Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | February 25, 2024

Mark 8:31-38

One time when I was in the sixth grade the teacher, Mr. Yearout, was teaching a lesson on math, or maybe it was science; I don’t remember which because I wasn’t paying attention. I was doing something else.

“John Mann pay attention! What are you doing?”

I didn’t answer. My mind had wandered during the lesson, so I latched onto that and started writing a story. Mr. Yearout came over to my desk, saw my papers and said, “Give me that. Pay attention to the lesson!”

At the end of the day he said, “John Mann, I want to talk to you. Stay after for a minute.”

Now I’m in trouble, I thought. He handed me back the story I had been working on and said that I should take it home and finish it. Then I could read it to the class. So that’s what I did. Mr. Yearout encouraged me to write more stories, on my own time of course, and he had me read them to the class on Thursdays or Fridays toward the end of the day. I am grateful to him for seeing some spark in me and encouraging me to see if it would come alight.

I was fortunate to land in a line of work that allows me to tell stories. Sometimes after I write a sermon, I’ll read through it and think, “Too much explanation.” Then I’ll re-work it to find the story that can be told. I’ve heard preaching professors say that we shouldn’t talk about ourselves in sermon.

But whose story are we living, if not our own? We’re all living out the story of our own lives. If we can see how our story fits with the important stories of life, then we learn and grow. We see how we’re all part of a bigger story. Sure, if we’re building a chair or repairing a lawn mower, an instruction manual is helpful. But we tend not to live life according to an instruction manual. We live life as our story. 

This episode in the life of Jesus when he tells his followers just what it means to be his follower, is a powerful one for me. It is one of those that has played out time and again over the course of my life and work. Jesus said, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?”

I went to four years of college and then four years of seminary. I learned things up one side and down the other and I had the papers to prove it. I could then go forth and be a minister; sort of. Soon after moving to Round Lake and Tamarack, I realized that there is more to ministry than what the books tell you.

The plan was that these two Presbyterian churches would form a union with one pastor, starting with a “temporary student supply,” me, and then laying the foundation to eventually call a full-time pastor. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The two churches put their resources together and purchased a pre-owned 12 x 60-foot mobile home to serve as the manse. They parked it in a clearing next to the Round Lake church. Everything was set, including me. I was keen to be done with school and get on with life and work as a pastor. I soon discovered that there was much to learn. Some of the lessons confirmed what I already knew and some of the lessons were brand new.

I already knew that there was not a lot of money to be made in being a pastor. That lesson was learned in many different ways. What I observed in those early years was that most people were working hard to make ends meet. If they could give something to the church, then that was a real act of generosity. So, I worked hard to make ends meet. In Tamarack I worked part time at Bob’s Small Engines, doing whatever needed to be done. Bob could probably have gotten along fine without me, but it was in his nature to be helpful that way.

One of the most valuable lessons I learned working for Bobby Johnson, was how the sense of humor around the area works. Some of the best laughs were of the “the joke is on me” variety. The lesson being, don’t take yourself too seriously. And, if you can laugh with people, then you’ve earned the right to cry with them.

One day I spent the day with a fellow named Martin Berg. When I say a day, it was an actual 24-hour day. Martin had a lot of irons in the fire work-wise, and he encouraged me to see what he did for a living. We started out in the evening by loading up a bunch cows in his semi and we drove them to the stockyards in South St. Paul. It was around 1:00 AM by the time we got the cows unloaded and then we had to clean out the truck so as to pick up freight starting at 6:00 AM and haul that back up north.

Cows, they leave evidence of their presence, especially when confined in a tight space for hours. Martin was on the hose and I was on the shovel and broom. It’s 2:00 AM and Martin said, “So what do you think of what I do for a living?”

I said, “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned ministry.” No judgement to speak of, just an observation.

Then Martin said, “Do you think Jesus thought he was too good to pick up a shovel?”

I said something like, “No, I don’t suppose he didn’t.”

I can still see that shovel in my mind’s eye. Jesus said pick up your cross, but a shovel will do in a pinch.

Later on, I landed in the sort of church where people expected me to land. I wasn’t just the pastor, I was the “head of staff.” They had it all. Youth workers, Christian educators, choirs, bell choirs, clown ministry, mission trips around the world. It was the sort of church that a pastor goes to prepare, as they say, “to write your own ticket.”

While I was thinking about writing that ticket, I still had to pay the bills. In order to do that, I got a paper route. 276 Star Tribune newspapers every Saturday and Sunday brought to your door, by your paper boy, Rev. Dr. John W. Mann.

“Do you think Jesus thought he was too good to deliver newspapers?” No Martin, I doubt that he ever thought that.

Then the time came to move to the big leagues. The big league churches were out there, and I talked to some of them; they talked to me. We’re talking six figure salaries with all the perks to go along. But as often happens in life, something unexpected happened.

A friend from Scotland asked if I would be interested in serving a church over there. They had a shortage of ministers. We had been to St. Andrews for continuing education and Scotland was a lovely place. Now that might be interesting. I sent my resume and their session moderator called me. A woman with the most Scottish accent I had ever heard asked, “Are you serious?”

I went over for an interview and this is where our story about Jesus telling his followers to pick up their cross comes into play. My first impression of the parish of St. James’ Pollok in Glasgow was that it was so very different than what I was used to. They called it an “urban priority” parish. That meant that at least ninety percent of the people living in the parish were from the poorest ten percent in the country. There were around eight thousand souls who when they needed a church, would think of St. James’ as their own. I also discovered that the reason they were talking to me was, that after a long vacancy, I was the only minister who applied for the job.

The night of the interview I walked through the parish to the church. I had serious reservations. Maybe we would have a good conversation and go our ways. As I approached the church, I found myself surrounded by a large number of teenagers and children. They looked at me like the foreign object I appeared to be. The biggest one of them said, “What are you doing here?”

I said, “I’m thinking about coming here to be the minister at that church over there.” Then the questions began to fly – are you American? Do you know any movie stars? As I went inside they said, “You should come here!” The interview went well, the people were lovely, but still, as Dorothy said, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

That night before I went to sleep, I prayed. I’m not afraid to ask God for things. He can always say no. I prayed, “Lord, I don’t have to move to Scotland. But if this is where you want me to go, I’ll go. But I need something to go on; I need a sign. Like Gideon, Lord; I’m putting out my fleece. Show me the way to go.”

In the morning when I woke up, God answered my prayer. The very first thought that crossed my mind was this: For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and yet lose their own soul? It was as if Jesus were saying, “Remember your shovel? It’s just like the one I carry.”

The story continues to unfold in interesting ways.

Now I’ve spent a lot of time talking about myself. What about you; what’s your story?

Amen.