Servant Preachers, Servant Christians, Servant Voters

(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…

Arc Voting

Well, here we are, three weeks from Election Day. We’re in the stretch drive. It’s a sprint to the finish. This one’s for all the marbles. (Apply other cliches as you see fit.) 

 I guess we think every election is potentially world-altering. Maybe they all are. There’s no doubt that events would have unfolded differently had any election gone the other way. I mean, imagine if the two most recent presidential elections in which the winner got the most electoral votes but not the most popular votes had been won by Gore rather than Bush and by Clinton rather than Trump. Some of us think things would have been better, others of us think they would have been worse, but I’m sure we all agree they would have been different—and drastically different at that. 

I recently heard an interview with a history professor about the upcoming presidential election. The interviewer asked the professor if this election would be as consequential as it felt like it might be. The professor said something like, “Well, if you think things such as democracy, civil rights, and healthcare are important, then yes, it will be a very consequential election.” It will also be a consequential election if you think things such as international relationships, economic fairness, and basic human decency are important. 

As a Christian (and an ordained minister too) and an American, I think about how Christian Americans vote and about how they decide how to vote. We really can’t talk about “the Christian vote,” because there are all sorts of Christians who focus on different issues in making their decisions. Every now and then I see a post on social media (always, I think, copied from somewhere else) that says something like, “As a Christian, I will vote for the candidate that takes the following positions on select issues,” then lists a few of them with a Bible verse (or verses) purporting to back up each one. The ones I see are always from what I think can fairly be termed a conservative evangelical perspective. 

Christians with other perspectives could do the same thing. So, for example, I could say that as a Christian, I will vote for the candidate that supports the following positions. 

1. Economic justice. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives…” (Luke 4:18; see also Isaiah 1:17; Proverbs 29:7; Exodus 23:6). 

2. Better treatment of underpaid, oppressed, and migrant workers. “Listen! The wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts” (James 5:4). 

3. Protection of the environment. “Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must treat down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet?” (Ezekiel 34:18; see also Jeremiah 2:7; Revelation 11:18). 

4. Universal healthcare. “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’” (Matthew 25:37-40; see also Proverbs 21:13). 

Now some of you will check my references (Well done! I do that too!) and say, “When we read those verses in their context and apply rigorous interpretive methodologies to them, they might not quite support the positions you name.” And you may be right. At least in some cases. At least somewhat and partially. But you see, that is the problem with relying on prooftexts to support a position: if we fail to take context into account, we may inappropriately apply a Bible verse to our position. 

We really need to take the overall trajectory of the Bible into account. We need to take what I call the trajectory of the Spirit into account. Where is the Bible pointing? Where is the Spirit leading? I believe that creation, including this blue globe that is our home, is moving toward being all that God intends for it to be. 

Some Christians used to think that if we worked hard enough to make the world as good as possible, it would finally become good enough for the kingdom of God to come in its fullness. Events like World War I and the Great Depression pretty much ended such thinking. Other Christians believe that the world is inevitably going to get worse and worse until God finally has enough and brings it to an end. That strikes me as a defeatist position that allows you to ignore the problems that oppress, marginalize, and harm people. 

Count me among those Christians who believe that in Christ, God is working God’s purposes out, and that in the meantime we should live in hope, doing all the good we can and making things better as much as we can, not because we believe such actions will bring in the kingdom, but rather because we believe that such living is our privilege and responsibility. 

Dr. Martin Luther King, paraphrasing an idea first expressed by the Unitarian minister Theodore Parker not long before the American Civil War, said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” 

So does the arc of the Bible. So does the arc of the Spirit. And I work, write, and vote in the fervent hope that the arc of the United States of America does too.

Sixty-Two

I turned sixty-two years old on September 24. My college students think that makes me ancient. Some of you think I’m still young. Those of you were also born in 1958 are probably thinking, “Yeah, me too.” To my contemporaries, I say, “I’m glad we made it.” I also say, “I wish we all had.”

Anyway, turning sixty-two is no big deal. 

Then again it is. For one thing, I’m now old enough to retire. I’m not going to retire, but I could if I needed or wanted to do so. I feel a sense of accomplishment in this. I’ve worked my whole life. It’s nice to know I could stop. 

On the other hand, I wouldn’t stop working even if I retired. I mean, I’d stop going to the office every day, but I’d still work. I wouldn’t be an editor anymore, but editing is only one thing I do. I’m also a writer, a preacher, and a teacher. I hope and plan to keep doing those things for as long as I’m physically and mentally able to write and talk in coherent ways. (I started to say in ways that make sense, but I’m perfectly coherent now, and I’m fully aware that much of what I say doesn’t make sense to some folks.)

Another reason turning sixty-two is a big deal to me is that I’m getting to the point where I can say I’ve lived a lot longer than my parents did. My mother died at fifty-three and my father at fifty-seven. I suppose until I passed fifty-seven, I had the thought in the back of my mind that I might be genetically predisposed not to make it to sixty, but now I’m two years past it. There’s no deep meaning to that fact, but I have lived long enough to be within shouting distance of a golden wedding anniversary (if I shout real loud), to still be here for my grown children, and to get to know my grandchildren, none of which my parents got to do. I’m grateful.

A third reason that turning sixty-two is significant to me is that I had to live sixty-two years to get here. They have been sixty-two full and meaningful years. I have had sixty-two years of experiences that have brought me to this point in my life. 

I’ve had sixty-two years of knowing and being known. I’ve had sixty-two years of loving and being loved. I’ve had sixty-two years of studying, learning, and thinking. I’ve had sixty-two years of growing, evolving, and changing. I’ve had sixty-two years of falling down and getting up. I’ve had sixty-two years of failing and succeeding. I’ve had sixty-two years of relating to people and of trying to get away from people. I’ve had sixty-two years of being amazed at how wonderful life can be and of being shocked at how terrible it can be. I’ve had sixty-two years of befuddlement peppered with glorious moments of clarity. I’ve had sixty-two years of the joy of growing closer to some and of the sorrow of growing apart from others. 

In other words, I’ve had sixty-two years of life. As the old man in the Jimmy Buffet song says, “Some of it’s magic, and some of it’s tragic, but I’ve had a good life all the way.”

Thanks be to God.

Wounded Leaders

A man named Jacob is one of the lead characters in the biblical book of Genesis, and he’s a fascinating one. 

He and his brother were twin sons born to a woman named Rebekah, who was married to Abraham’s son Isaac. While Rebekah was pregnant with the boys, she was having so much difficulty that she asked the Lord what was going on. The Lord told her that two nations were struggling within her, which explained a lot. 

The competition continued as they were being born—Esau was born first, but Jacob was holding onto his brother’s heel. Thus he received the name Jacob, which means “heel-grabber” or “supplanter.” 

This sibling rivalry continued as the brothers grew. Fueled by ambition and gifted with shrewdness, Jacob cheated his older brother out of the special benefits and blessings that in ancient cultures fell to the firstborn son. Esau responded by declaring that as soon as their father Isaac died, he was going to kill his brother. Jacob found it best to get out of Beer-sheba and head up to his mother’s home territory of Haran. 

On his way, Jacob stopped to spend the night. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway between earth and heaven with angels going up and down on it. God spoke to Jacob, promising to be with him and to bring back to the land he was leaving. So Jacob named the place Bethel, which means “House of God.” 

He then continued his trip, no doubt fortified and encouraged by the vision he’d seen and the words he’d heard. 

Believing they’ve heard God say that God is going to protect them and give them success puts a person in a challenging situation. How will they receive such a word? Will they receive it with arrogance, or will they accept it with humility? Will they strut forward proudly, feeling justified in crushing anything and anybody that stands in their way? Or will they proceed humbly, trusting God to show them how to approach obstacles and to deal with opponents? 

Jacob spent the next twenty years in Haran. A lot of things happened to him there, some of them positive, some of them negative, and many of them a combination of positive and negative. But after two decades, the bottom line was that Jacob had a large family and much wealth. God had indeed protected and blessed him. Now, he was ready return home. 

As the caravan neared Canaan, an advance team reported to Jacob that Esau was coming to meet him with four hundred men. Not knowing if his brother still had murderous intent after two decades, Jacob devised some strategies to try to appease his brother and, if necessary, to try to preserve at least some of his family and his holdings. 

On the night before he was to meet Esau, Jacob spent the night alone beside the Jabbok River. There someone wrestled with him all night. As the new day was breaking, Jacob’s opponent hit him on the hip and put it out of joint. Jacob believed that had been struggling with God; he named the place Peniel, which means “Face of God,” because, he said, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” God changed Jacob’s name to Israel, which means “One who strives with God,” for, God said, “You have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” 

Again, how does someone receive such a pronouncement? Do they receive it with arrogance? Or do they incorporate it with humility? 

We see the answer, I think, in the way Jacob approached Esau the next day. Jacob didn’t boldly charge up to Esau. He rather bowed down seven times as he approached his brother. Jacob is now Israel. The one who seized Esau’s place is now the one who survived a wrestling match with God. 

But Jacob walks away from the encounter with God with a limp. I suspect this means that Jacob’s entire life experience had left him with a limp. Jacob’s life with God, his life with others, and his life with himself has left him wounded and humbled. 

Jacob was a great leader. His new name Israel would be the name of the nation that would descend from him. But he was a wounded leader. I suspect his best qualities developed from his wounds. 

I believe that men and women whose wounds have blessed them with humility make better leaders—make better people—than those whose privilege has saddled them with arrogance. 

(This article first appeared in the Barnesville Herald-Gazette and the Pike County Journal-Reporter.)

On the Front Lines

I’m sure you join me in appreciating those who are on the front lines of the battle against the COVID-19 pandemic.

When we think about the front line warriors fighting the pandemic, medical professionals probably come to mind first. We are grateful for the doctors, nurses, physician assistants, nurse practitioners, and lab technicians who deal directly with sick people. We appreciate the support staff who help with the process. We are grateful for Emergency Medical Technicians who treat and transport people in medical crisis.

Whether they work in hospitals, doctors’ offices, walk-in clinics, or public health departments, medical professionals put their health and lives on the line to help us stay healthy or get well. They are doing valiant work to stem the tide of the pandemic. They are heroes.

We can now add teachers to those who are on the front lines of the fight against the coronavirus. While this applies to all teachers, I especially have our public school teachers in mind (and on my heart).

Teachers in our area are in preplanning. In addition to their usual work of preparing their lesson plans and classrooms, they are also preparing to create and maintain an environment in which students and teachers will be as safe as possible from the spread of COVID-19. When students report for school soon (assuming plans don’t change), teachers will add pandemic curtailment to their already vital tasks of education and socialization.

It’s more than they signed up for, but they will face it head-on. Their courage is but one element of their dedication. We need to appreciate, encourage, and support our teachers as well other school personnel, including paraprofessionals, administrators, school nurses, librarians, lunchroom workers, custodians, and bus drivers (and anyone else I didn’t mention).

What can we do for our teachers as they begin this more challenging than usual school year?

First, we can pray for them. We can ask God to help and protect them.

Second, we can support adequate funding for our schools. We can advocate for prioritizing public education in the budgets adopted by our national, state, and local representatives. We can resist efforts to redirect funding from public to private schools. We can insist on the importance of public education in moving us toward more equality and toward greater security and insist that it be funded at levels commensurate with its contributions to our society.

Third, we parents, grandparents, and other family members can guide the students in our families to follow the guidelines laid down by their schools that their teachers must enforce. We can respect science. We can learn how to differentiate between information and misinformation and teach our children how to do the same. If we espouse conspiracy theories, dismiss the pandemic as a hoax, downplay the seriousness of the situation, and refuse to follow reasonable guidelines of social distancing, mask wearing, and handwashing, our children will pick up on it and will likely follow our lead, which will make the teachers’ jobs that much harder. It will also increase the chances of our children getting sick.

Our teachers and all others who contribute to our children’s education are on the front lines in the battle against COVID-19. They are heroes. Let’s give them our full support.

What Makes You Cry

It was summertime, sometime in the late 1960s. I was, as many children did (and I hope still do), participating in the public library’s summer reading program. I was reading Fred Gipson’s 1942 novel Old Yeller.

I knew the book was about a boy and his dog. I didn’t know much else about it. I’d never seen the 1957 Walt Disney film based on the book. It might have aired on the Wonderful World of Disney by the time I read the book, but I wouldn’t have seen it because I never saw the Disney program because it came on during Sunday night church time and my parents thought we had to be there every time the church doors were opened and that was that.

(I also never saw the Ed Sullivan Show for the same reason. I mean, who needed to be introduced to the Beatles, the Beach Boys, and the Rolling Stones when you could sing the same old hymns and hear another sermon instead? But I’m not bitter. Nope, not at all.)

Anyway, I didn’t know that Travis (the boy in the book) has to shoot Old Yeller because the dog contracts rabies. It broke my heart. I went crying to my mother.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“The boy had to shoot Old Yeller,” I sobbed.

“You shouldn’t read things that are going to make you cry,” she said.

I stopped crying and looked at her. “Well, I couldn’t know it was going to make me cry until I read it, could I?”

My mother gave me a lot of good advice during my growing-up years. The advice she gave me that day wasn’t good. In fact, it was downright bad.

We shouldn’t avoid the things that will make us cry. Besides, we couldn’t if we tried. Why do I say that? Because the only way to avoid the things that make us cry is to avoid life. If we live, we’re going to experience hurt, loss, grief, sadness, and sorrow. If we live, we’re going to cry.

There’s been a lot to cry about lately. There is the COVID-19 pandemic, which has cost us life, health, in-person interaction, and prosperity. There is the systemic and institutional racism that has long afflicted our nation, but which some people are just now waking up to (victims of it and their advocates have long been aware of it). There is the political polarization that has divided us since the 2016 presidential campaign and that may get worse (I hope not) during this 2020 campaign.

We can try to ignore it all. We can try to wish it all away. We can pretend the crises don’t exist. We can justify such approaches by telling ourselves that it’s all too painful to deal with. We can tell ourselves, to paraphrase my mother, “We shouldn’t look at things that are going to make us cry.”

But I say that we should look at these and the other crises facing us. I say we should let the horror of it all sweep over us. I say we should acknowledge the problems with their accompanying pain and let the tears flow.

We should then wipe our eyes, stiffen our spines, examine our hearts, and join with those who are trying to do something to make things better.