(A sermon for November 1, 2020, based on Matthew 23:1-12)
I sometimes wonder about my own kind.
I’m talking about preachers, ministers, and other supposed Christian leaders.
When I look around at them, I find that many of them seem to want the kinds of honor and attention that Jesus said we shouldn’t want. They want to be famous. They want to be powerful. They want to be honored.
Maybe that’s why some of them sell their souls to politicians and other power brokers.
I suppose it’s possible for a minister to do the right thing by speaking out prophetically and just happen to become well-known sort of accidentally. But it may be more possible to become intoxicated by the sweet taste of what the world calls “success” and to desire more and more of it.
Jesus said that the Pharisees were much too interested in being recognized, noticed, and honored. They liked the attention and praise that came with their position.
It’s not as if I’m immune. When I preach a sermon, I want people to hear it. When I write a book, I want people to read it. The more people who buy it, the more pleased I am. I put my name on a newspaper column that dozens of people in two counties read every other week. I promote my writings, so I promote myself. I’m ordained, so people call me “The Reverend Ruffin.” I have a Ph.D., so people call me “Doctor Ruffin.” (In my defense, I never insist that people call me by those titles, except for my college students.)
Maybe I’m just lucky or blessed that I never became famous. I can assume that I’d handle fame well when I have no experience to tell me otherwise.
So one problem with too many Christian leaders is that they think it’s more about them than it is about others.
Another problem with too many Christian leaders is that they think it’s more about others than it is about them.
Jesus said that the Pharisees “tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them” (v. 4).
This is also a warning to Christian leaders. We are just as liable for expecting more of others than we expect of ourselves. We err just as badly when we value our words about Scripture more than we value Scripture. We are just as much at fault when we fail to live so that our lives proclaim the gospel just as much (or more) than our words do. We do just as wrong when we want to control other people’s lives while not letting the ways of Jesus control ours.
Christian leaders also do wrong when we don’t wrap our teachings and expectations in love, grace, and mercy. Jesus didn’t challenge the Pharisees’ commitment to and knowledge of the Scriptures. What he did challenge was their application of the Scriptures’ teaching. When we look at the ways that Jesus interpreted and applied the requirements of Scripture, we see that he did so with a focus on human frailty, human need, and human reality. That is how Christian preachers, teachers, and leaders should interpret and apply Scripture too. We should try to help people to live in light of the fact that God loves them and wants them to be free. We should not try to limit and control their lives.
Our leaders are to be servant leaders. They should speak and lead in ways that put the needs of others before their own. They should love and lead as Jesus did.
Now, most—and maybe all—of you have relaxed during this sermon because you think, “I’m not a Christian leader, so none of this applies to me.” But you are and it does.
You lead in your family, in your church, and in your community. You lead through your perspective, your attitudes, your words, and your actions. Somebody is watching you. More people than you can imagine might be watching. But even if only one or two people are watching you, the leadership of your example still matters.
Gandhi was talking to a Christian missionary about the ways Christian preachers preached in India. He said, “Do they spread the perfume of their lives? That is to me the sole criterion. All I want them to do is to live Christian lives, not to annotate them” (Barbara Brown Taylor, Holy Envy, p. 151). How are we spreading the perfume of our lives? How are our lives bearing witness to the love, mercy, grace, and compassion of Jesus? How are we thinking of others before we think of ourselves?
Such living should permeate every area of our lives.
As you know, Tuesday is Election Day. With early and mail-in voting, we’ve been in Election Season for weeks. Chances are that many of us have already voted. But most of us will have other opportunities to vote in the future (probably in the near future, given the possibility of run-offs being required).
I was listening to a podcast (Throughline) about the history of elections in the United States. At the beginning, voters (just land-owning white men) had to publicly declare for whom they were voting. Such practices didn’t last because of voter intimidation. But public voting at least acknowledged that a voter’s vote wasn’t just about the voter—it was about the community.
When Christians vote, we should think about others more than we think about ourselves. We should vote in ways that we think will lead to the most good for the people in our community, in our state, in our nation, and in our world.
In all things, including our voting, we are to be servants. We are to think of others before we think of ourselves. We are to act out of love, grace, mercy, and compassion.
I have had a recurring—well, I don’t know what you’d call it. I’m pretty sure it’s not a vision (I know I don’t go into a trance). Maybe it’s just a fantasy. Maybe it’s just the result of my imagination running away with me. Or maybe it’s a hope.
Whatever it is, I’ve decided to put it in writing for the first time. So here goes.
Jesus has returned. The great messianic banquet is taking place. There is a head table. Other tables go out from the head table as far as even our new heavenly eyes can see.
Jesus is sitting at the center of the head table. A group of people are milling about near it. They are as close to it as they can get without standing on the same side where Jesus sits.
I recognize some of them. They were famous on Earth. They were big-time preachers and pastors. They were powerful in church circles and in politics. They sought and attained the limelight. They appeared on talk shows and news broadcasts. They are shaking each other’s hands, slapping each other’s backs, and telling each other how much they’re looking forward to receiving their reward for all the ways they served the kingdom of God.
If I concentrate real hard, I can see another group. They are milling about way down the line of tables. It’s hard to calculate, but they seem to be somewhere between a million and a billion tables away. I recognize a few of them. One was a lady I knew who spent much time visiting shut-in and sick folks and never telling anyone about it. One was a social worker who worked in anonymity with hurting families. Another was a pastor who served the same small church in the same small community for forty years.
Jesus rises from his seat. He lifts his hands. He says, loudly and clearly, “Come to the head table…” The group milling about near the table lift their heads and smile, ready to approach their rightful place. As they begin to move toward the chairs behind the head table, Jesus motions to them to stop. He then completes his invitation: “…my sisters and brothers who spent your lives in humble service.”
The group of well-known and powerful leaders stop in their tracks, stunned and astonished looks on their faces. I look at the group standing far down the rows of tables. They look at each other. They look around. They wonder what people Jesus is summoning.
Jesus smiles. “You,” he says to the faraway group. “I’m talking to you. Come, take your places at my table.”
The group that has been milling about the head table began to walk slowly down the line of tables. They occasionally look back toward Jesus. When they do, he motions for them to keep walking. “Keep moving down toward the end,” he calls to them. “I’ll holler when you get there. It’ll be a while.”
Standing far away from the head table, I find myself smiling. Then I wonder which way I should walk to find my seat…
