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St. John's Presbyterian church |
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2727 College
Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94705 |
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Sunday Worship at 10 AM |
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"Perfect Strangers"William Van Nostran Mark 8:31-38 Nestled inside one of the most familiar declarations of Jesus are two of the most difficult words for any human person to face: deny and cross. The word "deny" is not vague, passive, or easy to evade. It is alarmingly sharp and clear. In fact, it comes from the same Greek root as that used to describe what followed Gethsemane and the arrest when the cock crowed (14.68): Peter "made himself a stranger" to Jesus. "Deny" is not like the command you give to a pampered pooch that keeps muddy paws off a visitor’s khakis–until the next time he jumps up. "Deny" is not like the word to a favored child that encourages him/her to let loose of their grip from around your neck– until the next time they want to be picked up. This "deny" is the certain refusal meant for a complete stranger, in the vernacular, "What part of "N" "O" do you not understand?" Consequently, to "deny ourselves" means far more than refusing to give things to ourselves. In common use, self-denial can be abstaining from certain pleasures: like brussels sprouts or that second dessert at dinner; self-denial can be demonstrating self-control: like staying away from a questionable movie or jogging an additional lap; self-denial can even be practicing generosity: like increasing the level of your charitable donations or your tithe. This type of self-denial is often accompanied by self-satisfaction. No longer in terms of "I," "me," "mine;" the denial of one’s self, found today within Mark’s gospel, is something much deeper. The verb: aparnhsasqw is reflexive, and aparnhsasqw eauton then, means "let him make a stranger of himself," to himself! Jesus is asking that we make such a profound change in ourselves that, as a result, we will become strangers even in our own self-awareness. It is changing the way in which we look at ourselves–no longer as the end, but as a means, in the kingdom of God. Jesus models this behavior on more than one occasion, and the story that sticks out in my mind is that of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet. As I hope you will recall, in John 13, Jesus is sitting down to dinner with the Twelve, they are all celebrating the Passover together, when Jesus excuses himself from the table, takes a basin of water, and begins washing their feet. The event and circumstances just sound strange: Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, Messiah promised of old is stooping down to wash His companions’ dirty, sweaty, smelly feet and drying them with His robe! Can you imagine how each of them must have reacted; how confused and uncomfortable this surprising act of compassion must have made them feel? In fact, Peter speaks up and says something to the effect of, "Master? Uuuh... Yeah, you probably don’t want to do that. It was hot again today, and you know I have been walking around in these old sandals..." But Jesus stops him and says, "Unless I wash you, Peter, you will be as a stranger to me." Jesus is the ultimate irony: the Perfect Stranger. He tells the disciples, "It’s okay to call me Teacher and Lord, because that is who I am, but keep in mind what I have done for you. "Teacher, Lord, Savior Jesus humbled himself to assume the role and perform the task of a servant. John 13:15 reads, "I have left you an example, that you should do for one another, that which I have done for you." Jesus made himself a stranger to them that evening with His own self-sacrifice, knowing that, the very next day, He would take up the cross in the world’s most definitive act of self-denial. The word "cross" is also a very difficult word to face, and one of the most misused words in the Christian vocabulary. Obviously, there is a temptation to think of ton stauron, "the cross," as the First Century, instrument of capital punishment that we gather, from inferences in Mark and in John, the condemned carried by themselves to the place of crucifixion, and therefore no longer applicable for us. I do not believe Mark’s message is that everyone should be crucified, but with the possibility of early Christians facing martyrdom at the hands of Romans at the time of this writing, I certainly would not want to "water it down," or perhaps, even "rule it out!" We speak of calamity as a "cross" that we must bear. A calamity may be tragic, but it is not a "cross." We speak of sorrow or loss as a "cross." While grief may be a heavy burden, it too is not this "cross." We even speak of our own temperamental shortcomings: our uncontrolled anger, our insensitivity, and our impatience–to name just a few–as "crosses" we carry. However, taking up ton stauron is not battling the way we behave or enduring what happens to us. Ignatius, whom it is believed was the third bishop of Antioch after Peter, says in a letter to the church at Smyrna, "I have seen how immovably settled in faith you are; nailed body and soul to the cross of Jesus Christ." The cross of Jesus was His deliberate choice to give up His life for us, His deliberate choice to minister to the need for truth about God, and the need for love in the world, no matter what the cost. Taking up the cross means the deliberate choice of something that can be avoided, to take up a burden which we are under no obligation to take up, except the compulsion of God’s love. It means the choice of taking upon ourselves the burden of other lives, of putting ourselves without reservation at the service of Christ in preparing a way for the kingdom of God, whatever the cost. The archbishop of Wiems, in George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan tells the young warrior that she is in love with religion. She responds, "I never thought of that! Is there any harm in it?" And, the archbishop answers profoundly, "There is no harm, but there is danger." If we live for God, there is danger, the danger of the cross, the danger that life will be upset, that it will be loaded with the burden of other lives. Maybe this is why Jesus rebukes the likes of James and John, who naively petition the Master to reserve a place for them, one seated at His right and the other at His left, when He comes to the Kingdom. At 10:38, Jesus inquires, "Are you able to drink the cup that I must soon drink or be baptized as I must be baptized?" In other words, "Be careful what you wish for..." because they obviously do not have any idea what they are asking. Perhaps this is why, at 10:28, Jesus promises one hundredfold to the likes of Peter who are worried how much they have left behind–a reward available only to those who "lose their life to save it," and truly leave possessions, career, and family behind, become perfect strangers, and follow the Lord, Jesus Christ. "Take up your cross" is being open to a motorist with car trouble, stalled ahead of you at the traffic light, whose assistance becomes a learning example for the kids. I really didn't stop to think about the message I was sending when I jumped out of my car to help, nor did it matter much when the horns began politely tooting, once the light turned green. "Take up your cross" is being open to a family of six who is burned out of their home, whose temporary shelter with our own large family, brought new appreciation for how richly we have been blessed. I didn't stop to think about the rooms or the number of beds it would take to house eight teenagers, or about the scarce amount of bathroom facilities we have available to share our space for a couple of weeks. It was the church family, who brought the additional food, the extra clothing, and found more permanent housing, that did most the work. This interpretation of what Mark is suggesting does not leave us much "wiggle room." It is pretty clear that waiting in traffic for the bridge to come up does not constitute "taking up your cross," nor does having a "bad hair day." We are not talking about the petty, day-to-day trials and tribulations of our existence. "Take up your cross" is risking your own neck to carry an injured woman down innumerable flights of stairs before the second tower collapses completely. "Take up your cross" is choosing to give your own life by making certain that the airplane you are traveling on goes down in Pennsylvania so that others, in the nation’s capitol, might live. Stand up for your faith, when faced with a weapon at Columbine High School, or when it is otherwise not politically correct to do so. Demonstrate your commitment to world peace and to the certain victims of hasty aggression, in the face of a frenzy calling for reactionary vengeance, until and unless there exists sufficient evidence of the presence of genuine evil and the threat of imminent danger which overshadow our own global arrogance and consumption self-interests. And, even in the face of danger, still look for God... still work for peace, still work for justice. Continue to march in non-violent protest and preach resistance in Washington and against hatred and racism in Alabama, despite warnings from family members and disciples that your actions could cost you your life. And, in spite of fears expressed by family members and disciples, voluntarily choose passion and death in Jerusalem over comfort and safety in Galilee. Each of these crosses could have easily been avoided, and yet, in professions of extreme faith or in acts of extreme compassion, each of these crosses was willingly taken up for the sake of perfect strangers. Make no mistake–in this passage we have been charged to make such a dramatic, uncharacteristic change in our lives that, not only can others not easily recognize us, but also so that we indeed become unrecognizable to our prior selves. But wait–there is more: self-denial is not enough. In a culture that wants to skip straight to Easter without passing through Good Friday, dedicate yourself to the cause and to the cross of Christ. Fully aware of the love and forgiveness that Jesus offers and the love and compassion for which He asks, and with faith in the Resurrection, take up the cross with your life, no matter what the cost. Amen. 16 March 2003 |
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