Last But Yet First
Sermon
Fringe, Front and Center
Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost (Middle Third)
In order to be last, you must give others a place in front of you. This is important to realize if you are interested in reaching first place. For Jesus here says, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Realize also that, given the kind of world we are part of, the people whom you must permit to go before you will be a mixed bag, indeed. You can't pick and choose, because that would mean the discards would be behind you. They would become last. They would really be taking the place you want, because, since you want to be first, you must be last of all and servant of all. If you put people back, behind you, it might seem that you are getting close to being first, but actually you would have fallen back, you would no longer be close to being first. That is what Jesus said.
Jesus said this "first must be last in order to be first" word after the disciples failed to grasp that that was exactly what Jesus was about to do himself. He was about to permit a disciple to betray him, about to consent to being put to death, all this to make it possible for all people to be first with God.
The easy way out of this dilemma might seem to be to stop wanting to be first. Would that we could. By ourselves we can't. But God has already changed us and our wants so that what we really want is it be first with God. But that does not mean we can simply sit tight and let it happen. God supplies our "wants" and now expects us to exercise them. Something we do is required. We are to welcome the child, welcome the least of the Lord's siblings, say to those around us, "Come up higher, higher than you are, higher, perhaps, than you think you deserve to be, higher than me." It's not easy being last. It's even more difficult to stand aside for others to go before you, and to welcome those whose servants you are to be.
Think of a long line at the checkout counter at your grocery store. As you stand, last in line, you see a frail grandmother type carrying a basket with only two items, ready to take her place in line behind you, your cart filled with a dozen or more packages. No problem. "Do go ahead. You will be checked through before I'm unpacked." But then along comes another, this time a pushy type breezily saying, "Mind if I go ahead? I'm in sort of a hurry." Then -- don't we all? -- you want nothing better than to let that shopper earn the title of "greatest" by being stuck at the back of the line.
That's not a completely fair example, of course. There is such a thing as fairness and taking turns, egalitarianism and democracy, and all that. But think of the greatest of all greatness, what God has done for us. Here Jesus spells out again for his disciples what he is about to undertake in order to let us go first. All of us pushy types ... Some of us putting on meek masks of grand-motherliness ... All of us wearing out our welcome day after day ... And yet, always being welcomed again. Only the mind and the mercy of God can compute how it works -- the Son of Man is betrayed into human hands -- inhuman hands, we would like to say. He is killed on a cross. Three days after he is killed, he rises again; he is alive. The result of his passionate service is that every one of us prodigals is welcomed home again, is met by God the Father even while we are a great way off, a God and Father who calls us daughter and son and urges all the heavenly host to rejoice with him "for these my sons and daughters were lost but now they are found, they were dead in trespasses and sins, but now they are alive in Christ Jesus and by the Holy Spirit."
In one of Ngaio Marsh's novels of New Zealand, a tiki, a Maori religious symbol, has been given as a birthday gift to the leading lady of a group of actors from England. It is being passed from hand to hand through the company. They all find the figure grotesque and its fertility symbolism embarrassing. There is mocking laughter and muttered comments as the actors point out its strange features to one another. Inspector Roderick Alleyn is a bit ashamed for them and apologizes to a Maori doctor who is dining with them and has explained the figure's significance. "Oh," the doctor replies, pleasantly, "so my great-grandparents have laughed over the first crucifix they saw."1 Surely we do not give our Lord cause to be ashamed of us? Christ crucified -- "a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles," but surely not to us, "those who are the called." To us the crucified One is "Christ, the power of God and the wisdom of God" (1 Corinthians 1:23-25). The wisdom of God -- even though the disciples "did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him," surely we understand what he was talking about. "Odd of God" indeed, himself so to humble himself in Jesus, the Son, so as to be last and the servant of all, in order that he might be both under the law and nailed on the cross for us, and so that we might be welcomed by him into the family. Oh blessed oddness! What prodigals would reject the Father's welcome, the rings on their fingers, the festive robes on their shoulders; would complain about the way the Father formulated the welcome? And if we gladly accept this wisdom of God by which we are saved, will we not also agree to and understand this wise counsel to make ourselves last and make others welcome?
Now, of course, the issue is about passing that welcome along. Welcomed in that uninhibited, unlimited, unreserved, incomprehensible way, we are to welcome everyone whom God welcomes. Any friend of God's is to be a friend of ours. We are to choose to be the last of all and the servant of all. "Jesus took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 'Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.'Ê" Moreover, there should be no stupid excuses that sound like Pilate as he washed his hands of Jesus. "Father, I am one who has sinned against heaven and against you, and am not therefore able to welcome just anyone. I will, therefore, ignore some and let them alone. I will welcome whom I like, only the ones I like, and let the rest go." Would we want God to hear further echoes of Pilate's speech: "I find no fault in those others. It's not that. I just don't like them. They're not my type. I will therefore chastise them and let them go."
What is our unwelcoming problem? In the Second Lesson, James makes our weakness very clear. "Where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind." James asks, "Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from?" And James says about us, "From your cravings, your wanting, your coveting, your wrong asking, your friendship with the world, your pride."
It is fitting that Jesus gives his second summary of his sacrifice just before pointing up this sin of wanting to be the greatest. He came to change us, to alter our constant craving for greatness. And his method was to welcome us, no matter what we were like, to make himself the servant of all, to be last and least, so that we could be forgiven and made first.
Oh, of course ... you say that Jesus made the easy choice? He took a little child ... everyone can love a baby. And if I told you how that child grew up, if I told you that he was neglected at home, abused by companions, that he fell into bad company and became a brigand and was himself crucified, and if I told you that there on the cross this Jesus took him again -- not into his arms, for they were nailed to his own cross -- but took him into his forgiving embrace and promised him, "Today you will be with me in paradise" -- if I told you that, would you still excuse yourself from welcoming all those whom the Lord welcomes? Would you, if I told you that? Of course, I can't tell you that. We do not now how that child turned out. But we do know that this Jesus never turned away any. This Jesus welcomed all. This Jesus was the servant of all. This Jesus was the greatest.
And this Jesus has made each one of us great. This Jesus has welcomed us. The Father who sent him has welcomed us. And each one of us can become greater than we are, than we have been. All that God has done in Christ Jesus' agony and resurrection has worked together for good for us. For we love God. We are called according to his purpose. Day by day we are being the more
conformed to the image of Christ's greatness. We know more and more that we are within a large family of the welcomed. The Holy Trinity has taken us up in the arms of Holy Baptism and has placed us among the family of the Church. "You're welcome!" God says. "You can welcome," God says.
"Lord, I would be selfless. Help Thou my selfishness!"
You are able. You're a big child now. You have the wisdom. "The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace."
Welcome him now, him who welcomes you to his table. "Come up higher," he says.
"After you," we say. "We follow after you!"
____________
1. Ngaio Marsh, Vintage Murder (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1972), pp. 43-44. First published in England in 1937.
Jesus said this "first must be last in order to be first" word after the disciples failed to grasp that that was exactly what Jesus was about to do himself. He was about to permit a disciple to betray him, about to consent to being put to death, all this to make it possible for all people to be first with God.
The easy way out of this dilemma might seem to be to stop wanting to be first. Would that we could. By ourselves we can't. But God has already changed us and our wants so that what we really want is it be first with God. But that does not mean we can simply sit tight and let it happen. God supplies our "wants" and now expects us to exercise them. Something we do is required. We are to welcome the child, welcome the least of the Lord's siblings, say to those around us, "Come up higher, higher than you are, higher, perhaps, than you think you deserve to be, higher than me." It's not easy being last. It's even more difficult to stand aside for others to go before you, and to welcome those whose servants you are to be.
Think of a long line at the checkout counter at your grocery store. As you stand, last in line, you see a frail grandmother type carrying a basket with only two items, ready to take her place in line behind you, your cart filled with a dozen or more packages. No problem. "Do go ahead. You will be checked through before I'm unpacked." But then along comes another, this time a pushy type breezily saying, "Mind if I go ahead? I'm in sort of a hurry." Then -- don't we all? -- you want nothing better than to let that shopper earn the title of "greatest" by being stuck at the back of the line.
That's not a completely fair example, of course. There is such a thing as fairness and taking turns, egalitarianism and democracy, and all that. But think of the greatest of all greatness, what God has done for us. Here Jesus spells out again for his disciples what he is about to undertake in order to let us go first. All of us pushy types ... Some of us putting on meek masks of grand-motherliness ... All of us wearing out our welcome day after day ... And yet, always being welcomed again. Only the mind and the mercy of God can compute how it works -- the Son of Man is betrayed into human hands -- inhuman hands, we would like to say. He is killed on a cross. Three days after he is killed, he rises again; he is alive. The result of his passionate service is that every one of us prodigals is welcomed home again, is met by God the Father even while we are a great way off, a God and Father who calls us daughter and son and urges all the heavenly host to rejoice with him "for these my sons and daughters were lost but now they are found, they were dead in trespasses and sins, but now they are alive in Christ Jesus and by the Holy Spirit."
In one of Ngaio Marsh's novels of New Zealand, a tiki, a Maori religious symbol, has been given as a birthday gift to the leading lady of a group of actors from England. It is being passed from hand to hand through the company. They all find the figure grotesque and its fertility symbolism embarrassing. There is mocking laughter and muttered comments as the actors point out its strange features to one another. Inspector Roderick Alleyn is a bit ashamed for them and apologizes to a Maori doctor who is dining with them and has explained the figure's significance. "Oh," the doctor replies, pleasantly, "so my great-grandparents have laughed over the first crucifix they saw."1 Surely we do not give our Lord cause to be ashamed of us? Christ crucified -- "a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles," but surely not to us, "those who are the called." To us the crucified One is "Christ, the power of God and the wisdom of God" (1 Corinthians 1:23-25). The wisdom of God -- even though the disciples "did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him," surely we understand what he was talking about. "Odd of God" indeed, himself so to humble himself in Jesus, the Son, so as to be last and the servant of all, in order that he might be both under the law and nailed on the cross for us, and so that we might be welcomed by him into the family. Oh blessed oddness! What prodigals would reject the Father's welcome, the rings on their fingers, the festive robes on their shoulders; would complain about the way the Father formulated the welcome? And if we gladly accept this wisdom of God by which we are saved, will we not also agree to and understand this wise counsel to make ourselves last and make others welcome?
Now, of course, the issue is about passing that welcome along. Welcomed in that uninhibited, unlimited, unreserved, incomprehensible way, we are to welcome everyone whom God welcomes. Any friend of God's is to be a friend of ours. We are to choose to be the last of all and the servant of all. "Jesus took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 'Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.'Ê" Moreover, there should be no stupid excuses that sound like Pilate as he washed his hands of Jesus. "Father, I am one who has sinned against heaven and against you, and am not therefore able to welcome just anyone. I will, therefore, ignore some and let them alone. I will welcome whom I like, only the ones I like, and let the rest go." Would we want God to hear further echoes of Pilate's speech: "I find no fault in those others. It's not that. I just don't like them. They're not my type. I will therefore chastise them and let them go."
What is our unwelcoming problem? In the Second Lesson, James makes our weakness very clear. "Where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind." James asks, "Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from?" And James says about us, "From your cravings, your wanting, your coveting, your wrong asking, your friendship with the world, your pride."
It is fitting that Jesus gives his second summary of his sacrifice just before pointing up this sin of wanting to be the greatest. He came to change us, to alter our constant craving for greatness. And his method was to welcome us, no matter what we were like, to make himself the servant of all, to be last and least, so that we could be forgiven and made first.
Oh, of course ... you say that Jesus made the easy choice? He took a little child ... everyone can love a baby. And if I told you how that child grew up, if I told you that he was neglected at home, abused by companions, that he fell into bad company and became a brigand and was himself crucified, and if I told you that there on the cross this Jesus took him again -- not into his arms, for they were nailed to his own cross -- but took him into his forgiving embrace and promised him, "Today you will be with me in paradise" -- if I told you that, would you still excuse yourself from welcoming all those whom the Lord welcomes? Would you, if I told you that? Of course, I can't tell you that. We do not now how that child turned out. But we do know that this Jesus never turned away any. This Jesus welcomed all. This Jesus was the servant of all. This Jesus was the greatest.
And this Jesus has made each one of us great. This Jesus has welcomed us. The Father who sent him has welcomed us. And each one of us can become greater than we are, than we have been. All that God has done in Christ Jesus' agony and resurrection has worked together for good for us. For we love God. We are called according to his purpose. Day by day we are being the more
conformed to the image of Christ's greatness. We know more and more that we are within a large family of the welcomed. The Holy Trinity has taken us up in the arms of Holy Baptism and has placed us among the family of the Church. "You're welcome!" God says. "You can welcome," God says.
"Lord, I would be selfless. Help Thou my selfishness!"
You are able. You're a big child now. You have the wisdom. "The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace."
Welcome him now, him who welcomes you to his table. "Come up higher," he says.
"After you," we say. "We follow after you!"
____________
1. Ngaio Marsh, Vintage Murder (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1972), pp. 43-44. First published in England in 1937.
