Like Water for Those Dying of Thirst

Brad Sullivan

Proper 20, Year B

September 20, 2015

Saint Mark's Episcopal Church, Bay City, TX

Mark 9:30-37

Jesus’ disciples must have been pretty darn disillusioned and disheartened by the end of today’s Gospel.  Jesus had just told them for the second time that he was going to die.  This was not long after they had failed to cast a demon out of a little boy.  “Why could we not cast out the demon?”  They asked Jesus.  He replied that the demon could only come out through prayer.  Perhaps the disciples were relying on themselves and their supposed power, rather than relying on God.

So, they’ve got this question of power and greatness already brewing.  Then, when Jesus told them that he was going to die and on the third day rise again, they still didn’t quite understand, at least not about him rising again after three days, but they did seem to understand that he would die because they seemed to be working on a succession plan.  They were arguing about who was the greatest among them, and in light of Jesus’ declaration that he was going to die, it seems that they were trying to figure out who was going to take over once Jesus was gone.  Who would be the new messiah?

They didn’t think of messiah in terms of being God’s co-eternal Son who spoke the world into existence.  They were thinking of messiah in terms of military might and a king like David to drive the Romans out and conquer everybody else.  To this, Jesus replied that they needed to be last of all and servant of all.  Welcome a child in my name, and you welcome me.  Welcome a child in my name, and you welcome God. 

Well that probably didn’t make a lot of sense to them.  We see children as wonderful, innocent, delightful, the apple of God’s eye.  We see Jesus dwelling within all of us, so if you welcome a child you welcome God, ok we get that.  I don’t think the disciples understood.  “God is all powerful and mighty,” the disciples were likely thinking, “and children are not.  How can welcoming a child be anything like welcoming God?” 

Again, they were likely looking for Jesus to be a messiah to rule through military victory.  They were wondering who among them was mighty enough to carry his mantle.  Children weren’t going to win battles or rule, and so we have the disciples’ disillusionment.  Rather than glorious victory, Jesus is telling them that the way of discipleship is the way of the cross, the way of Jesus’ crucifixion, and that welcoming the least important in their society was like welcoming God.  Was God even mighty anymore?

In thinking about Jesus’ words about the cross, his teaching that welcoming children is like welcoming God, and his steady march toward Jerusalem and crucifixion, I thought of a lyric from Leonard Cohen’s song, Hallelujah. “Love is not a victory march.  It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.” 

If only following Jesus meant victory over every battle and struggle we have, but it doesn’t.  We fail, we fall short, we know defeat.  We know the cold and broken Hallelujah that comes in those moments.  As Jesus’ disciples, we don’t always choose or even seek victory.  We seek to serve, to heal, to restore the brokenness of the world.  We seek to love, but love is not a victory march. 

Love, Jesus teaches comes from being like children.  If you want to be great, Jesus said, then be least of all.  Children were least of all, and yet he taught that welcoming a child was like welcoming God. 

Children love unreservedly.  They’ll abandon what they’re doing when they see someone they love in order to run over to that person, sometimes shouting with delight.  Children trust.  When children love and trust their parents, it takes a lot for them to lose that trust, far less than it takes adults to lose our trust in people.  Children also forgive.  They’ll be terribly upset with another kid one minute and playing joyfully with that same kid the next. 

You really want to be great and mighty, Jesus was telling his disciples, then forget about power and might.  Greatness in God’s kingdom comes from loving deeply and unreservedly.  Risk opening your heart to others, opening your heart to love.  Love is not a victory march.  Love is risky.

To love another person means that we might not be loved back. It means letting ourselves be naked and vulnerable to another person.  Letting our hearts and our souls be bare to someone else and knowing full well that we might get hurt.  That is the risk of relationship.  We know how to hurt those we love.  We know just what to say to our spouses to tear them down. We know the things that our children fear and the things that will break their hearts.

Every day we make a choice to go out into the world either letting our heart be vulnerable or hiding it away.  Hiding it away is safer and easier, but it is also not taking the risk of being loved back.  Not taking the risk of letting someone else cherish us, is a life that lacks the depth of love that God intends for us to live.  Risk love in this world, and live God’s kingdom.

If you really want to be great and mighty in God’s kingdom, then trust in God.  You may have felt let down before when things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to.  You may have felt the sting of a cold and broken Hallelujah, but continue to trust in him.  Trust in God doesn’t mean we trust him to make outcomes happen how we want them to.  That’s not trusting God.  That’s directing God, something we’ve all probably done at times.  Trusting in God means we don’t necessarily know the outcome, and choose to put our trust and faith in God anyway, realizing we are little children, and he is God. 

If you really want to be great and mighty in God’s kingdom, then forgive, over and over.  Forgive people.  Forgive yourself.  Offer forgiveness like water to people dying of thirst for our brokenness kills us every bit as surely as lack of water.  In the marriage ceremony, we have a prayer for the couple which can really apply for everyone and anyone.  “Make [our lives] together a sign of Christ’s love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair. 

Risk love, trust, and forgiveness, Jesus told his disciples. Risk facing the cross.  It may not be a victory march.  It may be a cold and broken Hallelujah, but it is a Hallelujah nonetheless.  Amen.