October 18, 2009 | 8:00 a.m.

Competition or Community?

Jocelyn C. Cadwallader
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Mark 10:35–45
Hebrews 5:1–10

Churches, like other organizations, develop their structures systems, and rituals for governance and continuity. These can be quite important, for they sustain common life and work, but such structures are in the end provisional. In Paul’s words, they are “clay jars,” not to be confused with the “extraordinary power [that] belongs to God” (2 Corinthians 4:7). The church belongs to and owes its existence to God and not to us. God has created and claimed the church for God’s purposes.

William H. Willimon
“Church Renewal as Theological Recovery”

Yesterday I did something that I’ve always wanted to do, and like I suspected, it was an incredible experience. Ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted to skydive. There has always been something intriguing to me about skydiving. Perhaps it’s because I love swimming so much—being in the water, feeling the weightlessness of my own body—that I was drawn towards it. Perhaps it was the thrill of doing something that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but at the same time gives one the sense of awe for life and this world. I don’t know. But I’ve always wanted to skydive.

Now just to be clear, I’m not a complete daredevil. I probably wouldn’t bungee jump if you paid me. There is seemingly more room for error, more finality, to bungee jumping than tandem skydiving. Perhaps not, but that’s how I see it in my mind! But no matter the reason, yesterday I went skydiving.

We arrived at the hangar, registered, and waited about two hours until it was our time to get into our jumpsuits and harnesses and head to the plane. The tiny plane took four of us jumpers with our instructors and a couple of camera jumpers up to 14,000 feet. There was a red light to give us the two-minute warning, then the yellow to open the door, and the green to indicate that we were over the target zone, and we needed to jump to be sure not to land in the middle of a cornfield in the next town over!

As my instructor was attaching himself to me on the way up, securing our four points of connection, he asked me if I was nervous, and admittedly I was. He asked what I was specifically nervous about, and honestly, it was the part that we were in at that moment. I was anxious about sitting in the plane, knowing that that was a one-way trip to 14,000 feet and it was up to me and Eddie to make it back to the ground without the plane. I was anxious about kneeling at the edge of the plane, with the door open, looking down on the clouds and square miles of farmland, which seemed like a patchwork quilt made for Paul Bunyan, and thinking about whether or not I would be able to actually jump out of the plane. Perhaps it was because there were four of us that needed to get out over the drop zone or perhaps he wanted to put me out of my misery of anxiety before the jump, but when that green light came on, he told me to put my head back, arch my back, and as I was concentrating to take the first step towards the door, we were out of the plane and I was screaming.

Rotating on our side, I saw the plane and then the ground. It was negative 20 degrees up there, and my tears created by the wind had frozen to my goggles. I was gasping to breathe, in fact to a point where I felt I had no air nor would I ever again. And we were dropping, the altimeter on my wrist indicating we were losing altitude. It became easier to breathe, and we were floating. Though falling, it felt as if we were floating, weightless. Though in my mind I knew that I was plummeting to the ground, thousands of feet below me, and I was steadily moving towards it at 120 mph, I wasn’t able to feel it. And what I was seeing was unbelievable, almost. I mean, I have flown before, seen the ground from 30,000 feet even, but this was something different, a glimpse of the earth in a way that I could only feebly describe. And as my instructor pulled our rip cord and our parachute safely opened and slowed our pace to a delightful and silent sail, I realized I was seeing the world in a completely different way, a completely new way. It was a perspective I couldn’t have predicted, couldn’t have envisioned, until I saw it in a new way. And after a week of studying, praying with, and living with our scripture text for this morning, in this experience of seeing as the same thing yet completely different something that I’ve always known, I discovered new ears to hear.

· · ·

Today’s story in Mark 10 is one that I have always found to be an interesting one. Challenging, to say the least—potentially challenging to the point of paralysis. We often read this passage as “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” In a culture driven by number one, this particular word of scripture can be difficult for us to understand, for us to swallow even. Seemingly, in this passage, Jesus draws a line. He clearly defines that the powers that be, those in power over others—rulers, tyrants, governments—those who seek power to lord it over others, to be in control, these follow the rule of there must be a first and there must be a last. There is a distinct dynamic at play to define who has power and who does not, who is first and who is last.

However, in the context of the disciples, he clearly states that it is the disciple who seeks to serve and because of this service must be great. Do you see? Jesus was not applying the same rule to the disciple. One who serves is inherently great. There is a line drawn, a caveat, if you will, for the disciples. And he’s making a distinction. Jesus recognizes the power structures in place in society and the power dynamics at play and claims there is a different paradigm for the disciples to work within. Sounds clear enough—nice enough, even. But how can the disciples separate themselves from the structures that are so engrained within them to comprehend what it is Jesus is talking about? How can we?

We exist within a structure of power. In fact, nearly every aspect of American culture is within a power structure—even the church, if we’re honest. There are power dynamics that relate to economics, race, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, and even among generations. There are institutional power dynamics and personal power dynamics. There are power dynamics that are recognized and unrecognized, ignored and known, and each of us, with our varied identities, plays into those dynamics in different ways, depending on our particular situation.

Take the disciples. In this text, we see they are products of a power-structured society. The sons of Zebedee ask Jesus to sit at his right hand and his left in glory. They desire to be with him always. Here, on earth, and in glory they want to be by his side, drink his cup, receive his baptism. Whether or not they saw this as a power play, seemingly the other disciples did and responded angrily, perhaps out of jealousy of wanting to be on either Jesus’ right or left, or perhaps they too, simply, have a deep appreciation and understanding of being a servant and felt James and John served them poorly by asking Jesus this favor. Either way, they seemingly were unable to rid themselves of the power structure in which they have been engrained. Jesus recognizes this and works within the structure to bring new light.

Last weekend, Sarah, Joann, Calum, and I went to Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, to take part in a conference with residents and program directors from the four other large Presbyterian churches who take part in the Lilly Residency program. There were fifteen new pastors and several seasoned pastors in attendance, and we spent the weekend with William Willimon, a Methodist bishop and author of several books on pastoral ministry. On Saturday, we spent six hours with Bishop Willimon, and he led us in a discussion of ten thesis statements on the future of the church. For example, he would postulate a statement such as, “The pastoral ministry in mainline Protestantism will need to redefine itself in the light of the spiritual needs of people under thirty-five or else it will continue to decline because it has limited itself to the spiritual affairs of one generation,” and we would discuss our thoughts on it. One of my favorites to discuss was “Presbyterians will either become engaged in the mysterious, relentless growth of the kingdom of God, or they will die.”

We discussed, in depth, the generational gap among pastors and members in the Presbyterian church and the role that that plays in the life of the church. We talked about the need for people younger than the Baby Boomer generation to take responsibility in the church, to take the voice that is rightfully and honestly theirs and use it to speak to the peace of Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. Willimon, speaking to a room full of pastors in their mid-twenties to early-thirties, encouraged us as pastors to take the lead, to take the responsibility that is ours, to receive the mantle of ministry from our predecessors, and he offered many broad generalizations of our generation, which for the most part, ring true. And though I was on board with much of what he was saying, there was a twinge of an inkling that we were beginning to pit the generations against one another in our conversations.

The younger generation needs to speak up. The older generation needs to relinquish some of its power to allow the younger generation to do so. The younger generation is a critical generation and seeks to be a part of institutions that are honest about themselves. One cannot simply say the younger people should just speak up whilst not believing they have an equal voice to their own. The conversation about the church, about the faithful people of God, was steeped in the system of power in which it dwells—and on the other hand, we have this scripture with us this morning.

It is difficult to hear this message from Jesus that we are to separate ourselves from the cultural understanding of power, of being the first, of being powerful, and reframe it to see ourselves as servants, especially when tradition is vital to the livelihood of the institution. When we talk about institutions, such as the church, there are certainly power dynamics at play. Whether it is a person or a generation or some kind of people-group, we struggle to balance this message that Jesus has for us that the greatest among us is our humblest servant and the power structure in which we dwell. But what does that mean for us? We want to live into the creativity of the Spirit and trust that God is ruler of all, Christ, the head of the church, and at the same time, live into the legacy of the generations that have gone before us to create such a space and tradition for us to live and breathe within. We want to live lives according to the gospel, to follow Jesus, yet we live within a greater power structure that we desire to speak to, to convey the message to. But how do we speak to power without being in power? We, as a church, struggle with this constantly.

As we read this text and seek to understand, are we to take away the message that focusing on being a more humble servant is a means to being the greatest? Or might it be something different? Might there be a different paradigm of understanding that we might hear in this text? As Jesus shares with his disciples, “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant.” And I don’t think Jesus is presenting this in a “what came first? The chicken or the egg?”-type paradigm. To Jesus it’s not about hierarchy; it’s not about power; it’s not about who comes in first place and who comes in last. The one who serves is the one who must be great. It’s not the service that then makes a great person, but the way to recognize greatness is to witness the servant. And frankly it’s not so important to recognize the greatness in another but to acknowledge the servant, the service, the desire to serve and allow inspiration to seep in, effect a change, and provide for a new paradigm in which to dwell and through which to see. Amen.