, apparently, a comfort and an encouragement for his life and work in the world. And, in light of that kind of stubborn faith, it’s meaningful to know that Navalny once said, “The world is made up not only of good and evil, but also of those who do nothing.” And he has also said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing. So don’t be inactive.”

And it seems like Navalny’s words – and the life they inspired in him – got him killed, in the end.

Which reminds me of something Martin Luther King, Jr., said once: “There are some things so eternally true, that they are worth dying for. And if a man has not discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live.”

It may be too much – or too soon – to suggest that Alexei Navalny and Martin Luther King, Jr., belong in the same hall of martyrs. But their passion for justice, their willingness to stand up to the powers around them, the fearlessness with which they seemed to live – and their shared faith in Jesus – can’t be separated from the words we hear from Jesus this morning, when he teaches the disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, rejection, and murder, and that if you really want to follow him you should take up a cross and do the same.

Well, I’m no Alexei Navalny, no Martin Luther King, Jr., and I’m no Messiah, either. But I did see the Indigo Girls, in Dayton, on Friday night. (I mean that to sound like those Holiday Inn Express commercials, where they act like staying at a Holiday Inn makes you smarter. I think that may actually be true where the Indigo Girls are concerned, but I digress.)

Anyway, one of their lyrics came to mind in light of this gospel and King’s words and Navalny’s death. The lyric is, “There must be a thousand things you would die for. I can hardly think of two.” It’s a love song. And it’s about one person’s awe and admiration for another, so it’s not supposed to be about Jesus at all. But, it made me wonder about what he’s up to today.

“There must be a thousand things you would die for. I can hardly think of two.”

I think today’s Gospel means to make us wonder just what it is we might be willing to die for.

See, Jesus has just come out to his disciples as the Messiah. And he’s talking about what that means – the idea that the likely result of his faithfulness to God’s call on his life will lead to his own rejection, his own suffering and, of course, his own crucifixion and death. He’s not saying that you have to die to follow Jesus, necessarily. He’s just saying that if you’re doing it right – “if you want to become MY followers” – you better be ready for the struggle and the suffering and the death that could very well come along with it.

And Jesus knew that people – especially comfortable, privileged, powerful people – would be suddenly unsettled and afraid and threatened and angry because of all he was up to. He was about to upset the apple cart of the status quo in every way.

The cross about to be foisted upon Jesus comes to him because he’s about to come for the rich and the powerful. And because he’s about to raise his voice for the least and the last, for the outcast and the outsider.

Jesus is healing people who shouldn’t be healed. He’s loving people who shouldn’t be loved. He’s welcoming people who some would just as soon keep out. He’s forgiving sins believed to be unforgiveable. Jesus is about to pull no punches, give zero you-know-whats, lay it all on the line and let the chips fall where they may.

And the biggest chip to fall is himself – and he wants others to know what they’re in for if they really choose to follow him… if they mean it… and if they do it right.

“There must be a thousand things you would die for, [Jesus]. I can hardly think of two.”

And I wonder if that’s what was going through Peter’s mind when he tries to stop him – when he tries to quiet him down after saying the quiet part out loud. Sometimes I think Peter was just worried people would leave the fold if they knew what the risks were. Sometimes I think Peter was just trying to protect Jesus from all of that suffering. Sometimes I think Peter just can’t believe that this is the kind of Messiah God would be – one that suffers, one that gets crucified, one that gets killed. What kind of God is that?

But I also wonder if Peter doesn’t want Jesus talking this way – promising so much struggle and sacrifice and death – because Peter wasn’t up for all of that, himself.

“There must be a thousand things you would die for. I can hardly think of two.”

And I wonder if we – like Peter – fool ourselves into pretending that following Jesus means giving up chocolate or beer or Facebook for Lent; or that discipleship means praying more, or reading our Bibles, or showing up for worship. And those things are good and righteous and faithful and nothing to sneeze at, don’t get me wrong. But they are nothing more and nothing less than tools and faith practices meant to prepare and to move us toward something much greater.

All of our worshiping, learning, and serving… All of our fasting and praying and giving… are about preparing our hearts and our minds and our lives to be able to recognize and to facilitate the Kingdom of God in our midst – for our sake and for the sake of the world – even if it’s hard sometimes – and expecting it to be.

All we do in the safety of our homes and with our families and through our congregation is meant to reveal the way things are (unequal, unfair, unjust for too many, too much of the time) while knowing about how God would rather have things be (equitable, fair, merciful, just, loving) so that we will do something in the name of Jesus to bring the latter – the stuff of the Kingdom – to pass. And, again, that can be risky business if and when we do it right.

People with money – maybe that’s you and me – don’t like to be told they should give it away.

People with power – maybe that’s you and me – don’t like to be told they should share, or even relinquish, it.

People on top – maybe that’s you and me – don’t like to make room for others or to imagine their own place at the bottom.

Preaching that could get you run out of town, which happened to Jesus. Protesting in the name of that could get you hauled into court, which happened to Jesus. Teaching that could lose you some friends and get you betrayed, which happened to Jesus. Embodying that, could get you crucified, killed, and buried, all of which happened to Jesus, just like he promised it would.

“There must be a thousand things you would die for. I can hardly think of two.”

And Jesus did – he died – so that we might come close to giving more, to loving more, to sacrificing more, to suffering more for the sake of others, and for the good of the cause. Because even when we fall short – as Jesus knew we would, and as God knows we do – the cross never gets the last word.

“The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, yes … and be killed, yes ... and on the third day be raised.” YES. And “…on the third day be raised.”

And that’s where we find our hope to do what God calls us to. Not many of us are as bold, or as brave, or as faithful as the likes of Alexei Navalny, or Martin Luther King, Jr., or Jesus. We don’t all have the courage or the calling or the love within us to sacrifice and suffer and die for the sake of bringing God’s kingdom to pass on this side of heaven, no matter how badly the world needs it.

So we look to that cross, even if we’d never climb up there ourselves. And we look for the empty tomb, too, because we will find ourselves there one day. And we give thanks that even when we don’t, God does… even when we won’t, God will... even when we haven’t, God already has.

And we keep following Jesus as nearly as we’re able – testing our own boundaries, pushing our own limits, risking our own comfort, safety and security, maybe – to see, as Dr. King put it, “the eternal truth” of God’s grace for which Christ died – and lives – so that we, and the world around us, will too.

Amen

Voices in the Wilderness

Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the Emperor Tiberius, while Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, while Herod was ruler over Galilee, and his brother Philip was ruler over the region of Iturea and Trachonitis, Lysanius was ruler over Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.

He went out around the region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, every mountain and high place shall be made low, the crooked will be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh will see the salvation of God.”

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Some of you know this, because you’ve been part of them, but when I lead discussions on race relations, racism, and diversity, I often suggest that participants, in order to get familiar with a perspective different from their own, they be more deliberate about reading, listening to, even following on social media, voices from different walks of life.

For me – a straight, white, middle-class man in the United States, it has meant that I do simple things like follow People of Color on social media and read Black authors like Ibram X. Kendi, Colson Whitehead, and Isabel Wilkerson. (I can’t recommend her latest book, Caste, highly enough.)

It’s why I learn so much from female theologians like Rachel Held Evans, Nadia Bolz Weber, and colleagues who are women, too.

It’s why I am as entertained as I am informed by the music of gay and lesbian artists like the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile.

And it’s why I’m so blessed and better for the perspective I gain about poverty and wealth from my friends in Haiti.

And thinking about this with today’s Gospel on the brain made me think about John the Baptist in a new way, too.

See, for a long time, I believed all those names listed in this chunk of Luke’s Gospel, were nothing more than date stamps; historical markers; ways to establish the place in time that all of this took place; “all of this” being the beginning of what we know of John the Baptist’s ministry. And it is that to some degree. It’s interesting and telling – especially for people who know their history – to know that all of this happened when Tiberius and Pontius Pilate and Herod and Philip and Lysanius and Annas and Caiaphas were doing their thing, all of which happened sometime in the late 20’s or early 30’s of the first century, according to smarter people than me. I was never great with dates and timelines.

But it’s even more interesting to me to understand that Luke’s Gospel is up to something much more meaningful than recording history by time-stamping his Gospel with the names of political and religious leaders; emperors, governors, high priests, and whatnot. Luke was also pointing out that God’s word and God’s ways were not always proclaimed to – or by the likes of – the people in high places.

Instead, the word of God came to and came through the likes of this camel-fur-wearing, honey-and-locust-eating, crying-out-in-the-wilderness, down-by-the-river-baptizing, repentance-and-forgiveness-preaching Jesus freak, named – not Tiberius or Lysanius, not Pontius Pilate or Herod, but John. Just John, the son of Zechariah. And he wasn’t from anywhere that mattered or that you could find on a map, like Judea or Galilee or Iturea or Trachonitis or Abilene, either. He was out in the wilderness … down by the river somewhere … if you could find him.

It might go something like this today: in the first year of the presidency of Joseph R. Biden, when Eric Holcomb was governor of Indiana, and Joe Hogsett was mayor of Indianapolis, during the papacy of Pope Francis and the bishopry of Bill Gafkjen and Elizabeth Eaton, the word of God came to Steve … or Stacy … or Jamaal … or Jesula – over the river and through the woods; on the other side of the tracks; or under the bridge; or maybe “down at the B.A.R. with the B.U.M.’s,” as Christa’s favorite aunt used to say.

Because what John was saying was the same thing the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: that God would show up first, for those who needed God most. That Jesus would be a welcome guest for those who were suffering and struggling and sick and in need. And that Jesus would be a fly in the ointment, a thorn in the side, a pain in the behind for those in power; for those in high places; for those with titles before – and with letters after – their names.

Which is to say, those in low places will be lifted up; those in high places will be knocked down; those doing wrong will be righted; those who are rich will be made poor; those who are poor will have enough; and any other way you can think to promise that the status quo would, could, and should be upset for the benefit of those who rarely benefit from the status quo, such as it is.

And all of that is why we do so much of what we do as God’s people in the Church – especially during these holiday days. It’s why we give gifts to foster kids. It’s why we pack Thanksgiving dinners for our food pantry families. It’s why we send a little something extra to our Agape Alliance friends and give so generously to the Grace Quest students to buy all of those animals from the ELCA Good Gifts program. And every bit of that is good and gracious and holy. Don’t get me wrong. But let’s not break our arms patting ourselves on the back about it.

Because I think the reason John named – and the reason Jesus challenged – the likes of emperors, governors, rulers and religious leaders of all shapes and sizes, is because the kind of confession and repentance John called for, the kind of challenge and change Jesus championed, was meant to be deeper and wider and structural and systemic in such a way that it would last longer than the holiday season and have impacts so far-reaching, so culture-shifting, so world-rocking that heaven and nature might sing at the results and ramifications of it all.

“Every valley shall be filled,” remember. “The mountains and the high places shall be made low.” “The crooked made straight and the rough ways made smooth,” after all. And, you realize, none of this “prepare the way of the Lord” stuff is about landscaping or road work or the new round-about over at Gem Road and 300 South. John is talking about the repairing and restoring and reinventing the broken social, cultural, political, religious systems of the world as we know it.

He’s talking about God’s desire to create a level playing field of justice and mercy… of healing and hope… of peace and prosperity that would, could, should be available to all of God’s children – especially for those relegated to the valleys; especially for those who get screwed by the crookedness of corruption and injustice; especially for those who can’t ever seem to get over the rough road of their station in life.

Like, what if, among other things, we could smooth out the rough, rocky roads in the Holy Land by having great compassion for our Jewish brothers and sisters there, yes, but without also condoning or ignoring the plight of the Palestinians, too.

Like, what if, among other things, the glass ceiling of sexism in this country could be brought low, so that women don’t make a mere 82 cents for every dollar that a man makes?

What if the crooked ways of systemic racism could be hammered flat so that, among so many other things, people of color weren’t incarcerated for longer sentences than white people for the exact same crimes?

What if the low places of homophobia were raised up so that, among other things, gay and lesbian people didn’t have to call me, before showing up for worship here, just to be sure they’ll be safe and feel welcomed, if they muster the courage to give it a go?

See, God knows it’s so often the emperors and governors, the rulers and religious leaders, the people of power and privilege, who rest easy in the status quo and who resist change for the sake of others because of it. It’s why God’s word comes to the likes of John down by the river, and sends people like him to cry out in the wilderness, to prepare the way of the Lord, and to make his paths straight.

Tupac Shakur, a Black rapper from my generation – a voice in the wilderness of his day, for sure – wrote something that made me think about all of this:

So let’s stop long enough to listen, you and I, during these Advent days, and beyond. Let’s hear the cry of John’s voice and others like it these days: voices different from our own; voices different from the powers that be; voices that tell of struggle and oppression and suffering and a life’s experience many of us can’t fathom or fully grasp. And let’s respond to God’s invitation to confess, repent, and do something to change what’s broken in this world until all flesh – all flesh – shall see, receive, and experience the salvation God brings in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen.