My rightful place
Commentary
Note: This installment was originally published in 2006.
When I was in grade school, there was not much freedom for individual children to wander the halls. If a student was seen walking alone down the hallway during school hours, a teacher or administrator was bound to stop the student and ask, "Where are you supposed to be?"
The underlying presumption, of course, was that there was seldom a good reason for a young child to be on his/her own, away from the teacher, and apart from the class. To be in the hall alone, therefore, was to be where you didn't belong. You belonged somewhere else. Hence the question: "Where are you supposed to be?"
Indeed, as that question was the instrument of teachers in my grade school, so it is also a component of so much teaching in the Bible. The psalmist, the writer of Proverbs, and the prophets all have their moments when they say to their audience, in effect, "Where are you supposed to be?"
Knowing our proper place, and then remaining there, has always been a problem for people. Our wandering eyes draw us off God's prescribed path, and our ambitious egos prompt us to pursue inappropriate heights.
All three of this week's lessons invite us to consider this matter of our proper place. The story of Job, the request of James and John, and the example of Christ all point us to the same conclusion, and that conclusion might be the message for me and my people this Sunday.
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
Old Testament scholars offer different opinions about the composition and theology of the book of Job. Were the prose beginning and ending married from the beginning to the poetic dialogues that comprise most of the book, or did that union come later? Was the original author a skeptic, disillusioned with traditional religion, but whose caustic work was later softened by a more orthodox redactor? Does the book purport to answer the questions that it raises and reflects?
While individuals may arrive at very different conclusions about the background and interpretation of this book, no one will dispute its quality as a piece of literature. The plot, the characters, and the dialogues are filled with beauty, poignancy, drama, and even some (very dark) humor.
Among the most effective dramatic elements in the book is the appearance of the Lord, which occurs in our selected passage. The poet-theologian has, for more than thirty chapters, immersed us in the pain and the faith of Job, as well as the worldview, the doctrinal paradigms, and the judgmental assertiveness of his friends. We have heard Job say things that seem to border on blasphemy, and yet we reluctantly find that we must concede his points. And, in the next breath, we have heard his friends articulate orthodoxy in a way that makes us want to agree with what is said but not with the ones who say it.
Then, after going round-and-round with Job and his companions, chapter 38 opens with the grandest of entrances. All of the preceding human talk -- full of bluster, certainty, and self-importance -- is now as dim as penlights when the sun comes up. The Lord, who has been spoken of and spoken for plentifully by Job and his three (or four) companions, has now arrived on the scene to speak for himself, and everyone else, including especially Job, is dwarfed by his arrival.
The entire passage is a spectacle. "The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind."
It is perhaps noteworthy that this "whirlwind" appears on only occasion in the history books of the Old Testament, and that was the event of Elijah's rapture (2 Kings 2:1, 11). It is not a word, therefore, that describes so common an occurrence -- so routine a meteorological event -- that it appears frequently in the Old Testament's stories. Instead, it is a word reserved almost exclusively for the writings and the prophets, used to paint stunning pictures of spectacular events (see, for example, Psalm 107:25; Psalm 148:8; Isaiah 29:6; Jeremiah 23:19; Ezekiel 1:4; Zechariah 9:14).
This was no ordinary breeze. The human windbags are suddenly blown away by this breathtaking storm. Perhaps Job has to fall down in order to hold his ground in the face of this wind. There is a great noise, perhaps like that sound of a thousand freight trains that tornado survivors sometimes describe. Yet, in the end, we discover that the awesome storm is merely nature's entourage -- the warm-up act -- for the one who is truly spectacular.
There is some irony, of course, in the fact that our translation reads, "The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind." We have a notion about what it means to answer someone. Goodness knows that Job had a great many questions. An answer from the Lord would be most welcome! But the Lord's answer, it seems, is only more questions. Impossible, relentless, put-you-in-your-place questions. If the Lord were a prosecutor, the defense attorney would object that he was badgering the witness, for the Lord literally overwhelms Job with his questions.
Interestingly, Job may have anticipated this very experience near the beginning of the book. "How can a human being win a case against God?" he asks. "How can anyone argue with him? He can ask a thousand questions that no one could ever answer" (Job 9:2-3 TEV). Still, it might be argued that Job is better off when he is overwhelmed by God's questions than when he is overwhelmed by his own.
The first of God's questions may be the most difficult of all. The litany of questions that follows about nature, animals, legendary beasts, and outer space combine to form a majestic poem and a daunting exam. But the first question is the toughest, for it is the personal one. It is not "out there," pointing to distant constellations and unseen warehouses of snow; rather, it points directly at Job, as well, perhaps, as at his companions. "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?"
The mother finds some part of the house in disrepair and calls out to everyone within earshot, "Who made this mess?" Some family member is expected to come forward, then, and take responsibility for his or her actions.
Likewise, here; Job and his friends are invited to come forward and identify themselves specifically, as ones who have spoken unwisely. In the end, it is Job who responds (40:3- 5; 42:1-6), though God's ultimate verdict is that the friends, not Job, are the ones whose speech needs to be forgiven (42:7-9).
Hebrews 5:1-10
I lived for several years in a small, rural town in southern Virginia. As a newcomer, I often needed help finding my way around. From time to time, one of the folks who had lived there all of their lives would give me directions like this: "You turn right by where the Watkins' farm used to be" or "You go one mile past the old Johnson place." Those were suitable landmarks for the local lifers, but they were not much help to the unoriented.
Our congregations may have something of the same experience with the epistle to the Hebrews.
The unknown writer of the letter to the Hebrews revealed the good news about Jesus in light of what his audience already knew: the familiar territory of the Old Testament Law, the design of the Tabernacle, and the Levitical rituals. His audience was full of locals and lifers when it came to a Jewish heritage. Because that material is largely foreign to the people in our pews, they may need some orientation to the landmarks.
The "old Johnson place" of this passage is priesthood. And for a Jewish audience, priesthood was associated with Aaron and the tribe of Levi.
Through my years of parish ministry, I have led probably hundreds of youth and adults in through-the-Bible classes. For first-time readers, there is always a bit of surprise at how much material is devoted to these Levitical matters. Church folks who have not read the Bible are usually only familiar with the materials commonly preached and taught. Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Moses, David, Elijah, Daniel, Peter, Paul, and Jesus -- these are the folks whose stories have emerged as familiar. But Aaron, Eleazar, and Phineas are not so well known. And Noah's is the best-known ark in scripture, though it receives much less attention in the Old Testament than that later box which resided in the holy of holies. Furthermore, the details of sacrifices, offerings, and tabernacle rituals are mostly uncharted territory for our folks.
Yet this is the world of Hebrews, and the writer finds the gospel there. For in an approach to the Old Testament that betrays the influence of Greek philosophy, the letter to the Hebrews understands the Old Testament tabernacle, rituals, holy days, sacrifices, and priesthood as types that reflect and anticipate the eternal and true realities found in Christ.
Before our people will be able to appreciate the beauty of the comparison made between Christ and the Aaronite priests, of course, that Old Testament priesthood will need some introduction. Then, while most of this "gospel according to Leviticus" is concerned with Levitical material, in our selected passage the Levites and the Aaronite priests are eclipsed by another priesthood: the order of Melchizedek. Melchizedek himself will almost certainly require an introduction, for he hardly makes the list of the ten most familiar Old Testament characters.
Of course, he is never formally introduced to us within the Old Testament. Rather, he appears, mysteriously and unannounced, in a brief encounter with Abraham (Genesis 14:18-20). The encounter is tightly packed with significance, and yet the character of Melchizedek comes and goes without introduction or explanation. He disappears from the scene as suddenly as he had appeared in the first place, and we are left wondering, like the beneficiaries of the lone ranger, "Who was that masked man?"
A thousand years or so later, the psalmist reminds us of the mysterious Melchizedek (Psalm 110:4), but the cryptic reference only adds more mystery, not more explanation. It is left to the New Testament writer of the letter to the Hebrews -- 1,000 years after the psalmist's allusion and 2,000 years after Abraham's encounter -- to introduce us officially to Melchizedek.
Melchizedek is identified as the king of Salem (hence, king of peace), and his name means king of righteousness. In addition to being a king, he is identified in both the Genesis and Psalms passages as a priest. He appears out of nowhere and disappears without a trace. He precedes the Levites and the Aaronite priesthood by generations, greeting and blessing Levi's great-grandfather. And he receives from Abraham a tithe.
This magnificent and mysterious character, then, reveals Christ to us. He is one of those Old Testament landmarks (familiar to the lifers who received this epistle) that are part of how we find our way to Christ.
Mark 10:35-45
You have to like their candor. James and John, affectionately nicknamed "the sons of thunder" (Mark 3:17), don't pull any punches. "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." It is the admission very few of us would be willing to make, although it might be a perfectly accurate statement.
A certain philosophical sort would exempt themselves from such blatant self-interest. "I do not always know what is best," one might say, "and so I would not actually want him to do for me whatever I ask of him." But among honest people, that is probably a minority position. It may not be so much the voice of one redeemed from fallen human selfishness as it is the voice of a warranted skepticism about humanity.
James and John are unashamed to admit what they want: that Jesus should do for them whatever they ask of him. And while their undisguised self-interest is unbecoming, and their Jesus-as-genie Christology is offensive, Jesus remarkably does not chide them for what they have said.
We should note, by contrast, that on other occasions Jesus doesn't shrink from taking issue with what someone has said (see, for example, Mark 3:22-26; 12:13-15; John 9:1- 3), including even a seemingly harmless salutation (Luke 18:18-19). Here, when James and John have said something so obviously misguided, Jesus simply meets them where they're at: "What is it you want me to do for you?" What an encouraging image of the gracious way that the Lord hears our prayers!
Encouraged by Jesus to continue, the brothers reveal their desire: "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." It is a level of audacity that we find hard to imagine, on the one hand, and yet we should also note that their request shows a high level of faith, on the other. This is pre-resurrection, after all. Jesus has thus far only proven himself to be a remarkable human being, and yet the request of James and John suggests a higher recognition and expectation.
Their request may have been misguided, but their expectation was not. Jesus does not dispute their premise: he does not say "there will be no glory" or "there will be no such seats at my side." Instead, he reminds them of the painful path between here and there, between now and then.
Jesus' language is conspicuously sacramental. What James and John have requested is embodied in the verb "sit." Jesus' response, however, leaves that image temporarily behind, speaking instead in terms of "drink the cup" and "be baptized." We can hardly miss the allusion to the two most widely recognized sacraments. And the consequent association of both sacraments with Jesus' suffering may add a new layer of insight, especially to the sacrament of baptism.
Jesus asked the "are ye able" question of Zebedee's sons, and "the sturdy dreamers answered" (from "Are Ye Able" by Earl Marlatt) that they could, indeed, drink the cup he would drink and be baptized in his baptism. And, again, we are struck by the fact that Jesus does not take issue with them. Indeed they will follow him through that suffering, but the substance of their request remains in doubt, for it "is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared."
What follows, then, is a teaching moment for the disciples. The request of James and John is gently revealed to be the usual and customary way of thinking in this world, but Christ's followers are challenged to think -- and live -- differently. We are reminded of Paul's counsel to the Philippians: "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus" (see Philippians 2:5ff).
In the end, we see that the passage is framed by two very different pictures of Jesus. James and John picture him in his glory, and they are eager to associate themselves with him there. But Jesus reveals himself as a servant, and invites his followers to associate themselves with him in that way. Do not aspire to sit next to his throne where he reigns; aim, rather, to get on your hands and knees next to him on the floor where he washes feet.
Application
How appropriate it is for God's people to ask themselves and one another, "Where are you supposed to be?" Our egos, our appetites, and the prevailing winds of a fallen world can so easily -- and so subtly -- derail us. It's a good question for us to consider.
Job, we gather, had gotten a bit out of place. The implication of God's response to Job is not so much that Job had sinned, but rather that Job had lost his proper perspective on where he stood in relation to God, and Job was duly humbled.
James and John, likewise, misunderstood where they were supposed to be. Perhaps they pictured themselves on thrones next to Christ -- co-regents with him in glory. But Jesus redirected their focus to suffering and servitude, "For whoever wishes to be first among you must be slaves of all."
And the description of Christ offered by the writer of Hebrews reminds us of where we are supposed to be. For if the Son of God must humble himself in servitude and suffering, then surely the mortals who follow him should expect to travel the same road.
Our instincts (and our culture's emphasis) are to pursue for ourselves comfort and honor. But, as followers of Jesus Christ, is that where we're supposed to be?
Alternative Application
Mark 10:35-45. "When I Don't Need To Forgive." Even the most cursory review of Jesus' teachings will reveal the great importance of forgiveness. Free and gracious forgiveness is one of the hallmarks of the Heavenly Father that Jesus reveals, and that same kind of forgiveness is what he teaches us to practice. Indeed, the principle is one of the most familiar to the people in our pews since, every Sunday, so many of them pray to be forgiven by God as they forgive others.
As we consider our obligation and opportunity to forgive other people, however, it is important to recognize the occasions when we don't need to forgive. I don't mean some occasion when the sin is so great, so heinous, so inexcusable that we are reasonably released from our command to forgive. But rather, I think of those occasions when no sin has been committed.
If you do something terribly wicked, I need to forgive you. But if you haven't done anything wrong, then I don't need to forgive you. The mere fact that I am hurt, disappointed, or annoyed by what you've done is not the final arbiter of whether you've done something wrong. And if you haven't, then you do not need to be forgiven. Instead, perhaps I need to be forgiven for my selfish or irritable response to what you've done.
This may be the case in our Gospel Lesson. When the other disciples heard about the request made by James and John, "they began to be angry" with them. The striking fact, however, is that there's no indication that Jesus himself was angry with them.
Jesus did not condemn James and John for what they did; why, then, should the other disciples be so indignant? Perhaps they are the ones who need to be forgiven for the selfishness and faithlessness of their response.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
The voice of praise rings beautifully through this psalm as each verse gives poetic color to the glories of creation and its maker. It is something to be read and re-read as we contemplate the wonders of God.
Somehow, though, our modern sensibilities rest a little uneasily with such boundless enthusiasm. We squirm a bit, and shyly point out that such praise comes from a less complicated day and age. When life was less tarnished by the barrage of culture it was easier to rely upon a Creator God such as the one described here. Today, however, people of faith must contend with the floodwaters of a culture that has packaged and marketed God for its own convenience. Today, the faithful spend their life's energy fending off the commodification of just about everything and everyone. In times like these, such childlike praise seems imprudent. In our day of critical examination and cynical distrust, such unchecked praise is suspect.
This is why multiple readings of this psalm are required. Once, twice, three times or more, read it aloud. Mantric and prayerful, allow each phrase to roll from the mouth in spirited utterance. Each reading strips away a little more veneer. Each phrase of praise gets the reader a little closer to a truth too well hidden. This truth was known by the writer of this psalm, and is known still in various corners of the larger faith community.
This truth is the liberating and world shattering notion that we human beings are not in charge. There is something bigger and more powerful than us. There is someone who sets boundaries that we dare not cross.
Such truth-telling confronts human beings with the fact that we, as a species, have what pop psychology might label as "boundary issues." Before a God who created us, we chafe at the idea that there might some things we ought not do. We smirk at the concept that a boundary set by God is not something to be automatically violated, but something to be respected. Part of that respect is reclaimed in the childlike act of praise as we read and pray this psalm.
The words, "Bless the Lord O my soul" are far more than lip service paid in a vapid Call to Worship on Sunday morning. This is a voice that comes from the depths of one's person. God is offered praise and blessing from the heart, from the inner core, from ... the soul!
When I was in grade school, there was not much freedom for individual children to wander the halls. If a student was seen walking alone down the hallway during school hours, a teacher or administrator was bound to stop the student and ask, "Where are you supposed to be?"
The underlying presumption, of course, was that there was seldom a good reason for a young child to be on his/her own, away from the teacher, and apart from the class. To be in the hall alone, therefore, was to be where you didn't belong. You belonged somewhere else. Hence the question: "Where are you supposed to be?"
Indeed, as that question was the instrument of teachers in my grade school, so it is also a component of so much teaching in the Bible. The psalmist, the writer of Proverbs, and the prophets all have their moments when they say to their audience, in effect, "Where are you supposed to be?"
Knowing our proper place, and then remaining there, has always been a problem for people. Our wandering eyes draw us off God's prescribed path, and our ambitious egos prompt us to pursue inappropriate heights.
All three of this week's lessons invite us to consider this matter of our proper place. The story of Job, the request of James and John, and the example of Christ all point us to the same conclusion, and that conclusion might be the message for me and my people this Sunday.
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
Old Testament scholars offer different opinions about the composition and theology of the book of Job. Were the prose beginning and ending married from the beginning to the poetic dialogues that comprise most of the book, or did that union come later? Was the original author a skeptic, disillusioned with traditional religion, but whose caustic work was later softened by a more orthodox redactor? Does the book purport to answer the questions that it raises and reflects?
While individuals may arrive at very different conclusions about the background and interpretation of this book, no one will dispute its quality as a piece of literature. The plot, the characters, and the dialogues are filled with beauty, poignancy, drama, and even some (very dark) humor.
Among the most effective dramatic elements in the book is the appearance of the Lord, which occurs in our selected passage. The poet-theologian has, for more than thirty chapters, immersed us in the pain and the faith of Job, as well as the worldview, the doctrinal paradigms, and the judgmental assertiveness of his friends. We have heard Job say things that seem to border on blasphemy, and yet we reluctantly find that we must concede his points. And, in the next breath, we have heard his friends articulate orthodoxy in a way that makes us want to agree with what is said but not with the ones who say it.
Then, after going round-and-round with Job and his companions, chapter 38 opens with the grandest of entrances. All of the preceding human talk -- full of bluster, certainty, and self-importance -- is now as dim as penlights when the sun comes up. The Lord, who has been spoken of and spoken for plentifully by Job and his three (or four) companions, has now arrived on the scene to speak for himself, and everyone else, including especially Job, is dwarfed by his arrival.
The entire passage is a spectacle. "The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind."
It is perhaps noteworthy that this "whirlwind" appears on only occasion in the history books of the Old Testament, and that was the event of Elijah's rapture (2 Kings 2:1, 11). It is not a word, therefore, that describes so common an occurrence -- so routine a meteorological event -- that it appears frequently in the Old Testament's stories. Instead, it is a word reserved almost exclusively for the writings and the prophets, used to paint stunning pictures of spectacular events (see, for example, Psalm 107:25; Psalm 148:8; Isaiah 29:6; Jeremiah 23:19; Ezekiel 1:4; Zechariah 9:14).
This was no ordinary breeze. The human windbags are suddenly blown away by this breathtaking storm. Perhaps Job has to fall down in order to hold his ground in the face of this wind. There is a great noise, perhaps like that sound of a thousand freight trains that tornado survivors sometimes describe. Yet, in the end, we discover that the awesome storm is merely nature's entourage -- the warm-up act -- for the one who is truly spectacular.
There is some irony, of course, in the fact that our translation reads, "The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind." We have a notion about what it means to answer someone. Goodness knows that Job had a great many questions. An answer from the Lord would be most welcome! But the Lord's answer, it seems, is only more questions. Impossible, relentless, put-you-in-your-place questions. If the Lord were a prosecutor, the defense attorney would object that he was badgering the witness, for the Lord literally overwhelms Job with his questions.
Interestingly, Job may have anticipated this very experience near the beginning of the book. "How can a human being win a case against God?" he asks. "How can anyone argue with him? He can ask a thousand questions that no one could ever answer" (Job 9:2-3 TEV). Still, it might be argued that Job is better off when he is overwhelmed by God's questions than when he is overwhelmed by his own.
The first of God's questions may be the most difficult of all. The litany of questions that follows about nature, animals, legendary beasts, and outer space combine to form a majestic poem and a daunting exam. But the first question is the toughest, for it is the personal one. It is not "out there," pointing to distant constellations and unseen warehouses of snow; rather, it points directly at Job, as well, perhaps, as at his companions. "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?"
The mother finds some part of the house in disrepair and calls out to everyone within earshot, "Who made this mess?" Some family member is expected to come forward, then, and take responsibility for his or her actions.
Likewise, here; Job and his friends are invited to come forward and identify themselves specifically, as ones who have spoken unwisely. In the end, it is Job who responds (40:3- 5; 42:1-6), though God's ultimate verdict is that the friends, not Job, are the ones whose speech needs to be forgiven (42:7-9).
Hebrews 5:1-10
I lived for several years in a small, rural town in southern Virginia. As a newcomer, I often needed help finding my way around. From time to time, one of the folks who had lived there all of their lives would give me directions like this: "You turn right by where the Watkins' farm used to be" or "You go one mile past the old Johnson place." Those were suitable landmarks for the local lifers, but they were not much help to the unoriented.
Our congregations may have something of the same experience with the epistle to the Hebrews.
The unknown writer of the letter to the Hebrews revealed the good news about Jesus in light of what his audience already knew: the familiar territory of the Old Testament Law, the design of the Tabernacle, and the Levitical rituals. His audience was full of locals and lifers when it came to a Jewish heritage. Because that material is largely foreign to the people in our pews, they may need some orientation to the landmarks.
The "old Johnson place" of this passage is priesthood. And for a Jewish audience, priesthood was associated with Aaron and the tribe of Levi.
Through my years of parish ministry, I have led probably hundreds of youth and adults in through-the-Bible classes. For first-time readers, there is always a bit of surprise at how much material is devoted to these Levitical matters. Church folks who have not read the Bible are usually only familiar with the materials commonly preached and taught. Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Moses, David, Elijah, Daniel, Peter, Paul, and Jesus -- these are the folks whose stories have emerged as familiar. But Aaron, Eleazar, and Phineas are not so well known. And Noah's is the best-known ark in scripture, though it receives much less attention in the Old Testament than that later box which resided in the holy of holies. Furthermore, the details of sacrifices, offerings, and tabernacle rituals are mostly uncharted territory for our folks.
Yet this is the world of Hebrews, and the writer finds the gospel there. For in an approach to the Old Testament that betrays the influence of Greek philosophy, the letter to the Hebrews understands the Old Testament tabernacle, rituals, holy days, sacrifices, and priesthood as types that reflect and anticipate the eternal and true realities found in Christ.
Before our people will be able to appreciate the beauty of the comparison made between Christ and the Aaronite priests, of course, that Old Testament priesthood will need some introduction. Then, while most of this "gospel according to Leviticus" is concerned with Levitical material, in our selected passage the Levites and the Aaronite priests are eclipsed by another priesthood: the order of Melchizedek. Melchizedek himself will almost certainly require an introduction, for he hardly makes the list of the ten most familiar Old Testament characters.
Of course, he is never formally introduced to us within the Old Testament. Rather, he appears, mysteriously and unannounced, in a brief encounter with Abraham (Genesis 14:18-20). The encounter is tightly packed with significance, and yet the character of Melchizedek comes and goes without introduction or explanation. He disappears from the scene as suddenly as he had appeared in the first place, and we are left wondering, like the beneficiaries of the lone ranger, "Who was that masked man?"
A thousand years or so later, the psalmist reminds us of the mysterious Melchizedek (Psalm 110:4), but the cryptic reference only adds more mystery, not more explanation. It is left to the New Testament writer of the letter to the Hebrews -- 1,000 years after the psalmist's allusion and 2,000 years after Abraham's encounter -- to introduce us officially to Melchizedek.
Melchizedek is identified as the king of Salem (hence, king of peace), and his name means king of righteousness. In addition to being a king, he is identified in both the Genesis and Psalms passages as a priest. He appears out of nowhere and disappears without a trace. He precedes the Levites and the Aaronite priesthood by generations, greeting and blessing Levi's great-grandfather. And he receives from Abraham a tithe.
This magnificent and mysterious character, then, reveals Christ to us. He is one of those Old Testament landmarks (familiar to the lifers who received this epistle) that are part of how we find our way to Christ.
Mark 10:35-45
You have to like their candor. James and John, affectionately nicknamed "the sons of thunder" (Mark 3:17), don't pull any punches. "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." It is the admission very few of us would be willing to make, although it might be a perfectly accurate statement.
A certain philosophical sort would exempt themselves from such blatant self-interest. "I do not always know what is best," one might say, "and so I would not actually want him to do for me whatever I ask of him." But among honest people, that is probably a minority position. It may not be so much the voice of one redeemed from fallen human selfishness as it is the voice of a warranted skepticism about humanity.
James and John are unashamed to admit what they want: that Jesus should do for them whatever they ask of him. And while their undisguised self-interest is unbecoming, and their Jesus-as-genie Christology is offensive, Jesus remarkably does not chide them for what they have said.
We should note, by contrast, that on other occasions Jesus doesn't shrink from taking issue with what someone has said (see, for example, Mark 3:22-26; 12:13-15; John 9:1- 3), including even a seemingly harmless salutation (Luke 18:18-19). Here, when James and John have said something so obviously misguided, Jesus simply meets them where they're at: "What is it you want me to do for you?" What an encouraging image of the gracious way that the Lord hears our prayers!
Encouraged by Jesus to continue, the brothers reveal their desire: "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." It is a level of audacity that we find hard to imagine, on the one hand, and yet we should also note that their request shows a high level of faith, on the other. This is pre-resurrection, after all. Jesus has thus far only proven himself to be a remarkable human being, and yet the request of James and John suggests a higher recognition and expectation.
Their request may have been misguided, but their expectation was not. Jesus does not dispute their premise: he does not say "there will be no glory" or "there will be no such seats at my side." Instead, he reminds them of the painful path between here and there, between now and then.
Jesus' language is conspicuously sacramental. What James and John have requested is embodied in the verb "sit." Jesus' response, however, leaves that image temporarily behind, speaking instead in terms of "drink the cup" and "be baptized." We can hardly miss the allusion to the two most widely recognized sacraments. And the consequent association of both sacraments with Jesus' suffering may add a new layer of insight, especially to the sacrament of baptism.
Jesus asked the "are ye able" question of Zebedee's sons, and "the sturdy dreamers answered" (from "Are Ye Able" by Earl Marlatt) that they could, indeed, drink the cup he would drink and be baptized in his baptism. And, again, we are struck by the fact that Jesus does not take issue with them. Indeed they will follow him through that suffering, but the substance of their request remains in doubt, for it "is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared."
What follows, then, is a teaching moment for the disciples. The request of James and John is gently revealed to be the usual and customary way of thinking in this world, but Christ's followers are challenged to think -- and live -- differently. We are reminded of Paul's counsel to the Philippians: "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus" (see Philippians 2:5ff).
In the end, we see that the passage is framed by two very different pictures of Jesus. James and John picture him in his glory, and they are eager to associate themselves with him there. But Jesus reveals himself as a servant, and invites his followers to associate themselves with him in that way. Do not aspire to sit next to his throne where he reigns; aim, rather, to get on your hands and knees next to him on the floor where he washes feet.
Application
How appropriate it is for God's people to ask themselves and one another, "Where are you supposed to be?" Our egos, our appetites, and the prevailing winds of a fallen world can so easily -- and so subtly -- derail us. It's a good question for us to consider.
Job, we gather, had gotten a bit out of place. The implication of God's response to Job is not so much that Job had sinned, but rather that Job had lost his proper perspective on where he stood in relation to God, and Job was duly humbled.
James and John, likewise, misunderstood where they were supposed to be. Perhaps they pictured themselves on thrones next to Christ -- co-regents with him in glory. But Jesus redirected their focus to suffering and servitude, "For whoever wishes to be first among you must be slaves of all."
And the description of Christ offered by the writer of Hebrews reminds us of where we are supposed to be. For if the Son of God must humble himself in servitude and suffering, then surely the mortals who follow him should expect to travel the same road.
Our instincts (and our culture's emphasis) are to pursue for ourselves comfort and honor. But, as followers of Jesus Christ, is that where we're supposed to be?
Alternative Application
Mark 10:35-45. "When I Don't Need To Forgive." Even the most cursory review of Jesus' teachings will reveal the great importance of forgiveness. Free and gracious forgiveness is one of the hallmarks of the Heavenly Father that Jesus reveals, and that same kind of forgiveness is what he teaches us to practice. Indeed, the principle is one of the most familiar to the people in our pews since, every Sunday, so many of them pray to be forgiven by God as they forgive others.
As we consider our obligation and opportunity to forgive other people, however, it is important to recognize the occasions when we don't need to forgive. I don't mean some occasion when the sin is so great, so heinous, so inexcusable that we are reasonably released from our command to forgive. But rather, I think of those occasions when no sin has been committed.
If you do something terribly wicked, I need to forgive you. But if you haven't done anything wrong, then I don't need to forgive you. The mere fact that I am hurt, disappointed, or annoyed by what you've done is not the final arbiter of whether you've done something wrong. And if you haven't, then you do not need to be forgiven. Instead, perhaps I need to be forgiven for my selfish or irritable response to what you've done.
This may be the case in our Gospel Lesson. When the other disciples heard about the request made by James and John, "they began to be angry" with them. The striking fact, however, is that there's no indication that Jesus himself was angry with them.
Jesus did not condemn James and John for what they did; why, then, should the other disciples be so indignant? Perhaps they are the ones who need to be forgiven for the selfishness and faithlessness of their response.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
The voice of praise rings beautifully through this psalm as each verse gives poetic color to the glories of creation and its maker. It is something to be read and re-read as we contemplate the wonders of God.
Somehow, though, our modern sensibilities rest a little uneasily with such boundless enthusiasm. We squirm a bit, and shyly point out that such praise comes from a less complicated day and age. When life was less tarnished by the barrage of culture it was easier to rely upon a Creator God such as the one described here. Today, however, people of faith must contend with the floodwaters of a culture that has packaged and marketed God for its own convenience. Today, the faithful spend their life's energy fending off the commodification of just about everything and everyone. In times like these, such childlike praise seems imprudent. In our day of critical examination and cynical distrust, such unchecked praise is suspect.
This is why multiple readings of this psalm are required. Once, twice, three times or more, read it aloud. Mantric and prayerful, allow each phrase to roll from the mouth in spirited utterance. Each reading strips away a little more veneer. Each phrase of praise gets the reader a little closer to a truth too well hidden. This truth was known by the writer of this psalm, and is known still in various corners of the larger faith community.
This truth is the liberating and world shattering notion that we human beings are not in charge. There is something bigger and more powerful than us. There is someone who sets boundaries that we dare not cross.
Such truth-telling confronts human beings with the fact that we, as a species, have what pop psychology might label as "boundary issues." Before a God who created us, we chafe at the idea that there might some things we ought not do. We smirk at the concept that a boundary set by God is not something to be automatically violated, but something to be respected. Part of that respect is reclaimed in the childlike act of praise as we read and pray this psalm.
The words, "Bless the Lord O my soul" are far more than lip service paid in a vapid Call to Worship on Sunday morning. This is a voice that comes from the depths of one's person. God is offered praise and blessing from the heart, from the inner core, from ... the soul!
