Follow the Leader
A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United
Church of Christ,
Mark 8:27-38
The Rev. Susan M. Reisert, Minister
We are back in Mark,, with all of its severe imagery, its harsh tone, its uncompromising vision. Mark bothers little with plot development or elaborate outlines of parables and other teachings. His is a gospel of efficiency, focused on Jesus as Savior. Mark is not so concerned with Jesus’ teachings as he is about Jesus’ healings and stark view on the world and what it means to follow Jesus, who is the Anointed One, the Messiah. Mark doesn’t bother with any kind of narrative about where Jesus came from, but begins abruptly with his Baptism in the River Jordan by John the Baptist which began Jesus’ public ministry.
It may be helpful to remember that Mark wrote during a very difficult time in early Christian history. His, the first Gospel to be written, was composed in the late sixties of the first century, around the time of the first major persecution of Christians by the Emperor Nero. This very likely influenced his harsh view on the world and what it meant to be a Christian.
The passage from Mark on which we focus this morning, this passage always causes me some pause. Amid all of the difficult and stern imagery that Mark employs in his Gospel, this one really stands out. While many other scripture passages have serious messages, this one really gets to me: “Jesus called the crowd 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.’” Typical for Mark, the tone is unforgiving and direct. Not much wiggle room here. And, so it gives me pause and I am humbled by it.
[When Jesus
asks, “Who do men say that I am?” Peter’s hand is the first to go up—pick
me! Pick me! I know the answer! “You are the Christ,” says Peter. In this instance, Peter is the disciple who
understands. He looks at Jesus and sees
the Messiah, on his way to
But then Jesus’ next words strike like a tolling bell. “And he began to teach them that the Son of man must suffer . . . . and be rejected . . . . and be killed.” And Peter, who only a moment earlier was so sure of what he knew, is thrown back into confusion. And so are we.
How is it that the church, like Peter, can answer Jesus’ question correctly and still be wrong? “You are the Christ!” we shout. And we are so proud that we get this. That we know. This is no small insight, after all. This is big and important. Some look at Jesus and see only John the Baptist or Elijah or a prophet or a troublemaker. But we see him for who he really is: the Christ, the Anointed One, the Savior. Then the bright moment of confession and revelation darkens as the storm clouds gather and we stumble behind him toward the Passion. He picks up his cross and urges a cross upon us as well. Striking at the heart of our expectations for easy deliverance come the words: suffer, rejected, killed.
We see this most distinctly and uncomfortably during Lent. We minimize Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, but we make big plans for Easter. Oh, how we love Easter with all of the flowers, the choir, the bells and the glorious message of resurrection and hope. We like it so much that we try to get away with not really dealing with the set up. We, like Peter, still find it inordinately difficult to believe that the Christ of Easter is the same Son of man who must suffer, be rejected and killed. Even more than Peter, we resist the notion that the cross is the definition of what it means to follow Jesus.
To help avoid the cross, our theologies first minimize our participation in evil, and then inflate our possibilities for goodness. Evil is explained away as a temporary disorder of personality or a quirk in the political system or something that we just can’t do anything about. Sinfulness, personal or corporate, is but a matter of maladjustment that can be cured through some minor psychological or sociological tinkering—I’m o.k., you’re okay. And the Department of Health and Human Services will make our community a nice place to live. Unable to be obedient or courageous, we are content to be decent. Don’t worry about what is good; it’s good enough simply to do what works and what is practical and what seems reasonable given the busyness of our lives and the diverse community in which we live. Jesus was an idealist who lived 2,000 years ago in a dusty, pre-scientific sort of place, whereas I must adjust to living in central Maine and keeping up with the myriad demands that my life presents in this part of the world and in this time.
Must the confrontation with evil be as harsh as the eighth chapter of Mark depicts it to be? Must the alternatives be laid out so sharply? Do our timidity and good will deserve such a fierce rebuke? After all, we are only trying to keep good people from getting hurt. We are only trying to protect the innocent.
If we or Peter follow Jesus to the cross, you can be sure that we will be protesting all the way. Here is path that nobody wants to take, a burden no sane person would willingly assume. Our shoulders are too weak to carry such a load.]
But, we are called nonetheless, to follow and, in following, to take up the cross.
This is that great moment that causes that pause, the drawing in of the deep breath. Here it is: the stark reminder that the way of faith is anything but easy. The path that Jesus holds up to us, in a harsh and uncompromising way, is the path that leads to suffering, rejection, even death. There is no other way to follow in faith.
Some know a little bit about what it means to take up the cross and to follow. There are those who take on burdens that seem too heavy to bear, burdens that seem so profoundly difficult. Those are the ones who know a little bit about taking up the cross and following. There are those who care lovingly for aging, and sometimes not altogether cooperative, parents—while at the same time caring for their own family, for children or for friends. There are those who risk everything for the well-being of others—sometimes people they know, sometimes complete strangers. There are those who work tirelessly to help those in need—the homeless, the mentally ill, people who have been abused at home.
There are
those in this world who risk their own lives to bring a little safety and
security, a little food or water or medicine, to parts of the world where chaos
and violence reign, yet the world has turned its
back—in places like
To begin to take up the cross is also found in the small moments when we make choices based on our faith and not on our instincts, when we strive to live and practice our faith rather than simply to display it. Yet, we struggle with the real implications of Jesus’ message to us—that we must take up the cross ourselves, that we must deny ourselves in order to gain.
Peter, upon his confession, was likely looking for something grand in response. Peter was likely looking for Jesus, now that Peter has figured it all out, for Jesus to proclaim that he will become king and that he will take the royal throne and rule the people as they ought to be ruled. All of the hard work would come to something really impressive. Yet, that’s not at all what happens. Jesus, as in so many other places, reminds them that following is a lot about the little things and staying honest about what’s inside in order to transform the world from the inside out.
Importantly, to bear one’s cross does not mean to deal with what life hands you but to take up what life hands another. There is great power in what faith and love can motivate.
I read a story about two war correspondents who were in an area where the wounded of battle were being treated. A nurse was dressing a soldier’s wound. Recoiling, one correspondent said to the other, “I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars.” The nurse overheard and looked up with steady eyes, and said, “Neither would I.”
But, taking up the cross and following is not just about personal piety or making certain kinds of career choices and signing up to leave it all to do relief work in faraway places. Taking up the cross and following Jesus also has an important dimension in how we gather as church. Taking up the cross and following is not simply about our own personal decisions and our own personal way of life—although I don’t want at all to minimize this as a central part of today’s lesson because much of this does begin with our personal choices and perspective—we also take up the cross and follow our Savior as a group, as a community of the faithful, as the church.
In taking up the cross and following as the church is to know that we, as a group, must follow the difficult path.
This coming
week, the Maine Conference will meet for its Annual Meeting. Delegates and
clergy from almost all of the United Church of Christ Churches in
On some resolutions, there will likely be consensus, but on a couple of them, a great deal of debate is likely. And, some of that debate will be difficult and uncomfortable. When people gather together to discuss and deal with issues that are important to them but where there is not agreement, things can get uncomfortable, to say the least. But, this is one of the aspects of what it means to take seriously the notion that we must take up the cross and follow Jesus—even when that way clearly leads to suffering and pain and even rejection.
When we encounter difficulty, suffering and rejection, our instincts tell us to flee, to run in the other direction. It is unfortunate that there are some who follow those instincts because there is something valuable about taking the difficult road, that we are called to travel the harder road.
In our denomination, there is no hierarchy. The Conference, Association and Synod cannot force the individual church to do much of anything. Our sole Head is our Savior Jesus Christ. Yet, by gathering together, and maintaining our associations, we gain in perspective and in understanding. We gain—yes, we gain—through our struggling in the midst of difficult and painful resolutions.
When we gather as the Church on the local or wider level, we gather in a unique way that is not shared by any other human institution. We gather here in the presence of God with the significant awareness that we do not know everything, that we are not perfect, that we cannot be in full possession of the truth. This accounts, in many instances, for our varying points of view and our differences of opinion. To recognize that not one of us is in full possession of the truth is called humility. I am hoping that next weekend, I will experience a lot of humility as the churches gather to talk about important and weighty matters.
The path of faith, whether personal or church or Conference, is difficult if it is done at all well. Jesus does not welcome us down the path of easy answers and effortlessness. Jesus does not invite us to embark on a journey free of complications and struggles.
The road that Jesus followed led to suffering and rejection and death. But also, and very importantly, to resurrection and hope. You can’t have one without the other. That is the cross that we must bear, as individuals and as the church.
May God grant us the grace and the strength and the courage we need to take up that cross and to follow. In losing ourselves, we gain. In sacrificing, we find the victory. In suffering, we find hope. In being rejected, we experience the only acceptance that really matters—the acceptance of our Savior, Jesus the Christ.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[The part of this sermon in brackets is based heavily on an article by William Willimon, “Taking Up the Cross,” from www.religion-online.org.]
(The story about the correspondents was from “Read the Fine Print” a sermon by The Rev. Dr. Wiley Stephens, found at www.day1.net.)