Mark 9: 30-37

One of the ironies of being a mature age theology student is that I find myself doing something normally associated with students of a much younger age: I study by day, and work a couple of nights a week at the local petrol station in order to make a contribution to the household finances.  My appreciation of the irony is deepened by the fact that most of my work colleagues are actually young people paying their way through university; but I am also keenly aware that there is something humbling in the fact that I switch between the sometimes lofty and abstract world of theology to the mundane, occasionally gritty, reality of work.

And indeed, it is humble work: tedious, routine, repetitive, and, during the peak hours, frantically busy.  And your humble status as a service station employee is frequently reinforced by the behaviour of some members of the general public: the impatient, the demanding, the inconsiderate, the arrogant.  The underlying assumption behind many of these behaviours is that you are just a service industry employee, and if you don’t perform your function properly – that is, immediately attend to their every demand and requirement – then you are not providing a proper service.  In which case, Heaven have mercy on you, because they will have none.

 Work, like much else in society, is divided by hierarchy.  There are certain jobs which, because of their status, or financial reward, or required qualifications, are thought of as highly desirable: and desirable not just in themselves, but because of what those jobs allegedly say about the people who hold them.  By contrast, there are jobs that are deemed less desirable; again, not only because of the conditions associated with those jobs, but because of what they, too, allegedly say about their occupants.  It is often assumed that a person in a highly desirable job must be at least in some measure intelligent, talented, industrious, and energetic; and it is as equally often assumed that those in positions lower down the pecking order are more than likely dull, unskilled, lazy, and apathetic.

 It is, of course, a kind of industrial snobbery; but there is more to it than that.  It is an indicator of the hallmarks which our society regards as valid measures of a person’s worth, the hallmarks that signify power and wisdom.   Of course, a person can be lucky, or charming, or well connected, and thereby manage to rise from humble to more exalted circumstances.  But the truth is, we’ve come to regard luck and charm and connection with a kind of begrudging admiration; afterall, if a person didn’t have something to them, how on earth could they be as lucky or charming as they are, or know as many people as they do?  In other words, whether from effort or fortune or nepotism, we’ve come to see success in employment – indeed, success generally – as indicative of value, as a measure of brains and capacity.

 But take a moment now to ask yourself this simple question: would our society collapse sooner if there were no brain surgeons, or if there was no-one to collect the garbage? I don’t think it will take anyone terribly long to realise that in order to survive, our society needs garbage collectors much more than it needs brain surgeons – yet why is it brain surgeons are paid so much more, and held in far higher esteem, than garbage collectors?

 I don’t mean to disparage brain surgeons; I merely want to put to you a stark example of the topsy-turvy nature of human thinking, of the wrong-headed way in which humans assess value and worth.  Perhaps a better example would be to ask: why is it that the cosmetic surgery industry – with all its face-lifts and liposuction and collagen injections – is booming, while the organ donor program struggles along in a parlous condition? I put it to you that cosmetic surgery is valued because it serves a selfish and individual purpose, a purpose that promotes what we want to the exclusion of others; whereas the organ donor program serves an altruistic, social purpose, a purpose that requires individuals to set aside their self-interest for the sake of others.

And the same applies to employment.  We value certain jobs and envy the people who occupy them because we perceive those jobs in terms of their capacity to satisfy our desire for wealth, possession, and status.  And we devalue certain other jobs, and despise the people who fill them, precisely because those jobs do not satisfy our desires, or because they require that we serve the needs of others.

 It is this topsy-turvy thinking that often makes Scripture appear radical and subversive.  But the truth is, if we were thinking with an adequate framework to begin with, Scripture would appear much more like straightforward common sense.  The apparently radical nature of Scripture is, in fact, a pointer to the inadequacy of our thinking.

 We see an example of this in today’s reading from Mark’s Gospel.  Christ reveals to the disciples the mystery of mysteries: that God has not only humbled God’s-self to take human form in the person of Jesus, but this same Jesus will suffer a brutal death and then be raised into glory for the sake of all humanity.  But the only thing the disciples seem intent upon is arguing over who among them is the greatest.  It’s almost as though they see the resurrection not as God putting into effect the promise of salvation, but as the moment when one of them will be elevated to God-like glory.

 To be fair to the disciples, the text does tell us that they didn’t understand Jesus’ revelation, and are too afraid to ask him what it means.  But notice how their immediate reaction is to not argue among themselves over the question of what on earth Jesus was talking about; their reaction is to settle back into a squabble that clearly has been bubbling along for quite a while. 

It’s an almost comical scenario, worthy of Monty Python: Jesus, surrounded by his disciples and shining with the light of heavenly grace, reveals the great purpose of his ministry; then, in the slightly awkward silence that follows, the disciples look at one another, uncomprehending – until, someone says in a typically Pythonesque voice: “Anyway, I’m greater than you are; I’m his relative by marriage!”   And the disciples wander away, squabbling, leaving Jesus with arms upraised, looking like a slightly absurd parody of the Cross.

Make no mistake: this is an absurd scenario, and it’s one that Mark confronts us with in his typically blunt fashion.   He’s saying to us: hang on a second, just read that passage again; just read exactly what it is that Jesus has revealed to us; and then read how those nearest and dearest to him reacted to that revelation.  Because in that reaction you can see exactly why Jesus ended up being crucified: because people weren’t interested in what Jesus had to say; they weren’t interested in reversing their wrong-headed perceptions in order to realise Jesus’ radical sense.  The disciples, like the Pharisees – like us – are too preoccupied with their own concerns – with their own assumptions of the correctness of their understanding – to listen to the very message, the Good News, that Jesus has come to share.

One of the features of the service station where I work is that staff are subject to what are called “mystery shoppers”.  A “mystery shopper” is someone who turns up in the guise of a customer, but whose actual purpose is to assess the condition of the store and rate the performance of the employee on duty.  As it happens, I was on duty the last time a “mystery shopper” visited; and as it happens, I managed to score a very high rating.  As a reward for my “success”, the store manager gave me a gift voucher to a certain well-known Christian bookstore; knowing that I’m a ministry candidate, I think my manager assumed I avoid “non-Christian” bookstores! In any event, when I logged onto the store’s website and started browsing the online catalogue, I noticed that in among all the commentaries and apologetics and textbooks were page after page of books on the subject of effective leadership, building the church, and making Christianity relevant to wider society.  Likewise, there were reams of what I can only describe as “self-help” books: books that purported to show the reader how to realise their potential, maximise their effectiveness, and increase their well-being. 

What was truly astonishing about these books was that they all purported to be based on Biblical principles.  But as I prepared for today’s service by reading the assigned lectionary passages, I wondered: had any of the authors of those books actually taken notice of what was written in Scripture? These authors claimed to be following Biblical principles; but I suspected they were actually pandering to our desires, peddling easy answers that told us what we wanted to hear, not what the Scriptural authors actually wanted to say.

Afterall, who doesn’t want to build the church, fill the pews, and restore the church’s former standing in society? Who doesn’t want to be an effective leader, an achiever who turns potential into reality, a well-adjusted and fulfilled human being? But today’s passage from Mark confronts us with the challenging question: what does any of that have to do with the Kingdom of God? Does the Good News Jesus proclaimed depend on the size of our churches and the numbers who turn up on Sunday? Does the promise of redemption in Christ depend on the size of our bank balances or whether we’re socially popular?  Does the validity of Christian faith depend on our capacity to influence others or get the media to say nice things about us?

Or do all of these things depend on one thing and one thing only: the sovereign grace of God, manifest in Christ, present today in the Holy Spirit, to which we are called to give witness – not as an elite or a Chosen People, but as broken humans ministering to a broken world?

The wisdom of wealth and the wisdom of power is earthly wisdom, the kind of wisdom that says a brain surgeon is more important than a garbage collector, that saving our looks and attending to our ego is more important that saving life and attending to human dignity.  But the wisdom of humility and the wisdom of sacrifice is the wisdom of God; the wisdom that calls our understanding into question by declaring that real life, real wisdom, real power  only comes in and through the One who lived as we live, who died as we die – but whose rising overthrows our death and our sin, making both nothing more than earthly powers ultimately under God’s control.

It is the wisdom that suggests that perhaps theology isn’t so lofty and abstract afterall; if only because it calls us to stop distracting ourselves with earthly concerns and pay heed to the One in whom real power and real wisdom abide.   

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.