Mark 10:35-45
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Appoint us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink, and with the baptism with which I am baptized you will be baptized, but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to appoint, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”
When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; instead, whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many.”
James and John practically swagger into this text, and their energy bothers me. Probably because I think I have them pegged. People with a kind of entitlement wrapped in religious language that makes my skin crawl. People whose father’s name is supposed to matter, these sons of Zebedee. People who had the gall to say, Do for us whatever we want. I wanted Jesus to scold them, “Settle down, Brad and Chad.” I wanted him to shame them, “You’ve seen the people on this road, the milky eyed blind people and the hungry children without shoes, and yet you treat me like a spiritual vending machine for yourselves?”
But Jesus didn’t do that. Instead, he asked them a question in good faith, like Jesus always does. “What is it you want me to do for you?” At this point, I assumed they would at least attempt humility. But they don’t. We want the C-suite in glory, they say. We want corner offices next to Jesus. Let’s talk advancement opportunities, Jesus. I can hardly believe the nerve of these guys. Like the rest of the disciples, I am boiling with irritation. Jesus responds with something like, you know the C in C-suite stands for cross, right?
This is the third time in just two chapters he’s told them about how empires work, and how the real reward for courage is crucifixion, and how that horrifying honor is just over the horizon for him. And still, the Zebedee boys say bring it on. At this point, I assume they have confused the cross with Cross Fit.
But suddenly, the air shifts in the story and it’s not clear to whom Jesus directs his next comment. At first it seems like it is intended for the Zebedee bros, but Jesus’ words echo more broadly as they always do. They settle in my gut too. Jesus says, “you know a culture where people lord power over each other, a culture where people are primarily serving themselves.” They do. I do. In a culture like that, people don’t get what they want because everyone is watching their back. In a culture like that, judgment and punishment and shame are policing every corner and in a culture like that, it’s no surprise that all these tyrants spring up. Actual tyrants who rule with violence and fear, or the sneakier tyrants, like conformity and discrimination, peer pressure and addiction, eating disorders and angry mobs. A deep loneliness because no one can say who they really are. Violence inside and violence outside. I start to wonder: Was Jesus talking about gentiles in the 1 st century or today or to us today? Maybe’s speaking to every group of humans that has ever existed? Then, also for the third time, Jesus says not so among you. We are not playing this game.
Our orientation is different. Our true north is different. Our values are different. Ours is a culture where greatness means service to all. Our compass points to a different kind of power, a power rooted and grounded in the love of God. We have a different center of gravity, one in which people lift others up. As he stares down the road they are on, he knows he will give himself for them first.
Servant leadership, maybe because it is allergic to self-promotion, is often something you
see someone else do first and it forever changes you. I remember a Home Depot store manager who always took the furthest parking spot in the lot. I remember watching my mom care for her mom when she had cancer, and I remember all those times she cared for me. I remember teachers, coaches, so many church members who gave so generously. I notice that it didn’t leave them depleted. In fact it seemed to give something priceless back to them.
This week, Tony Bennett stepped down as Coach of UVA Men’s Basketball. And in his tearful farewell, he quoted a missionary, Jim Elliot, saying: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” The reward system of sports is whole ‘nother sermon, but he changed the conversation to a set of values bigger than the paycheck and more powerful than the title.
“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” As true as this is, I think Jesus knows how difficult it is for us to accept on its face. We want success. We don’t want struggle or sacrifice or suffering or surrender, even if they contain blessings. This truth was hard for James and John. And it is hard for me. David Foster Wallace said, “Everything I ever let go of has claw marks on it.” He saw that phrase was written on the wall at an addiction rehab center. But at some point, if we are lucky, we realize that everything we love is on loan from God, it is not ours. That includes our time, our talents, our treasure, our health, our country, our world, our life itself. We get to share it with others as exuberantly as we can, and then we give it back. And it is that shift that leads us to heaven.
Perhaps you have heard of the parable of the long spoons. It goes something like this. A man on the brink of death has a vision. An escort takes him to the afterlife. First, they enter a great hall where a long candle-lit banquet table is laden with bowls of steaming, fragrant soups, succulent roasts, perfectly cooked vegetables, aromatic loaves of bread, the finest of wines, fruits of every kind, and a dazzling array of cakes and pies. Diners fill every chair, but shockingly, amid luxurious bounty, the scene is one of pain and anguish. Skeletal forms are twisted and moaning in starvation, with barely the strength to strike at each other with their spoons.
Looking closer, our Friend sees that all spoons have long handles—longer than the diners’ arms; too long for the diners to feed themselves. “So this is Hell,” gasps our Friend. “Anger and misery amid abundance. Where’s the Devil?” “Evil resides in the hearts of men,” says Escort, “But, come, let me show you something else.”
The two enter another great hall. And in that hall there is another long, candle-lit banquet table, covered with a similar incredible spread of delicious foods, drinks and sweets. Here the sounds of laughter, chatter and song fill the hall while healthy and happy diners are enjoying the company and the bounty before them.
They, too, have long spoons, but they are feeding each other. “And this,” the Escort tells
our Friend, “is heaven.” Heaven is where we feed each other. Week after week, I come to church to reorient my compass. Away from myself and my judgments and fears and all the mini-tyrants who live in my brain. I reorient my compass to the pull of the cross and the empty tomb where God gave so freely so that you and I might be free like that, free to love, free to serve, free to weep about cancer or Gaza or our relationship with our loved one, knowing that even suffering grounded in God’s love and community yields its own power. The compass draws us to this table where we still taste heaven and then we go out from here and give it away again.
Amen.