Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | October 1, 2023

Matthew 21:23-32

One time I was in a meeting of the church elders when one of them said to me, “You’re the captain of this ship, so it’s your job to steer it.”

There’s an interesting image – a ship’s captain. The captain of the ship is the final authority on board. The captain is responsible for the ship, the cargo and the crew. Now that is power and authority. Was this elder telling me that I had such power and authority and that I needed to use it, to impose my will, to give out orders to the congregation? I didn’t think so.

I said, “It’s not easy being the captain of a ship where the crew is in a constant state of mutiny and the passengers are always jumping overboard.”

Over the years I studied the ins and outs of leadership. I read the books, attended the seminars and took the classes. I did all the right things to add to my resume so that when I wanted to get ahead, there would be proof in the leadership pudding. But along the way I began to realize that there were some big differences between the life of service that Jesus described and the notion of getting ahead in ministry.

I didn’t want to be a ship’s captain. I wanted to be more like Rick Blaine. In case that doesn’t ring a bell for you, Rick Blaine is the name of the character played by Humphrey Bogart in the film Casablanca. Rick was cool; he was calm. He didn’t try to be cool; he just was.

Sometimes there will be a line in a movie that will strike a chord in me. It’s usually not the catch-phrase line by which a movie is known. When I watched Casablanca for the first time it wasn’t “Play it, Sam,” that spoke to me, but rather the one uttered by Humphrey Bogart when Claude Raines challenged his stated reason for coming to Casablanca because of the water.

When Captain Renault says, “There is no water in the desert Rick,” Rick answers, “So I was misinformed.”

I realized I was pursuing the wrong leadership path. “So I was misinformed,” was a little humorous internal reminder that helped to provide a healthy perspective.

What impressed me about Rick Blaine was his sense of autonomy. Deep down he cared, but he didn’t care in the manner of the more anxious characters in the movie. He was the definitive non-anxious presence in a cauldron of anxiety.

For a short time during my first year in seminary, I worked as a waiter in a restaurant called “Paul’s Place.” It was a supper club on Snelling Avenue in Roseville.  It wasn’t exactly Rick’s American Café in Casablanca; but it aspired to be a happening place. The menu was basically big steaks and big drinks. The owner was meticulous about every detail. He would remind us, “No matter how busy it gets, never rush. Don’t ever make the customer feel like you’re in a hurry.”

That bit of advice came in handy time after time in pastoral ministry. There was often a Chicken Little motif to church life where the sky was going to fall down if we didn’t do something in a hurry. Get more members! Get more money! Do! More! When the person bearing the food-tray declines to join the anxious rush, sometimes it has a calming influence. Sometimes though, it produces the opposite effect of increasing the anxiety of the anxious crowd because they cry, “You need to care more!!!”

Talk about a loaded proposition. Like the loaded question it assumes agreement with the premise. What’s the rush? You need more people around this joint? Do something about the quality of your Christian community that will attract people to its authenticity and integrity. You need more dough? Then hand it over yourselves. Don’t rely on other people to provide what you’re responsible for.

In that vein, perhaps the minister should not feel so responsible for trying to get people to do what they ought to be doing. Don’t be so anxious about being the inspiration for people getting with the vision and the program. Be more like Rick. Open the joint, provide the right atmosphere, serve up a decent menu, and let business take care of itself. There is authority that comes from within. It’s the strength to be able to say, “I know who I am and don’t need to prove myself.”

Many people questioned the authority of Jesus. For some it was a loaded question; a question that assumes the answer before it’s asked. We might call them Pharisees. They were keepers of the faith. They were the ones with the power to grant authority. It had always been that way. They could say, “This is the way God made it. No one can argue with God.”

When Jesus came along, he changed things. He changed the way people viewed God; he changed the way people looked at themselves. He ran into conflict with the religious authorities. No one likes an outsider telling them what to do. The Pharisees and scribes had always been the ones to determine who was right with God and who was wrong with God.

When Jesus brought God to within reach of the common people, the Pharisees said, “What right have you to do these things? Who gave you this right?”

Jesus never answered in kind by saying something such as, “I’ll tell you who gave me the right, God did that’s who.” Because the natural response to that is, “Oh yeah?” Then it becomes like an argument on the playground. Jesus knew a loaded question when he heard one. The question wasn’t even about who gave him the right. The real question was about who belongs to God.

As he often did, he told a parable. This one was about a man who had two sons. He wanted them to go work in the vineyard. The first son said, “Ah gee dad, I don’t want to work today.” But later on, he went to work. The second son said, “Sure thing dad. I’ll get right on it.” But he stayed home.

One son did the right thing and one son only said the right thing. Jesus said that the Pharisees were like the son who just said the right thing. You can say just about anything, but it’s what you do that reveals your true belief. The prostitutes and the tax collectors who believed and followed the path set forth first by John the Baptist and then Jesus were the ones like the first son. Regardless of how they started out, they ended up on the right path.

That concept is a tough one for people who prefer a narrow interpretation of God’s realm. Because the bigger God’s realm is, the harder it is to control. That is a challenge, but it’s also good news for people who tend to see themselves as on the outside of what God finds acceptable. “I’m not worthy,” can be a destructive mantra. Worthy or unworthy, it doesn’t matter because Jesus is there alongside us to remind us, “You belong.”

Jesus gave up his title; he abdicated his throne so that we could see him as one of us. In terms of the standard definitions of leadership, Jesus was a loser. He started out in Bethlehem with nothing. He had no prestigious family pedigree. He didn’t build an empire in business or politics. He didn’t write any books. He had no permanent address. He ended up being executed like a criminal and the only possession he left behind was a robe that his executioners gambled for.

Yet, we follow him. His message was not to say that we own God. He showed rather that God is with us. There’s a difference. It’s the difference between law and love.

A friend of mine, Carol, was once an associate pastor in a wealthy suburban church in New York. After she had been there for a time, she was invited to an afternoon tea party at the home of one of the church members. She thought it rather nice that she would be invited to socialize with one of the church members. It showed they were accepting her and letting her in.

She arrived at the appointed hour and the hostess greeted her and handed her a tray with little sandwiches on it and said, “Here dear, you can serve these.” It dawned on my friend that she was invited to the party not as a guest, but as a servant. Not even the hired help.

But maybe that’s what God said to Jesus. “You’re not there to be served or to give orders or to wield power; you’re there to serve.”

As we look back at what were at the time painful experiences, and when we looked to God for help, we might see that Jesus was never above us, certainly not lording it over us. If ever we were lifted up, it was because he went even lower than we could go. We were standing on his shoulders. His words would be, “Here, let me help you with that.”

The Pharisees asked Jesus who gave him his authority. The question for us might be, what authority does he have in our lives? Amen.