Loading...I am a winner! I received an email on Friday with the subject line “You are a Why I Give Winner!”
“Wow!” I thought. That’s great! You see, ahead of the Give for Good Louisville day, we were encouraged to write a blurb about why we give. Annie sent an eblast and Dustin sent a bunch of emails asking folks to go to the Give for Good website and take just a couple minutes to write an explanation of why you give.
I started out writing a long explanation of why I give, and then looked at the directions that said to be brief, so I deleted all those crafted words expressing my theology of giving, and instead, left a two or three sentence response, submitted it, and went on with my day.
I realized that it didn’t matter how much I wrote, it was that I wrote, because, in the end, my creativity would not impact whether I won or not. It was a random drawing.
You must be wondering what I won. Well, nothing for me. I won a $100 bonus gift for St. James’. So, congratulations, St. James’! You are a winner!
Sometimes winning is random, like the luck of the draw. Sometimes it comes with years of training and competition, like in a running race. Other times, it can feel like waking up in the morning.
We can probably list a few people in our lifetimes who fit into the exclusive G.O.A.T. club (Greatest of All Time). Most often we think of sports and music legends—people who have worked hard to perfect their craft, always striving to do better and be better in their chosen competitive endeavor.
We look to the G.O.A.T.s for inspiration, with expectation, and admiration, because most of us are just living our lives trying to be the best we can be with the people we encounter…and that isn’t always easy.
And yet, many of us have some level of competitiveness that motivates us to compare ourselves to others.
Earlier this week, for example, I saw a Facebook post with a photo of a group of priests after a weekend session of training as clergy in new positions. I was in that 2016 photo. The reason my friend posted it was to invite us to look at it and see that one of those priests is now the Bishop of Vermont. Another is the bishop-elect of Massachusetts. And a third is a candidate for Suffragan Bishop of West Texas. There are eleven of us in this photo, and now, one of us is retired.
I could compare myself with these three people who have put themselves out there for a higher role within the church. Or I could compare myself to the one who is still in their same position after all these years, or the one who chose chaplaincy, or the one who found their place in Utah, where one of my dear seminary friends was called to be the pastor of the Lutheran church. The last three serve in full-time, part-time, or bi-vocational positions.
I could think I’m not “enough” or that I lack something necessary to be a bishop, or the rector of a larger parish, or on a diocesan staff, or that I’m too old or not experienced enough to be something different than I am.
But instead, I am thankful for each of them, knowing that we each bring differences to our ministries that have led us to the places we are now serving, in the roles most needed for the Church at this time. And I’m thankful that I get to be a part of this faith community at this time in all our lives.
The thing is—even when we understand who we are and the value of what we are doing, it is in our human nature to compare ourselves to others.
Even the disciples would argue about who was better. Can you imagine? This rag-tag group of men sizing each other up, trying to figure out which fisherman or tax collector was doing a better job at following Jesus?
You need a little context. The Gospel jumped over a few verses since last week. In those verses, Jesus was experiencing his transfiguration on the mountaintop with Peter, James, and John. At the same time, the disciples had just experienced the humiliation of a few unsuccessful attempts at healing a young boy. So, in today’s Gospel, it could have simply been that they were debriefing, trying to identify where, exactly, they went wrong.
I know Jesus’s healing isn’t magic, but it makes me think of the scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when Ron cannot make a feather float in the air, because he does not pronounce the spell correctly. Hermione, in her know-it-all way, corrects him: “It’s “Levio-SA, not levi-O-sa,” and much to Ron’s chagrin, successfully floats her feather in the air.
Maybe the disciples are debating the way they said the words of healing. Did they put the right em-PHA-sis on the right syl-LA-ble?
Jesus knows they are debating among themselves about who seems to be getting the gist of what Jesus is doing. Who is the best, the greatest, or has the most potential. And since Jesus keeps talking about dying, the disciples might be wondering who might need to take over when this death occurs, even if they still don’t really understand what Jesus is trying to tell them.
However, there simply isn’t time for bickering about such things as who is greater than the other.
Instead, Jesus says, greatness doesn’t come with being first, or being a winner, or being the G.O.A.T. Greatness comes when you set aside your hubris, your sense of entitlement, and your ego.
And then, he takes a child into his arms and reminds all those in the room that their greatness comes when they ensure the safety, health, and security of the most vulnerable in their midst, like this small child.
This child represents the most vulnerable of all. A person with no voice, no vote, a possession of the father, who cannot support themselves. A person who must rely on others to protect, feed, teach, and house them.
Jesus is reminding the disciples that they are to continue his ministry, with or without him, by helping the people whose voices are not heard, whose needs are not being met, who are disrespected and underserved and often tossed to the margins of society, expected to survive independently in circumstances that are fraught with danger and are often out of their control.
Here, Jesus says, take this child into your arms and feel her heartbeat. Smell his hair. Look at his fingers and toes. See where her teeth are breaking through the gums. Listen to her tummy rumble and the giggle of wonder she makes at the sound. Be engaged with them as they grow. Get to know the quirks and stories and hungers of this child. KNOW them and accept them for who they are, who they strive to be, and who they continually and eventually become.
Serve the children. Don’t debate whether you are greater than one another. Don’t compare what you’ve done or left undone. Instead, give of your time, your unique talent, and from your treasure. Care for the widowed.
Stop arguing about who has the right answers and instead speak up to those in authority, demanding change. Feed the hungry.
Build a bigger table, tear down barriers that separate God’s children. Welcome the refugee, the unhoused, the sick.
When you do these things, you please God. When you do these things, you are turning the world upside down with God’s love. You are creating a peaceful rebellion against the oppressors. You are acting in the Way of Love.
Everything Jesus does during his ministry with these ragtag men and women is teaching them what the power of love can do to change a broken and aching world. He takes the most unlikely, frequently powerless people and is giving them a voice to speak out against all that separates God’s people from one another and from God. He is not only giving them permission, he is expecting them to love those who society often deems unlovable. He expects them to speak up and out for those who are considered without value, without hope, without humanity, by showing the healing power of God’s love.
None of them is greater than the other, but each of them is called to follow this specific path of redemption—redeeming the lost, forgotten, and alienated by re-incorporating, re-inviting, re-welcoming them into the places and spaces they had been shunned.
It is not a small task to speak the truth to power, then or now. Yet it is what we, as Jesus Followers, are continued to be called to do. To recognize that the child on Jesus’s lap is every child, whether tidy and well behaved or messy and filled with angst.
And isn’t that a lovely thought? To know that every one of us are invited to sit on Jesus’s lap, no matter what we have done or left undone, to know the depth of his love for us is so much bigger than just me, so much bigger than just you. Every child of every age and life experience is loved by our Creator God.
So love one another because God loves you whether you are a random winner of a $100 drawing or have trained your whole life to become the G.O.A.T. of your dreams. To God, you are one in a million. Amen.
