A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The 32^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time: November 8, 2009

This morning is the second in a 4-part series about how we Christians can show the world another way of doing life. Last week we talked about living like we know there’s more than enough.

This morning I want to invite us to show the world that following Jesus means letting go of whatever we cling to, and taking up a cross.

Listen for a Word from God.

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered, “You are the Messiah.” And Jesus sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

The Gospel of Mark probably was written about 40 years after Jesus was executed and raised from the dead. So the first people who read Mark’s Gospel knew Jesus was the Messiah, which is the Hebrew word for Christ. They knew Jesus was the one sent by God to gather them into a new group of people who would make God’s kingdom real on earth. After Peter has messed up so many times in this Gospel, Mark’s readers can’t believe Peter’s finally said something intelligent. He proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah. They begin to think Jesus wasn’t so short-sighted choosing him to be the rock on which Jesus would build this new kingdom community.

But Peter’s glory doesn’t last long.

Then Jesus began to teach the disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

We can forgive Peter for reacting so violently to Jesus saying he was going to suffer and be killed. It wasn’t in anyone’s playbook that the Messiah would suffer. And it wasn’t in anyone’s playbook that the Messiah would be murdered like a common criminal. Peter expected Jesus the Messiah to lead them into Jerusalem like a conquering army. They’d wipe out everybody working for the Roman Empire. And they’d reclaim the land for God. Peter was expecting a plum political appointment…maybe vice-Messiah or something. Peter thinks Jesus isn’t getting enough sleep. Or he’s eating or drinking something that’s messing with his little grey cells. He’s got to keep Jesus from saying things like this. No one will follow him if they think he’s going to suffer and be killed. Even if he talks about being raised on the third day.

Jesus called the crowd with his 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 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. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?”

There are 2 billion Christians in the world. Why would so many people choose to follow Jesus when he tells us, If you want to come after me, you must deny yourself, and take up your cross, and follow me (Mark 8.34)? It kind of makes me wonder if we’re paying attention. Why would we choose to follow a Jesus who is so demanding? Maybe we don’t think Jesus was really serious when he said stuff like that…

Or maybe we do. Maybe some of us Christians choose to follow him because we want a Messiah who expects something from us. We want a Messiah who demands everything from us. Because we want our lives to matter. We want to live for something larger than ourselves. And we realize the safe, reasonable, rational ways we’ve lived our lives isn’t working. We show love. We stand up for justice. We are generous. But something’s missing. Our lives are busy and full. But we’re not passionate about what we’re doing.

For some of us Christians, maybe a text like this is why we’re following Jesus. Because we know trying to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him is what will throw us into the fray. And bring us the kind of lives we want. Not lives that protect us from anything. But lives that hurl us from the safety of the balcony…into a place where there is a cross to pick up. Which may be the riskiest, scariest thing we’ve ever done. But it’s where life is for us. It’s where Jesus is for us. It’s where the path is that will take us into places where we’ve never felt more alive. Where we’ve never felt so much love sucked out of us. And where we’ve never known such joy. And never felt God closer and more in love with us and this amazing world She has made.

Before we can deny ourselves, and take up our cross, and follow, I think we have to be willing to let go of what we cling to. Listen to the refrain of the song the choir sang at the beginning of the service:

Sing hey for the carpenter leaving his tools!

Sing hey for the Pharisees leaving their rules!

Sing hey for the fishermen leaving their nets!

Sing hey for the people who leave their regrets!

(John Bell, “Sing Hey for the Carpenter” © 1987 Iona Community)

As a carpenter, my tools give me my identity. They give me a way to earn money. They give me a sense of purpose. If I let go of my tools, who am I? What am I here for? How will I make a living?

The Pharisees got their identity by believing that the way to love God was to follow the religious rules. That’s what they clung to so they knew what they were living for.

I can regret that I’ve lived most of my life in the balcony. I can regret I’ve been too afraid to jump out of that safe place, and dive into the fray… I can feel like my life is a bit stale and colorless. But as long as I cling to my regrets, then I won’t have enough energy or imagination to bolt out of the balcony. Staying there might mean I’ll always feel like I’m not following Jesus like I want to. But it is familiar. And I can find people who tell me I’m doing something useful with my life. Even if I hunger for so much more.

Denying ourselves means letting go of whatever it is we cling to that lets us stay in the balcony instead of jumping into the fray. As the choir sang,

come leave what you cling to, lay down what you clutch

and find, with hands empty, that hearts can hold much.

When Jesus tells us to deny ourselves, he’s asking, “What are you most afraid of being without? What are you most afraid of being in the world without? That is what might be keeping you from picking up the cross that is yours. That is what might be keeping you from saying Yes to a cross that would bring you the kind of sorrow, frustration, life, and joy you never knew existed. It’s a cross where you’d fall in love with me and feel my love so real you’d burst. So look at what you’re totally afraid of being without. And let it go. Lay it down. And step into my arms. Walk with me and with others who have left the safety of the balc0ny. And jumped into the fray. Terrified to be without what they’ve been clinging to for so long. But together. Arm in arm. Hand in hand. Ready to have their hearts broken. Ready for the love that never comes easy. Ready to help create the miracles that mostly come hard.

Fred Small is a song-writer who writes songs about things that really happened. He listens to

ordinary people talk about their lives. And he shows us what can happen when such ordinary people

let go of what they cling to. And dive into passionate living.

“Leslie is Different” – A true story

Words & Music by Fred Small

“No Limit” © 1985 Rounder Records Corp.

The neighbor up the road brought the message

(Joe and May never had a phone).

Five children grown and gone to college,

now they lived out on Pewaukee Lake alone.

And the nurse at the big Milwaukee hospital

said, “We’ve got a baby here with no eyes,

it’s retarded, it’s got cerebral palsy –

six months old living only to die.

And we remembered the tiny Englishwoman

used to hire out as a nurse-governess.

May Lemke, will you take this broken child

off our hands?”

And God loves a fool, cause she said Yes.

She said:

Chorus:

Leslie is different, like everyone in the world:

he’s kind of awkward, kind of fragile,

kind of graceful, kind of tough,

he’s kind of slow, he’s kind of clever.

He’s just Leslie. That’s enough.

He just lay there, helpless and silent,

not a tear, not a smile, not a word.

But they held him and rocked him

and sang him to sleep,

and talked to him as if he really heard.

And he grew with the sun and affection,

though his body was spindly and small.

And a hundred times they stood him

with his hands upon the fence,

and a hundred times watched him fall.

And their daughters warned it was useless.

They said, “Mama, that boy will break your heart.”

She said, “Love never comes easy,

and miracles mostly come hard.” She said…

May used to play the piano

and sing the old songs from the war.

There was always music on the radio

and the records she bought at the store.

And sometimes they swore he was listening,

though of course there was no way to know.

Maybe he was flying in his own blue sky

where no one else would ever go…

maybe he was lost in a forest

where demons and woodspirits dwell…

But for 15 years he had never spoke a word,

never taken one step for himself. But they said…

Along about three in the morning,

a ripple of music broke the night.

Joe’s fallen asleep with the TV again!

May reached over to turn on the light.

But the music kept getting louder,

and the TV was quiet and cold.

Leslie was playing the piano,

and his fingers were agile and bold.

A Tchaikovsky piano concerto,

like water breaking over a dam.

A river of ecstasy flowed through his hands,

and each note cried out, I Am!