Who is Great?

A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, September 24, 2006.

Texts: Psalm 23

Mark 9:30-37

It’s hard not to get lured in. The effort to figure out who or what is the greatest in almost every area known to humankind is pretty much taken for granted. The greatest story ever told. Mohamed Ali is the greatest of all time—you don’t even need to mention of what. Top ten lists abound—from different kinds of food to music to movies to people (presidents, heroes, villains, etc.) to places to visit before you die to, well, you name it. We suffer through endless seasons of sports to find out which team is the greatest—and, it’s almost never our team.

Who and what is great? Who is the greatest? We can help but to ask.

The disciples did the same thing. As they were walking along, following Jesus from place to place, they somehow—I’m sure it didn’t take much—get involved in a conversation, an argument really, about who was the greatest. They are like students comparing test scores. They are like athletes comparing times or results in a meet or a match. They are like historians arguing over the American events or presidents. They are like ministers discussing how many are in attendance at worship each week. They are anyone who has ever written a memo containing the words “measurable outcomes.” Which of the disciples is the star pupil? Who is the greatest?

It is easy to portray the disciples as self-involved here, but maybe that is unfair. What if the outcome they were trying to measure was faithfulness to their teacher? What if they were arguing about who really understood Jesus, including what Jesus was saying about death? We know they were confused about Jesus’ passion predictions. Who wouldn’t be, really? We know, too, that they were not the only followers to wonder what exactly is required of one who seeks to remain faithful to Jesus. Maybe the conversation about greatness grew out of a conversation about what it really meant for them to stay beside Jesus all the way to Jerusalem.

The way of the cross is no less confounding or frightening today. [“Seeing Things,” by Mary Hinkle at www.religion-online.org.]

And, this is what I found myself struggling with this weekend as the Maine Conference gathered for its Annual Meeting. The way of the cross is no less confounding, no less confusing, no less humbling, no less frightening. It’s still a difficult and sometimes even a dangerous path. And, along the way, there is somehow the need sometimes to figure out who is the greatest, who is following the correct path, who is the star pupil. There is somehow the need to say something that indicates that perhaps God likes us best or that we are following God’s path in a better way. We just can’t help it. We want to be the ones that God likes best.

This is first part of my reflection that I would like to share with you this morning. There was, at times on Friday and Saturday, a decided lack of humility and gentleness, a clear sense of lack of understanding, a tone of not listening. There was, at times, a sense that there were some who saw their own way as the way most akin to God’s way. Yet, God seemed noticeably absent.

There were times over the course of a couple of days when people demonstrated a clear force of intention and will. In a couple of debates, real listening was hard to come by with a few offering amendments and such that were clearly premeditated. There were moments when I could not escape the feeling that there was a lack of full disclosure in the process—that most came willing to debate and discuss with integrity and an openness to a difference of perspective and opinion and then there were other moments when a few displayed an obvious agenda that had been planned for certain times and circumstances.

This weekend had its full share of disappointing moments when the clergy and delegates showed their full humanity in all of its imperfections. We can’t help sometimes to think that our way is the right way and that God endorses our particular plan.

But, in the midst of the full display of humanity, there were many more moments of grace—like when two high school young women sang the twenty-third psalm in front of the entire assembly, when in the midst of a very difficult debate a minister went up to the microphone and requested a moment of prayer, when slides were shown from around the state to display the variety of the Maine Conference (the very first slide, by the way, from Old South—the photo of the United Church of Christ symbol in front of the organ pipes—but, there I go, seeming to suggest that perhaps the fact that ours was the first slide indicated something . . . ). There was open and honest conversation about where we are financially—a significant increase in the fellowship dues was passed—and the sharing of ideas about how to be more creative in how we raise the funds necessary to run the Conference. There was also an interesting moment when the church that offered a resolution encouraging the Conference to become a fair trade and fairly traded Conference was met with a friendly amendment that substantially changed what they had proposed. In some carefully orchestrated Roberts Rules gymnastics, the meeting was suspended for a time so that the church delegation and the individual could go out and fashion an amended resolution reflecting the concerns of all, since they clearly were so close in agreement. But, there will be time to talk about that more later.

But, of course, the big debate was over what was referred to as “The Resolution.” Although there were four resolutions, one clearly overshadowed the rest. And, I will focus on that resolution for the rest of this morning’s sermon, to attempt to share with you my reflection on why it passed. But, first, I will begin by returning to a piece of this morning’s scripture lesson: “When they passed through Galilee, Jesus did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.’ But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.”

Yesterday afternoon, as we gathered to begin the debating process for a vote on the Resolution to Live in Covenant and Dialogue Regarding the Quality and Equality of Marriage, we spent a full 45 minutes debating process and Roberts Rules of Order. Several hundred people were gathered in the Grand Ballroom at Sunday River and there we were caught up in the process for how we would dialogue and debate. Now, some of that process was important and making sure we all knew how the process was going to work was valuable, but 45 minutes worth went way beyond the usual. It became obvious to many in the room that we were just procrastinating. Almost everyone was anxious about how the debate was going to go. So, why not delay it? Maybe it would resolve itself.

It turns out that Old South isn’t alone in not wanting to talk about things that cause discomfort. We aren’t alone in wanting to avoid subjects that we assume will be divisive and difficult.

But, we really had to talk about this. It is important. We can’t hide it anymore. We know and Jesus knows that it is there and we simply can’t pretend that gay marriage isn’t an issue.

Just because we are afraid or just because we don’t understand, doesn’t mean that it’s okay to ignore those issues or subjects that make us feel uneasy. The disciples were afraid to ask because they didn’t understand. But, that certainly didn’t resolve their confusion.

I have heard many of you make comments about your discomfort over this issue, over the notion of the equality of marriage, but perhaps the last part of this morning’s scripture passage may help you put it in a more helpful context and will also shed some light on why the resolution passed: “Jesus sat down, called the Twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’ Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’”

In the first century, children were largely invisible and ignored. By taking a child and placing that child in the midst of them, in the middle of the twelve, and claiming that such a child ought not only be welcomed, but welcomed in an extravagant way, Jesus was making a radical statement. This statement was punctuated in an even more dramatic form when he declared that “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me.”

We are not simply called to look to the letter of this story and to welcome children, but to also consider who this child in the story represents—someone ignored, someone invisible And, then, we are called to consider those in our community who are ignored, made to be invisible, those who despised, disliked, mocked and humiliated. And, we are called to welcome them.

During the debate regarding being in covenant and dialogue regarding the quality and equality of marriage, there was quite a lot of debate and discussion. One man from Millinockett talked about the people that his church had already lost and the others that they are likely to lose if the Conference voted for such a resolution. A pastor from a Kennebec Valley Association church talked about the slow, but steady, progress that her church was making in beginning a conversation like no other they had had before. She worried, though, that the Resolution would be too much too soon and that her church, too, would lose members.

And, then a man from another Kennebec Valley Church, a man that I know, a faithful and active church member for many years, got up to talk. He talked about his 27-year relationship with another man and the children that they had raised together. When his partner died, Bill and the children went to the funeral home to make plans for the burial, which also included the paperwork that would be filed with the state. The funeral home director looked at them and asked for the name of a wife or an ex-wife to be listed. The children looked at Bill and then told the funeral home director that Bill was the man’s partner and that he should be listed. The funeral home director said he couldn’t do that—basically, that that relationship didn’t count.

Though Bill tried not to let it bother him, it did. And it still does.

I don’t know where we will end up on the subject of gay marriage, on the subject of the equality of marriage, but I can’t look at Bill, and so many others like him, and tell him that I won’t even talk about this issue. I couldn’t look at Bill and tell him that my church isn’t ready or that I’m afraid of losing members. I couldn’t look at Bill and tell him that he needs to stay invisible a little longer. I couldn’t look at Bill and tell him that I can’t even talk about this. I just couldn’t—even though I am afraid, even though I don’t fully understand.

This is part of what Annual Meeting is like. Though we arrange ourselves in this confusing and exasperating system where we gather to vote on resolutions that aren’t binding, that we gather together in this weird configuration that is shared by no other church, there is something powerful in being together in this way—in being the church and knowing that God is in the midst of us.

That is why the Resolution passed and passed convincingly. It’s not all about policies and theories. It is not all about traditions or my level of comfort or discomfort about something I don’t fully understand.

This Resolution is about real, live people. Some are friends. Some are family. Some are fellow church members. Some are complete strangers looking for a place of welcome, looking for a place where they may worship God in the midst of others who are willing to take seriously Jesus’ almost constant refrain: Do not be afraid.

The Resolution calls for us to be “in covenant and dialogue regarding the quality and equality of marriage.” Through my faith in my God, I have confidence that we can do that.

Who is great? God is great. And God will lead us through. Amen.