On Not Being First
Sermon
Times of Refreshing
Sermons For Lent And Easter
We Americans have long had a love affair with winners. Successful undertakings of nearly every sort quickly receive the admiration of those around us. As a group, we take great delight in banquets and other ceremonies at which honors are distributed. People who come in second are rarely remembered in our culture. The runner-up usually receives a brief word of recognition and then is quickly forgotten. If you happen to be a sports enthusiast, you'll remember the poor old Buffalo Bills of the NFL. Never mind that year after year that fine team distinguished itself by beating the best teams, winning titles right up to the Super Bowl. Never mind that for years they were good enough to get to the Super Bowl. They lost there. And for that, more than any hard-won victories, they are remembered. Stop in any bookstore and see how many books there are having to do with winning, with success, with coming in first.
Consider this man Joseph who, along with Matthias, was a finalist for inclusion with the other eleven as one of the twelve apostles. Luke's report tells us there were about 120 people present when the choice was made and announced. Bible stories leave out almost all details and come right to the point. There are times, though, when it would be interesting to know more. It seems likely here that everyone knew that Joseph might receive the exalted title. He'd have been less than human if he hadn't done a bit of fantasizing. Every minister who's been nominated for Bishop, every candidate for an honorary degree, many hard-working dedicated members of an organization about to award their outstanding volunteer of the year award, every candidate awaiting the decision of a pulpit committee, and every team member who has played his or her heart out all season and awaits announcement of the MVP must surely have experienced some of this private contemplation of an honor. And unless one is a genuine saint, it's only with great effort that we fix a smile and give a word of congratulation when the winner is announced to be someone else. No one likes to lose.
We don't learn any more about Joseph. Presumably he was a fine man even to be considered for the honor as apostle (or whatever title may have been in use at the time). But there must have been some inward pain when the announcement was made that Matthias had been chosen. Joseph came in second. One thing becomes clear when we read the New Testament: those people were imperfect like the rest of us. Peter, whose courage failed him in Gethsemane; James and John, who were nicknamed "sons of thunder" and blatantly asked to be first in the Kingdom of God, which they didn't even understand; Judas himself: like you and me, those people also had to struggle with sin and self-centeredness. One must feel a moment of sympathy for Joseph when he realized how close he had come to being part of the inner circle. But he didn't come in first.
A friend told me of the time he was announced at his Methodist Annual Conference as the new pastor of a fine, large church. He met a fellow pastor shortly after the announcement of appointments. The friend offered his hand to congratulate the lucky fellow, then suddenly turned away and covered his face with both hands. After a moment, he turned back with tears on his face. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm truly glad for you, but I just realized that I'll never get to serve a church like that myself." There it is. Second place, and it can hurt a lot.
What does the Bible have to say about all of this? Does it offer consolation to us when we fall short? Of course it does. I suspect if Jesus could speak directly to our success-oriented generations, he would tell us to press on in our efforts to be successful -- provided that we do so in totally ethical ways and with sensitivity to the feelings of others. But therein lies a problem: for me to win (in the traditional sense), you have to lose. I think Jesus would tell us that God simply doesn't care one way or the other what honors we receive, how successful we are as the world measures those things. The Persian poet knew this:
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes or it prospers; and anon,
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face,
Lighting a little hour or two -- is gone.
Saint Paul wrote: "Whatever your task put yourselves into it, as done for the LordÉ." If honors come our way as a by-product of faithful and diligent attention to the work we have chosen to do, it is to be accepted modestly. If they do not, the truth is that a higher measure is at work with us, one which sees "success" in quite different terms anyway.
The Seattle Times recently printed a story about two little boys named Francisco and Fernando Soto. They're aged four and eight. They were playing by a swimming pool at the Carlton Place apartments in Bellevue, Washington, when little Francisco fell into nine feet of water. His little brother jumped in to rescue Francisco, but neither could swim. Their mother, who also could not swim, began to scream as she watched her two children struggle beneath the surface. "My baby is drowning!" she cried.
It so happened that 49-year-old Jorge Pagan, a maintenance man from Puerto Rico, had just returned from a run and was relaxing on a second story balcony when he heard the cries. Knowing seconds would make the difference, Pagan jumped to the ground, raced to the pool and was confronted by a high wood fence. Heedless of injury, he slammed into the fence with such force as to knock a hole in it big enough for him to get through. He leaped into the water and dragged two gasping little boys to safety.
Jorge Pagan suffered injuries which required medical treatment. But he saved two little boys. Pagan had once been a boxer, winning no titles, and was studying and teaching martial arts, also having won no titles. Perhaps the world had taken little notice of Pagan through the years. But though he may have won little in the way of worldly honors, we would all agree he is a number one winner in "the game of life." Something more than "snow upon the desert's face."
I believe Jesus might very well point to something like this as an example of the kind of success that is valued in heaven. Perhaps in the short run that's not much consolation when we have tried so hard. But the Bible takes the long view of these disappointments. Failure and disappointment are part of the human lot. As we have already discussed, it's through suffering that we grow, not through success. If I'm honest, my inner spiritual life grows rather shallow when things go too well. It's when disappointment of one kind or another marks my life that I find myself turning to my friend Jesus for encouragement and help. And remarkably, that encouragement seems always available. And the word always seems to come through: "Quit thinking of yourself. Think of the other person. Be a winner in the deepest part of your soul and you cannot lose in any way that truly matters. Just be faithful to what you know is right."
A young man in our town recently played in a high school tennis tournament. He is their star player and a title was at stake. In a hard-fought match, he was a point away from victory. His mother told the story. The boy's opponent was serving to avoid losing the game and thus the match. His first serve hit the net. The opponent drew a deep breath, lofted the ball, and hit it again as hard as he dared. "Fault," called the referee. Double fault -- end of match. But this fine young man, a recent winner of the God and Country award in his church, went over to the referee and explained that he, being closer to the ball than anyone else, saw it clearly safe. The serve, he said, had been a winner and the match should continue. The referee, knowing true sportsmanship when he saw it, declared that the point would be replayed.
It doesn't matter who won that match. A very proud mother had a story of victory far greater than any tennis game to warm her heart forever. And somewhere in heaven, if you'll forgive the figure of speech, Someone must have smiled with joy.
Here's the measure when Christ is in our hearts and lives: What kind of man or woman have I become? Not how many honors, not those plaques and trophies, not the accolades. What kind of person? I can't help occasional disappointment, even jealousy on rare occasion, because I'm a human being, raised in a competitive society. Perhaps I'll need to turn to my Savior for forgiveness and charity of spirit. But that's all part of the life-long process of becoming a Christian.
Many of us are familiar with Henry Van Dyke's story of "The Mansion." Remember? It's about a very wealthy man who dreamed he died and went to heaven. Met there by an angel, he was escorted to the home in which he was informed he would spend eternity. His spirits fell a bit as they passed beyond a neighborhood of grand homes to one a bit more modest. But he supposed those must be where the saints lived. However, as the quality of the neighborhood declined he became more concerned. Finally, at the edge of town, the angel pointed to a run-down shack and informed the man that he was to live there. The man protested, saying he'd been a very wealthy and powerful man all his adult life. It was outrageous, he contended, that he should be treated in such a shabby way. But the angel quietly informed the man that in heaven, it didn't matter how wealthy and important and successful a person had been in earthly life. "You see," the angel explained, "we built the best we could with what you sent us."
There it is; all those honors; "Snow upon the desert's dusty face." Not "what did I win?" What did I do for others? Paul wrote, "Put on, as God's chosen ones É compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience É." Are those qualities in evidence? Jesus taught, "Love your neighbor." Did I do that? What kind of person have I become? Not how much do I have? Not rewards received, however deserved. What kind of person?
Consider this man Joseph who, along with Matthias, was a finalist for inclusion with the other eleven as one of the twelve apostles. Luke's report tells us there were about 120 people present when the choice was made and announced. Bible stories leave out almost all details and come right to the point. There are times, though, when it would be interesting to know more. It seems likely here that everyone knew that Joseph might receive the exalted title. He'd have been less than human if he hadn't done a bit of fantasizing. Every minister who's been nominated for Bishop, every candidate for an honorary degree, many hard-working dedicated members of an organization about to award their outstanding volunteer of the year award, every candidate awaiting the decision of a pulpit committee, and every team member who has played his or her heart out all season and awaits announcement of the MVP must surely have experienced some of this private contemplation of an honor. And unless one is a genuine saint, it's only with great effort that we fix a smile and give a word of congratulation when the winner is announced to be someone else. No one likes to lose.
We don't learn any more about Joseph. Presumably he was a fine man even to be considered for the honor as apostle (or whatever title may have been in use at the time). But there must have been some inward pain when the announcement was made that Matthias had been chosen. Joseph came in second. One thing becomes clear when we read the New Testament: those people were imperfect like the rest of us. Peter, whose courage failed him in Gethsemane; James and John, who were nicknamed "sons of thunder" and blatantly asked to be first in the Kingdom of God, which they didn't even understand; Judas himself: like you and me, those people also had to struggle with sin and self-centeredness. One must feel a moment of sympathy for Joseph when he realized how close he had come to being part of the inner circle. But he didn't come in first.
A friend told me of the time he was announced at his Methodist Annual Conference as the new pastor of a fine, large church. He met a fellow pastor shortly after the announcement of appointments. The friend offered his hand to congratulate the lucky fellow, then suddenly turned away and covered his face with both hands. After a moment, he turned back with tears on his face. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm truly glad for you, but I just realized that I'll never get to serve a church like that myself." There it is. Second place, and it can hurt a lot.
What does the Bible have to say about all of this? Does it offer consolation to us when we fall short? Of course it does. I suspect if Jesus could speak directly to our success-oriented generations, he would tell us to press on in our efforts to be successful -- provided that we do so in totally ethical ways and with sensitivity to the feelings of others. But therein lies a problem: for me to win (in the traditional sense), you have to lose. I think Jesus would tell us that God simply doesn't care one way or the other what honors we receive, how successful we are as the world measures those things. The Persian poet knew this:
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes or it prospers; and anon,
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face,
Lighting a little hour or two -- is gone.
Saint Paul wrote: "Whatever your task put yourselves into it, as done for the LordÉ." If honors come our way as a by-product of faithful and diligent attention to the work we have chosen to do, it is to be accepted modestly. If they do not, the truth is that a higher measure is at work with us, one which sees "success" in quite different terms anyway.
The Seattle Times recently printed a story about two little boys named Francisco and Fernando Soto. They're aged four and eight. They were playing by a swimming pool at the Carlton Place apartments in Bellevue, Washington, when little Francisco fell into nine feet of water. His little brother jumped in to rescue Francisco, but neither could swim. Their mother, who also could not swim, began to scream as she watched her two children struggle beneath the surface. "My baby is drowning!" she cried.
It so happened that 49-year-old Jorge Pagan, a maintenance man from Puerto Rico, had just returned from a run and was relaxing on a second story balcony when he heard the cries. Knowing seconds would make the difference, Pagan jumped to the ground, raced to the pool and was confronted by a high wood fence. Heedless of injury, he slammed into the fence with such force as to knock a hole in it big enough for him to get through. He leaped into the water and dragged two gasping little boys to safety.
Jorge Pagan suffered injuries which required medical treatment. But he saved two little boys. Pagan had once been a boxer, winning no titles, and was studying and teaching martial arts, also having won no titles. Perhaps the world had taken little notice of Pagan through the years. But though he may have won little in the way of worldly honors, we would all agree he is a number one winner in "the game of life." Something more than "snow upon the desert's face."
I believe Jesus might very well point to something like this as an example of the kind of success that is valued in heaven. Perhaps in the short run that's not much consolation when we have tried so hard. But the Bible takes the long view of these disappointments. Failure and disappointment are part of the human lot. As we have already discussed, it's through suffering that we grow, not through success. If I'm honest, my inner spiritual life grows rather shallow when things go too well. It's when disappointment of one kind or another marks my life that I find myself turning to my friend Jesus for encouragement and help. And remarkably, that encouragement seems always available. And the word always seems to come through: "Quit thinking of yourself. Think of the other person. Be a winner in the deepest part of your soul and you cannot lose in any way that truly matters. Just be faithful to what you know is right."
A young man in our town recently played in a high school tennis tournament. He is their star player and a title was at stake. In a hard-fought match, he was a point away from victory. His mother told the story. The boy's opponent was serving to avoid losing the game and thus the match. His first serve hit the net. The opponent drew a deep breath, lofted the ball, and hit it again as hard as he dared. "Fault," called the referee. Double fault -- end of match. But this fine young man, a recent winner of the God and Country award in his church, went over to the referee and explained that he, being closer to the ball than anyone else, saw it clearly safe. The serve, he said, had been a winner and the match should continue. The referee, knowing true sportsmanship when he saw it, declared that the point would be replayed.
It doesn't matter who won that match. A very proud mother had a story of victory far greater than any tennis game to warm her heart forever. And somewhere in heaven, if you'll forgive the figure of speech, Someone must have smiled with joy.
Here's the measure when Christ is in our hearts and lives: What kind of man or woman have I become? Not how many honors, not those plaques and trophies, not the accolades. What kind of person? I can't help occasional disappointment, even jealousy on rare occasion, because I'm a human being, raised in a competitive society. Perhaps I'll need to turn to my Savior for forgiveness and charity of spirit. But that's all part of the life-long process of becoming a Christian.
Many of us are familiar with Henry Van Dyke's story of "The Mansion." Remember? It's about a very wealthy man who dreamed he died and went to heaven. Met there by an angel, he was escorted to the home in which he was informed he would spend eternity. His spirits fell a bit as they passed beyond a neighborhood of grand homes to one a bit more modest. But he supposed those must be where the saints lived. However, as the quality of the neighborhood declined he became more concerned. Finally, at the edge of town, the angel pointed to a run-down shack and informed the man that he was to live there. The man protested, saying he'd been a very wealthy and powerful man all his adult life. It was outrageous, he contended, that he should be treated in such a shabby way. But the angel quietly informed the man that in heaven, it didn't matter how wealthy and important and successful a person had been in earthly life. "You see," the angel explained, "we built the best we could with what you sent us."
There it is; all those honors; "Snow upon the desert's dusty face." Not "what did I win?" What did I do for others? Paul wrote, "Put on, as God's chosen ones É compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience É." Are those qualities in evidence? Jesus taught, "Love your neighbor." Did I do that? What kind of person have I become? Not how much do I have? Not rewards received, however deserved. What kind of person?
