"You're Out of Control!" – Mark 8:31-38

Mark 8:31-38

“He then began explaining things to them: “It is necessary that the Son of Man proceed to an ordeal of suffering, be tried and found guilty by the elders, high priests, and religion scholars, be killed, and after three days rise up alive.” He said this simply and clearly so they couldn’t miss it.
But Peter grabbed him in protest. Turning and seeing his disciples wavering, wondering what to believe, Jesus confronted Peter. “Peter, get out of my way! Satan, get lost! You have no idea how God works.”

Calling the crowd to join his disciples, he said, “Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for?

“If any of you are embarrassed over me and the way I’m leading you when you get around your fickle and unfocused friends, know that you’ll be an even greater embarrassment to the Son of Man when he arrives in all the splendor of God, his Father, with an army of the holy angels.”

Excerpt From: Eugene H. Peterson. “The Message of Easter.”

---

My best friend in high school was my partner for the in-car portion of our driver’s ed. class. So, for three Saturday mornings in high school, we jumped into a small red sedan with a “student driver” sign perched atop–warning the world to steer as clear as possible from the vehicle of destruction piloted by pimply teens and their hostage (I mean, instructor).

My buddy and I had the uncanny ability to make each other laugh, usually by doing nothing more than quoting lines from dumb movies. So that’s what we did those mornings in the car. One of us drove and the other sat in the back and tried to make the driver laugh. The instructor spent the time alternating between begging us to shut up and yelling at us to keep both hands on the wheel.

The last day of car time, the driver’s ed. instructor asked me to drive the 20 miles to the big city of Defiance, Ohio. Now, the thing about this big city, compared with the little village where we were from, was the number of stoplights: my hometown had three, Defiance had about a hundred more; so I didn’t have much practice with them. As I approached one of the many stoplight-guided intersections that day, no doubt laughing at something my friend had just told me, I noticed the yellow light and I sped up to make it through the intersection. But the light turned red a second before I got there, and before I knew what was happening, the car screeched to an abrupt stop in the middle of the intersection. We had not been in an accident and no one was hurt; rather, the instructor had slammed down on the brake pedal that was located at her feet on the passenger side of the car.

I remember just how incredibly jarring it felt to be in control of the car and then suddenly have no power over it. It’s quite similar to how it has occasionally felt driving in the snow this winter. I think I’m in control and then all the sudden I’m going in a direction I didn’t ask the car to go. These experiences of not being in control are frightening, confusing, and embarrassing.

Literally and figuratively, it feels like we don’t always know who’s driving the car. Which is why I appreciate this modern translation of of today’s gospel where Jesus announces to the crowd,“You’re not in the driver’s seat. I am.”

This may not strike many of us as good news. After all, we spend so much of our time and energy convincing ourselves we are in control of the vehicle of our life.

There are shelves of self-help books devoted to the idea of taking control of your life. They encourage assertiveness, demanding what you are due, and not allowing yourself to be a victim of other peoples’ successes and failures. It’s an attractive message to offer someone who feels beholden to and betrayed by the breezes of life.

A problem, however, is that our lives are not in our control. We can predict the events and outcomes of our lives tomorrow about as correctly as we can predict the weather. Or, more accurately, we can control the events and outcomes of our lives tomorrow about as well as we can control the weather. So why do we spend so much time and energy trying to convince ourselves that we could be in control, that we should be in the driver’s seat?

This is likely what motivates Jesus’ comment, “Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self;” which is a modern translation of, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

What we have here is Jesus presenting us with layer upon layer of what sounds like bad news. First he announces that he will endure suffering leading to death, then he admits those who follow him follow him into suffering and death as well. He pleads for the crowds to embrace their suffering and live sacrificially. And he concludes with the warning that anyone who is ashamed or embarrassed to follow Jesus on this path will find God ashamed and embarrassed of them.

This is the first any of Jesus’ disciples are hearing about this. Up to this point they’ve been quite impressed with Jesus and his ability to heal, teach, walk on water, still a storm, and feed the multitudes. The disciples are thinking they’ve done well to hitch their wagons to Jesus’ star. Victory over their oppressors looks imminent. And as Christ’s inner circle, they assume they are set up for life. But then Jesus sets ‘em straight and bums ‘em out.

I’m inclined to think that if I had written Mark’s gospel I would have left that little episode out of the book. But it’s there, right in the middle of a book called a gospel (or “good news”).

So, why is it good news that this Jesus who embraces suffering and sacrifice is in the driver’s seat? Probably because if Jesus is in the driver’s seat, that means I’m not. And that’s a good thing.

Left to my own devices, I don’t live sacrificially. I don’t put others needs first. I wouldn’t seek out suffering, and yes, I would be embarrassed of a God who would demand anything different from me.

We have much to learn from Jesus – the one who came not to be served but to serve. We have much to emulate from Jesus – the one who chooses self-sacrifice over self-help. But that’s not the good news. The good news, is the truth that the one who came to serve and sacrifice did so for all of us who would strive above all things to be prosperous, strong, successful and influential. We are recipients and heirs of an unearned grace. The good news is that Jesus is in the driver’s seat.

I’ve had several conversations with people who tell me when they look at the world and see the suffering, pain, and injustice in the world they doubt whether a good God is actually in control. I’ve had the same thoughts myself, to be honest. But is the suffering, pain, and injustice in the world proof that God isn’t in control, or is it proof of how much damage we can cause when we pretend that we are in control?

The lie that American Christianity believes is that God promises an easy, carefree life where everyone respects us, admires us, and trusts us to lead the world into the promised land.

The truth that American Christianity doesn’t want to hear is that “to follow Jesus is to live lives of service to others, to serve rather than to control and dominate. It means the opposite of being proud of station and status for ourselves at the expense of others.”[1]

What would it look like for American Christians to admit we’re not in control, and that that’s a good thing? What would be possible if American Christians left our blind ambition and arrogance at the foot of the cross? What kind of relationships would be possible if American Christians truly believed we had something to learn from people who are different from us. Where might God lead us once we took our foot off the wheel?

Amen.

1. Michael Rogness, Working Preacher commentary on Mark 8: 31-38 (http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2316)

"The Grace of the Humdrum" – Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

---

As I was scooping out the food for my dog the other day, I thought to myself, “How many times have I done this? How many times have I reached in, scooped out a cup of kibble and fed my dog?”

It wasn’t the most profound thought to come to mind lately; well, maybe it was, but regardless…

It wasn’t actually a question I intended to answer (although I did the math and I figure the answer is around 3,500 times). Rather, it was actually more of a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Scooping out a cup of dog food for my dog had become a part of my life.

Perhaps that seemingly-random thought was sparked by the news that several of our friends have had to put their dogs down recently. We hear about friends whose dogs are the same age as ours and in failing health and suddenly we look at our (for all we can tell) perfectly healthy dog and say things like, “Does her breathing seem labored to you?” and “She looks older” and “I wonder how much time she has left.”

Once we start to imagine a concluding event such as a milestone or a death, we start to pay attention to the ordinary and routine tasks relating to the thing that will soon end.

For example, on a Sunday last January, literally minutes after I received the news that I had been called to serve at Cross of Grace, I walked into the sanctuary at my congregation to lead worship, preach, and distribute the elements of communion. As each person came forward to receive the bread I told them, “The body of Christ, given for you.” At this point I remember thinking, “How many times have I said these words to these people in my time as their pastor?”

As with the dog food revelation, it wasn’t a question seeking an answer; rather, it was a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Placing bread in the hands of people whom I had grown to love and saying “The body of Christ, given for you” had become a part of my life; and that particular part of my life was coming to a close.

During those remaining Sundays with my congregation I paid more attention each time I placed the bread in their hands and said, “The body of Christ, given for you.” Perhaps the congregation paid more attention also.

Our lives are filled with ordinary and routine tasks, some we’ve done hundreds or thousands of times; for example: putting on shoes, vacuuming the floors, changing diapers, driving the same route to work every day, turning on the computer, family pizza dinners on Fridays, and singing “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” on Reformation Sunday.

Could it possibly be true that these ordinary and routine tasks that infuse our lives (particularly those tasks done for others) are the key to our spiritual well-being?

Today’s gospel, a portion of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount,” references Jesus’ teaching about the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money. Interestingly, the way Jesus talks about these disciplines, he makes them seem ordinary and routine – as ordinary and routine as feeding the dog, putting on shoes, or driving the same way to work each day.

Concerning prayer – Avoid provocative public demonstrations of prayer and grandiose language. Instead, go into your room, pray in secret, and use the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Concerning fasting – Do it in such a way that people can’t tell you’re fasting. Don’t change your routine or draw attention to yourself.

Concerning money – Take care not to insulate your life with things that can be bought/sold, stolen, or ruined by the elements. Rather, live within your means, be generous, and be content.

These three straightforward instructions stand in stark contrast to the messages that we are bombarded with day after day:

• that we need to stand out from the crowd,
• that we need to strive to prove ourselves over against others,
• that we need to accumulate more for ourselves.

Our culture despises uniformity, ordinariness, and routine. We face unyielding pressure to strive to be better people than we are today, as though we are only valuable to society if we:

• fit into a smaller dress,
• buy the right products,
• get into the best school,
• win the championship,
• move into the nicer neighborhood,
• earn that promotion

None of these things are necessarily “bad.” There’s little wrong with making healthy choices that end up changing our figure; just as there’s little wrong with working hard to earn or accomplish things or create new possibilities. But we must remember that our accomplishments in no way creates or diminishes our worth as citizens, human beings, and children of God.

God has declared our worth despite our complete unworthiness and inability to rely on God’s grace.

God loves us despite our desire and damaging attempts to stand out from the crowd, prove ourselves, and hoard wealth for ourselves. We’re sinners, through and through. But that doesn't stop God from loving us; nor does it stop God from being God for us.

Practicing the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment will not make us better people, will not prove our worth to others or God, nor make us wealthy. The spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money are not a means to an end. Rather, they are intended to be daily practices that become a natural part of our lives – little holy moments to be appreciated and shared with all whom we come in contact.

The proverbial question goes, “How much more do you need in order to be satisfied?” The answer is always, “Just a little bit more.”

During this season of Lent, Jesus invites us to practice the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment so that we can begin to recognize that the source of our happiness does not lie beyond the next obstacle, but rather exists here and now in the presence of Christ revealed to us through the ordinary and the routine.

Perhaps the ashes smeared on your foreheads and your mortality on your mind could help you pay attention to the things that truly do matter: embracing the holiness of ordinariness, seeking justice for more than just yourself, and coming to truly believe that God loves you just as you are.

And one day, as you close the door to pray or reach into our pockets to give something away, you will stop and say, “How many times have I done this?” And you will recognize that those spiritual disciplines have become ordinary and routine; and as much a part of your life as much as putting on your shoes or feeding the dog.

Amen.