Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | September 22, 2024

Mark 9:30-37

In the city center of Glasgow there are many statues honoring the greatness of past lives. The most famous statue is that of the Duke of Wellington astride his horse. He is famous for the military victory over Napolean at Waterloo. He was also the British Prime Minister on two different occasions. The statue stands atop a plinth; it is larger than life and majestic. Everything about it says, “this was indeed a great man.”

Around forty years ago, someone decided that the statue was incomplete and so they climbed up to the very top and placed a traffic cone on the duke’s head. It was a perfect fit. The police removed it, but it soon reappeared and every time the cone was removed, another appeared. Over the years the traffic cone became a permanent fixture. Eleven years ago, when the city council wanted to place barriers to make it more difficult to place a cone on Wellington’s head, over 10,000 people signed a petition protesting that possibility. Now it stands as a lasting symbol of the city and as a way of the common folk saying, “This is what you can do with your greatness.”

What does it mean to be great? Is it something we strive for ourselves, or is it bestowed on us by some other means?

One Sunday morning at the start of worship, during the announcements, it was pointed out that the founding pastor of that congregation was attending the service. The church was founded in the 1950’s and when that pastor moved on in 1967, there were around 700 members in the congregation. He stood up and everyone applauded.

After the service he told me he was in town for a few days and he invited me out to lunch. We met at a local eatery and during the meal we talked about life and work. While he said that lunch was his treat, you know the saying, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” The cost for me came when he offered me some unsolicited advice.

“John,” he said, “you’re a good preacher.”

So far so good. He could have stopped there, but then I wouldn’t have a story to tell. He went on to say, “But if you want to be a great preacher…” and he offered what he thought was helpful advice on how I might improve my speaking style. He said that I was too tied to my script. I needed to open up more. What he was telling me boiled down to I should be more like him. Oh well, one more person telling me what to do, how to do it better, how to be better at what I do, essentially how to be an entirely different person.

In my work as a pastor I had to realize that I could only be myself and try to be myself to the best of my ability. Maybe the Holy Spirit could make something of that. You may have noticed that when I am talking to you, I am also looking at my script or my text. Most of what I say in worship is written down. The reason is simple; I share a fear that is common to many people, and that is the fear of public speaking.

Early on I realized that if I wrote down what I wanted to say, then it was easier to say it to an audience. It wasn’t enough to just write stuff down, but to write stuff down for the ear. Occasionally someone would ask, “Can I get a copy of that sermon?” So knowing that people were also reading what I wrote made the writing process even more challenging, but also rewarding. I could have explained all of that to the fellow who was advising me on the path to greatness, but his advice only merited from me a polite response.

Greatness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In proverbs we’re told, “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” (16:18) In the 19^th century when the colonial powers of Europe were going around the world and stealing treasures from other countries, the British acquired the remnants of a statue of the Egyptian Pharoah Ramesses II and placed it in the British Museum. In its full glory the statue had stood nearly 60 feet tall. Percy Shelly was inspired by it to write his most famous poem, “Ozymandias” as a reflection on greatness.

“I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Sometimes it is good enough just to be good.

One day Jesus and his followers were walking along the road. He was trying to teach his followers about the true nature of his mission. He was not trying to be the founder of a new religion. He didn’t want to be the head of a new religious empire.

There was talk of a Jewish Messiah. The Messiah was a kind of mythological figure in people’s imaginations. There were hopes and expectations placed upon the Messiah. The coming of the Messiah would herald a new age. Out with the old – in with the new. The Messiah would be a great person.

The problem was that people had misread the prophecies concerning the Messiah. They believed the Messiah would overthrow the existing power structures and set up a new kingdom. Out with the Romans and in with God’s king. But replacing one king with a new king doesn’t guarantee change. It’s the same power structure just with new faces. It’s easy to think that the new king will be better than the old king. Sometimes they are, but that’s what they thought of the old king when he was the new king.

Jesus was talking about real change. Grass roots change that would alter the very essence of power and prestige. The kind of change that would bring kings down to earth and turn swords into plowshares. For kings and kingdoms whose power was based on wielding the sword, the message of Jesus was a real threat.

He was telling his followers that the reality was he would end up being killed. He said, ‘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.’

What did he mean, “The Son of Man?” What was that supposed to mean? Literally translated it simply means, “One born of a human being.” He was reminding them, “I come from the same place as you. I am made of the same of the stuff. Be careful what you imagine of me, because I can be killed just as well as the next person.” That’s how power deals with threats. Kill it. End of story.

After they had reached their journey’s end for the day, Jesus asked his followers, “So what were you guys arguing about when we were on the way this afternoon?”

There is a subtle undertone in the question. In Mark’s story of Jesus, “the way” means more than just the road they were on. The “way” is a pathway to the realm of God. It is a “way” of understanding and experiencing God’s desire for humankind. It was counter to the way of kings and kingdoms and the Messiahs who would replace them. It involved –

Living in a non-hierarchical way;

Affirming the dignity of all;

Practicing open table fellowship;

Gender equality;

Non-violent resistance to political and religious oppression;

Is that what they were arguing about? No. “We were arguing about who is the greatest.” It might have been which of them was the greatest. Or maybe they were comparing Jesus with other religious figures. Or maybe it was a general argument about the meaning of greatness. Whatever it was, they were on the wrong track.

Jesus talked to them about the true nature of greatness. He talked to them about childlike faith. Jesus pointed to a child and said, “Welcome that child and you welcome me. Welcome me, and you welcome the one who sent me.” He wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. Maybe just something they had forgotten and need to remember. Jesus told them his mission was not about being great, but about serving people.

Welcome the child. That’s easy enough for us to consider; even the ones who make noise about their needs, who ask endless questions, who fidget and display their short attention spans. We get it, we want more of them around the place.

Like other stories in the bible, some points get lost in translation. In the original language of the story, the child is referred to simply as “it.” Was the child a boy or a girl? How old was the child? We don’t know. We do learn something about how children were regarded in those days by the way the child is described – ‘then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms.’ It. Not he or she, but it. Someone who was not a someone, but a thing; Someone with no power, no prestige, and certainly no measure of greatness.

The idea that someone is seen as an object and not a person raises the issue of how we consider people. What makes someone an “it?” We could make a list with a big “IT” on top and then start putting people into it. It would be a long list with different categories. Some of us here today would likely find ourselves on someone’s list of the unacceptable for any or no reason at all. Some of us could fit into more than one category of “it-ness.”

Jesus showed that religion is meant to reflect God’s vision for humanity. What the story reveals about Jesus is, that he is the ultimate outsider. Welcome the “it” and we welcome him. Amen.