Unexpected Allies Deut. 10:17-22, Mark 9:30-41

He sat down.
They knew what that meant.
It meant Jesus was serious.
He always sat down when he had something important to teach them.
They had just gotten home. Just arrived in Capernaum and walked in the door.
Jesus was putting away his travel kit
and leafing through the junk mail that had accumulated on the counter
when casually, very casually he asked his disciples, "Oh, by the way,
what were you arguing about just now as we were coming into town?"
He didn’t really have to ask. He knew.
Their voices had carried on the evening breeze.
What’s more, they KNEW he knew.
They KNEW he knew that they had been arguing about which one of them
was the greatest and it was embarrassing to be caught in the act.
They were pretty sure it wasn’t the kind of conversation he would approve of.

But then, again, Jesus was so impractical!
They weren’t exactly the most sophisticated men, those disciples,
but they knew a thing or two about how to get things done.
They knew Jesus had a loyal following of sorts
but his leadership style was all willy-nilly. He had no organization.
He seemed oblivious to the need to connect with his power base,
and he had this self-destructive knack for alienating Roman and Jewish leaders alike.
About the only people who liked him were lepers, limpers, and loafers
not to mention the occasional woman or child, and when it came down to it,
they weren’t much better than a stray dog
that’ll lick the hand of WHOEVER feeds it.

And now here he was talking about being killed,
being killed and then rising up.
At least he finally had plans to go to Jerusalem.
They would spend one night in Capernaum and then head south.
That was good. He’d been in Galilee long enough.
It was a nice place to be, lush and green, a center for both agriculture and fishing.
And, it was home for all the disciples.
But it wasn’t close enough to Jerusalem.
There were too many Gentiles, too many Greeks and Romans.
It was impossible to get a Jewish movement off the ground
without going to Jerusalem.

But now Jesus sat.
He sat, and, on cue, they gathered around to listen.
Jesus looked at each disciple until he had each one’s full attention and said.
"Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all."
A child darted through the room just then, and Jesus grabbed her, turned her around
and hugged her from behind as he knuckled the top of her head.
The girl, face streaked with dirt, giggled and squirmed and picked at her nose.
Then to illustrate his point, Jesus held the girl by the shoulders so all could see.
"Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me,
and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

Now, most of us LIKE children -
especially grandchildren who can be rented for a time and then returned.
We tend to make children the center of our attention
and we do our best to make their lives as comfortable and stimulating as possible.
But it was different for children in Jesus’ day.
The harsh truth was that children had a high mortality rate
so other family members didn’t want to get too attached or invest too much.
And, in a patriarchal society that honored age
older men were given first crack at the choice resources.
Children were last on the list. Girl children especially.

Mark doesn’t specify the gender of the child Jesus pulled aside
but a girl would have best illustrated his point.
Jesus was about to begin his journey to Jerusalem.
The disciples didn’t yet understand what he was up to.
They thought he was going to unify all the Jewish rebels,
lead an uprising of common folk,
overwhelm both the Romans and the Jewish elite with sheer numbers.
They didn’t understand.
They thought he was going to get the job done in a conventional way -
consolidating his network, identifying and winning over key stakeholders,
making the most of the element of surprise.
But the only ones surprised by Jesus were his disciples.
Jesus put the "principalities and powers" on alert from the beginning
that he was coming to Jerusalem to confront them head on -
not with force but with a spotlight.
He would choose non-violent confrontation using only the sword of truth as his weapon
and let the chips fall where they may.

That’s what he was trying to get across to his disciples.
He stood a child, maybe a little girl, out in front of them to illustrate
that God valued her: in her innocence and in her status as lowest of the low;
God valued her more than all the honors and titles,
more than all the degrees and club memberships,
more than all the peacock posturing and back room dealing ever done.
In other words, Jesus was saying to his friends
"You can’t argue about greatness.
If you argue about it that means you don’t understand it."
Greatness is found in humility - in humility and in service.
If you, a grown man, can be humble enough to welcome this little girl
as a valued child of God
well, maybe there’s hope for you yet.

It’s hard to imagine that in the very next breath John forgot his lesson.
Jesus had taken away the possibility of achieving greatness by brute strength
or by cunning
or by birth
but there was still greatness by association to cling to.
If they had to be great by being servants,
then they would at least be known as Jesus’ servants.
They would at least have the rights to THAT title
and nobody could take THAT away from them!

But John remembered that just that very day they had encountered an exorcist
casting out demons in Jesus’ name.
The nerve of him!
He hadn’t paid his dues!
He hadn’t been specially chosen! He wasn’t trained and certified!

"We saw someone casting out demons in your name!" John laments.
Could it be that he was jealous? After all, earlier in this same chapter
Mark tells of the disciples’ INABILITY to cast a demon out of a boy
that had been brought to them.
"We tried to stop him because he was not following US!" John whines.
It seems John needs help sorting out who the leader is
and who are the followers.
With more gentleness than John deserved
Jesus didn’t box John’s ears and call him names.
He just pointed out the obvious.
Nobody who does a good work in my name will turn against me.
If he’s not against us then he might very well be on our team.
And then he added the clincher that even John could appreciate.
"Whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ
will by no means lose their reward."
In other words, Don’t be so quick to turn someone away.
You need all the friends you can get
because you never know when a friend might come in handy.

John seems to have fallen into a trap that most of us fall into
at some point along our journey of faith.
Most of us who want to take seriously Jesus’ teaching
that being a disciple means being last of all and servant of all
come to the conclusion that that means sticking our necks out
for those in our society who are low on the power pole. That’s true as far as it goes.

The problem is that we, like John, tend to imagine ourselves
as part of an exclusive club of true believers,
that only WE have the knowledge or the faith to work in Jesus’ name.
Consequently, we separate ourselves into camps - "us" and "them."
We decide who the enemy is (everybody but "us")
and we plow ahead in righteous zeal not caring what bridges we burn in the process.
We do whatever we think it will take to shame the enemy or cajole them
or browbeat them into seeing things our way
and then wonder why the gulf between us only grows deeper and wider.

Of course, what we seem to forget is that when you treat someone like an enemy
he becomes an enemy.
We’ve seen this on the international stage.
We’ve seen it in our community.
I’ve done it in my own life more than once.
But Jesus seems to be telling John that this is not the way to go.

In fact, making an enemy is the easiest thing in the world. Any fool can do it.
But it takes real wisdom and humility to be able to stand for what you believe in
while at the same time leaving the door open enough
that even someone who disagrees with you can become a friend;
even someone who seems to be working at cross purposes with you
can become an unexpected ally.
I think of former presidents Bill Clinton and Papa George Bush -
two political adversaries who have found a measure of greatness
in working together to raise money for natural disaster relief efforts.
If any two people had the right to be bitter political enemies its them,
but reports are that they get along quite well.

Jesus himself is our model in how to leave the door open.
He knew that for his cause to have a chance he would have to be honest,
he would have to stand before his accusers and tell them the truth
no matter what the consequences.
But when, in fact, he was given the harshest penalty possible - death by crucifixion,
he did not condemn them, but in fact forgave them
because he knew they were only acting out of fear and ignorance.
The disciples couldn’t have known all that when they were in the house in Capernaum.
All they knew was that when Jesus sat down to teach them,
it was best that they pay attention.

Somewhere Under the Rainbow Gen. 9:8-17, Mark 1:9-15

Any eighth grader in earth science class can tell you what makes a rainbow.
A rainbow is created when white light is refracted or bent
by water droplets in the atmosphere into its full spectrum of colors.
Contrary to Lucky Charms legend there is no pot of gold at the end of a rainbow
because there is no end.
It’s an atmospheric phenomenon.
It only looks like it ends because the earth’s horizon
interrupts our line of vision.

So, if a rainbow is nothing but refraction,
a mere mechanical breaking down of white light into it’s component parts,
why is it that when you and I see a rainbow our hearts skip a beat?
Why is it that we rush to the window and press our noses against the pane
or reach for our cameras and report it to our friends –
"I saw a rainbow this morning! Did you see it?
Wasn’t it beautiful? It was a perfect arc."

William Wordsworth wrote a poem to this effect.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!… 1

Ancient Greeks thought a rainbow was a jet trail of sorts
left by a messenger to the gods.
Our Biblical understanding, though, is closer to Hindu mythology
which understands a rainbow to be the bow from which Indra,
the god of thunder, shoots lightning bolts.2
In our story, God makes a covenant with Noah
that God is going to hang up this bow in a prominent spot,
sort of like if we were to hang it over our fireplace,
to serve as a sign of peace,
to serve as a reminder never to destroy the earth by flood again.

The story of God’s relationship to God’s people,
of God’s relationship to us,
is a story, first and foremost, of covenant.
It’s a story of promise, a story of grace,
a story that hinges on the incredible insight that God is ultimately FOR us.

I’m not enough of a student of mythology and world religions
to know if the Hebrew concept of God is unique in this,
but I do know that in Greek and Roman and Canaanite mythology at least
the gods are portrayed as being a pretty fickle lot.
Greek, Roman, and Canaanite gods enjoyed toying with human beings.
They were always in a petulant snit or plotting devious revenge.
Those who worshiped them never knew where they stood.
All they could do keep their heads down and their fingers crossed
and hope that their gods wouldn’t suddenly fly off the handle
and engage in a wholesale smite-fest.

Now, granted, there are isolated stories in the Bible, both Old and New Testaments
where God is said to strike someone down for a grievous breech of the law.
But as an overall theme, as an enduring thread going all the way back to Adam & Eve,
God is portrayed as the one who goes the extra mile to keep the relationship intact.
Biblical scholars call the first eleven chapters of Genesis "pre-history."
These are the great stories preceding the call of Abraham
where the story teller is trying to work out in story form his understanding
of the Hebrew God’s relationship to human beings.

In the Hebrew three-layered understanding of the universe,
God brought order out of chaos at the moment of creation
by gaining control of the waters that covered the face of the earth,
by shutting the waters up in the dome of heaven.
But God’s experiment in human-making is portrayed by the storyteller
as a work in progress, a learning laboratory.

First, God realizes that human beings shouldn’t live indefinitely
so God puts a cap on human life span of 120 years.
Then God has a spasm of Creator’s remorse
as God realizes how downright nasty these limited, earthy human beings can be.
The storyteller writes:
"God saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth,
and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually."
But notice that the flood was not an impulsive, impetuous act.
It was a premeditated choice.
And even in it’s destruction there was an act of grace, a sign of hope.

God found one man, Noah, and his family who were worth saving.
It hardly seems worth the trouble to save one man and his family.
Why not just call it a total failure? Why not just start over with a clean slate?
The storyteller wants us to know that as wicked as humankind was (or is)
God’s first creation was not a total bust,
that even with all the muck, there is in humankind the potential for good.
In the midst of all the rot, there is something salvageable.

That’s important for us to understand.
It’s important because when God makes the covenant with Noah,
when God promises never again to destroy the earth
by opening the windows of heaven and unleashing chaos,
we need to realize that God is making that covenant with a sinful human being.
God is making that promise to part of the same stock
from which all that wickedness grew.
God is making that promise, not to some new, improved breed
but to original old flesh and blood like you and me.

As we were reminded on Ash Wednesday, we are but ash and dust.
Or, we in Virginia might say we are but red clay.
We are nothing more than chips off of Adam and Eve’s original block.
When God makes a covenant with Noah and seals it with the rainbow
God is not promising to preserve us as long as we don’t get too wicked again.
Instead, God is making the remarkable admission that God loves so much
even our wickedness will no longer be used against us.

Now, I admit, sometimes it SEEMS like we’re being punished.
We heard Friday night a report from the team that went to New Orleans
to contribute to the cleanup effort following hurricanes Katrina and Rita.
We saw pictures of the awful destruction and we remember how at the time
people were describing the aftermath of the levy breech
as a flood of "Biblical proportions."

Closer to home we deal every day with setbacks and disappointments,
with terrible news and frustrated aspirations
that FEEL like the results of a divine smite-fest.
And we sometimes, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz,
dream of a place "Over the Rainbow"
"where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops."
We get discouraged living in Kansas.
We get tired of the same old pig sties and drab monochrome existence.
We feel abused by the Almira Gulches of the world
who, for no good reason, appear to be out to get us AND our little dogs, too!

And so we fantasize about a place where there are only beautiful GOOD witches
and cheerful little people
and dazzling colors and lollipop guilds.
"If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow why, oh why, can’t I?"
Sometimes we get the idea that being a follower of Jesus Christ
should be an "over the rainbow" kind of existence,
that applying to our lives the golden rule or even just "the rules"
should win for us some kind of inoculation against heartache and pain.
You and I want to go straight from baptism to proclamation,
proceed from glory into glory,
eat our pie and then fly into the sky by and by
without ever again having to deal with the grief of unexpected loss
or the shame of failure
or uncertainty over what the future holds.

But Mark reminds us that even Jesus didn’t go from baptism to proclamation
without first going through Hell.
He was tempted. He was tested. He met Satan, the Accuser, face to face.
There he is, dripping wet, hearing the voice of God,
and the next thing you know the Spirit DRIVES him out into the wilderness -
not leads, not coaxes, not guides, but DRIVES him out
where he must face the truth about himself and his humanity.
It’s only AFTER he’s gone through the wilderness
that he can proclaim that the kingdom of God is at hand.

But Dorothy found that out, too.
She thought going over the rainbow would solve all her problems.
But she, like Jesus, was baptized not into a life of ease in Oz but of testing.
In fact Dorothy serves as a Jesus figure of sorts.
Think about it. She is baptized by the tornado into a new world.
But contrary to her naive expectations, her new world doesn’t take away
life’s challenges, it only intensifies them.
She and her friends must face trial, be tested, and come face to face with evil itself
in the form of the Wicked Witch and her flying monkeys.
It’s only AFTER she’s faced her worst fears
that she is able to recognize and speak the truth saying,
"There’s no place like home."

Judy Garland, the woman who played the character Dorothy,
never quite grasped the truth that her character came to know.
Early in the course of working under contract with MGM
she became addicted to a deadly routine of amphetamines to wake her up
and barbiturates to help her sleep.
The drugs with alcohol became her way of blocking out the pain of reality.
In her addiction she became erratic, got the reputation of being hard to work with,
and went through five husbands.
She remained, however, enormously talented.

When the subject of "Over the Rainbow" came up she is quoted as saying,
"I wanted to believe and I tried my hardest to believe in the rainbow.
I tried to get over and I couldn’t. So what? Lots of people can’t."3
At the age of 47 Judy Garland died of an accidental overdose of barbiturates.
On the day she died there was a tornado in Kansas.

Judy Garland never quite grasped the truth that Dorothy came to know.
We don’t need to go over the rainbow.
God’s covenant is with us and with all creation from now unto eternity.
The kingdom of God has come near.
There’s no place like home.
Even with the pig sty.
Even with the frustration.
Even with the Almira Gulches of the world.
UNDER God’s rainbow, there’s no place like home.