First Presbyterian Church of Watertown
Job 23 and Mark 10
“Are You in Line?”
The Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry
October 22, 2006
Going to a university with 36,000 people, you acquire the skill of standing in line. Most people may not see standing in line as a skill, but indeed it is. A big part of the skill is measuring the options. Is the value of my time at this moment equal to or less than the value I will receive at the end of the line? Now this equation assumes that what is at the end of the line is guaranteed, and any seasoned line stander can tell you this is a key question to ask early on. Nothing is worse than watching someone at the end of an hour wait be told, “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”
Another skill set is how to handle the inevitable. If you attend a university or are part of an organization or program where thousands of people who want the same thing at the same time is in direct and proportional opposition to the number of people who are there to provide that service, you need to learn how not to lose your cool, to not go insane. For it would make sense that if tens of thousands of people will want to change their schedule in the first week of classes, you may want to have more than one or two people fielding the paper work this change requires. Alas, inevitably such planning proves elusive and long lines are the result.
Perhaps the most key skill is to know when a conversation can begin with fellow line members. Start a conversation too early and you are doomed to shuffle with awkward silence or be embroiled in a conversation with not sign of escape. A skillful line stander knows that the proper time is the final quarter. Being tall I have an advantage. I can look ahead, measure the number still to go and those behind and divide by four. If all goes well, an awkward moment can be diffused by getting your papers ready, and a great conversation can easily be picked up after the line.
You see there is some real skill here. In college I also learned to enjoy the thrill of the unknown line. If a line is long at a state university, there is a kind of guarantee that something desirable is at the end. All you need is your social security number and it’s a certainty. So just get into line. For those who are so inclined, it can even be a game to listen as fellow line members speak as to what exactly is in the line. That is if they are not in the same habit and then it becomes a surprise for all.
Some years after college I was at another large university at their cancer research hospital. Now this is a regional facility with thousands of patients, thousands of staff, and thousands of students. Now of course there would only be one fast food restaurant in the entire hospital, in the basement, in an awkward corner. Well planned. The line to get my Wendys burger was about a hundred deep. Being a seasoned line stander I was ready for the challenge.
A man came up just after me. He waited for about a minute before asking, “Are you in line?” I gave him a look to suggest he could answer that one himself. He rephrased, “Are we in the line to order?” Turning to him, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I have no idea.” “Then why are you in line?” To which I said, “It’s a big line, there must be something good at the end.” The horror that came over his face suggested to me he went to a small liberal arts college. He put his face down and then walked away, sans Wendys burger. Standing in line isn’t as easy as it seems. It’s a skill I tell you.
One way to interpret the story of the rich man is the question of being in line. Jesus hints at this near the end when he says the first shall be last and the last, first. It may be something else intended here, but that sounds like a line to me. And if we recast the questions and dialogue of Jesus and the man in the context of lines, the man’s real question becomes, “Am I in the right line? I want to have eternal life, am I in the right line?” Jesus seems to review the paperwork. Have you kept the commandments; have you lived a life that is good? It is as if he is asking if the man has the needed information which is required at the head of the line.
In the airports they are doing this now. They send people through the lines, set up separate check points, so the people who are going the wrong direction, who lack the proper paper work, and people whose footwear is rather dubious can be weeded out and redirected. Jesus is in essence asking the man, do you have your ticket, your ID, and the foresight to wear loafers? To which the rich man says, I do, or, I have.
And when these preliminaries are complete, it says something unique in the gospels, it says, and Jesus loved him. He saw something in the man that was inspiration, hopeful. In the entire Gospel of Mark, the notion of Jesus loving someone, anyone, is only mentioned here. The other intriguing thing, the final thing that Jesus says to him, is also worth mentioning. “Follow me.” This may not seem significant, but it was in this way Jesus called the twelve. This is what Jesus said to the twelve when he called them to be his disciples, to set their life apart with him. It is only a possibility, but it is possible, that Jesus was inviting him to join the inner circle. It says, he loved this guy.
Before the invitation and after the claim of love, though, is something that seems rather cruel. Go and sell all you own and give the money to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven. And I am not the only one who thinks it was cruel. The rest of the disciples, of whom it says, they were upset, they didn’t think Jesus should have done that. They took issue with the request. It struck the twelve, just as it must strike most disciples today, as way over the top.
It is one thing for pastors to call for an increase in what people give to the church. And it’s even a challenge for many that I encourage people to tithe, to give ten percent of what we earn to the church. I know these things are a challenge, so the call to give it all away, has to ring a bit hollow, or cruel. Everything you own is a bit of membership fee. It makes the $20,000 membership fee at a country club look manageable. It makes tithing look doable.
Yet, and this will sound strange, I don’t think this passage is about money, or giving, or tithing, or even whether riches impede the pursuit of holiness. I don’t believe this passage is a good place to ask, can those with wealth follow Christ. I know this sounds strange. And it is not as if these are invalid questions. They are. And there are passages for this: the rich man and Lazarus, the anointing at Bethany, the prophet Haggai are all good places to ask the question of money and wealth and giving and tithing. But not this one.
This passage is something more; the money issue is an attribute or symptom of the problem, but not the substance we need to find in order to say, “this is the word of God.”
At our session meeting this week I asked the elders to help me reflect on this passage. I described to them my feelings of disconnect about the giving issue, saying, I’ve been raised in a generation who told their children its people not things, riches are your family and friends not your stuff. Now it helps or hinders that we are perhaps the wealthiest generation America has ever known, but that is another sermon. I asked the elders, "What does it mean to you, what do you hear when Jesus says, sell all you own and give it to the poor?"
Their answer was provocative and told me I had dismissed the call too quickly. They said, "It’s not the stuff you lose; it’s the identity, the security, employment. That struck a deep chord. I had never thought of this in terms of giving up work itself. That struck terror in me knowing how little I can do that. But then Marcia Deming changed our course. She said, "Those things may be hard, but that’s not the challenging thing to me. It’s the second thing Jesus says that’s really hard. The first thing is give up your possessions. Okay. But then he says, “and follow me.” That’s the hard one. That’s the one that takes faith."
A part of me wanted to say, how much easier this whole sermon thing would be if we had session once a week, but I didn’t. No need to scare people without cause. But that was it. That’s the one part I couldn’t see in this. I was so hung up on how little the call to divestment rung true in me. It’s just stuff. And the security, the identity, even the work, well, alright. But I have sat with enough people in the last years of their life to see that work is for a time and the best identity is not boss or engineer or professional but child of God, lamb of his fold, believer of his baptism. When I recast the question as two parts with the second being, "follow me," now the grief made sense.
This wasn’t a question of the bottom line; this was a question of control. What if my life is not my own, my definitions are dear, but ever at the direction of the Holy Spirit? Remember the words Jesus offered to him were the ones he’d given to the twelve, “follow me.” This was the leap of faith they had all made. In that moment Jesus said, be a disciple, not a believer, not a good person, but a disciple.
This is the question a church must ask: are we believing in Jesus or following Jesus believing in him more and more? Are we reading the bible for edification or are we hoping to hear the voice of Christ say, “follow me”?
Jesus lays this out when he says, rich not rich, smart or not smart, all things are possible for God. That’s not the question. Like the father in the passage we read last week, we believe, but are we praying to God to help our unbelief? And this is not a question of what we get or don’t get. Jesus dismisses this as well; whatever you’ve given away you will receive ten fold. It’s not a question then of what is at the end of the line, but how you abide, how you hope, how you trust.
I’ve stood in lines long enough to learn the skill. I know it all works out, it’s all good. Never forget your social security number, don’t talk to neighbors too soon, and never, never panic. Oh, and comfortable shoes are a big factor to be considered, but even this can be overcome.
Yet, if truth be told, it’s not the line; it’s not even being first or last; it’s not whether there is something good or even if there is enough. It’s the second part; it’s the question of following. Are we the first or the last church? Do we have enough, will there be enough? Are we doing right or wrong? No. If these are the questions we take from the passage we missed it.
Are we following in Christ where he leads as a church? This has been the great question shaping your elders for the last year. It takes awhile to ask such a question. Because you have to stop thinking as an individual. Their question is not if one person or if they as an individual are following, but are we as a church hearing Jesus says, “follow me.”
When I look back on the passage from this vantage it takes on a whole new meaning. The rich man wanted to inherit eternal life as part of his pursuit. He wanted Jesus to tell him he was on the right track, in the right line as it were. And Jesus invites him to be part of the disciples, to be more than himself. Could he be more than a rich man, could he become just one amongst the disciples, but yet so much more than just one? All of sudden the question of the riches becomes his excuse, his definition he cannot live without.
Are we a church following where Jesus is leading? Don’t be quick to answer. Asking the right question might be enough for us right now. You see though the way money or buildings or programs or policies or even missions all come under this one, and they cannot even come close to competing with its value. Are we as a church following where Jesus is leading?
When the man asked me if this was the line to order food and I said, I have no idea, I should have said more. I should have told him of my line standing experience. The only line I was concerned about was the one that moved closer to the food. Everything else would work out. I should have spoken to him about trust and what it means to follow with simple faith. Most likely he would have still walked away just as confused, but at least the next line he stood in would have had a whole new meaning. Amen.