SERMONS
Sean Gilbert – 13/8/09
Christ Church Mark 8:27-38
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves
and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save
their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake,
and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
I wonder how many sermons have been awkwardly preached around this
theme or how many study groups left to ponder, just what on earth is
it all supposed to mean; a self giving so great that nothing seems
to be left but blood, sweat and tears? A used up husk of humanity,
and for what good reason?
Well, what might be the paradox of faith we are invited to see afresh
this morning?
I think a helpful clue lies within the person of Jesus himself. His
teaching, of course mirrors the path being taken. His life is his
message. And as we know, that was a path of radical self giving, albeit
sacrifice. Yet quite naturally and simultaneously it seems, there
is always a deep and abiding sense of who he is; a denial
of self surely but this does not mean a non-self or an empty human
shell.
His conscious movement toward probable execution at Jerusalem then,
is not simply a dutiful or religious act. His self-giving flows
from a heart brimming with love, like a reservoir’s waters spilling
over the slipway whilst being fed by various catchments. And such is
the paradox for us of hard yards in this given life and yet an empowering,
replenishing grace; a grace that ever reminds us of our worth and dignity,
whilst giving us the courage to follow where love may lead; despite
the sufferings and potential losses.
It is not an easy balance to get right though, is it? Such is
the practical need of self giving to the world, talk of self care and
self value seems cheap, if not a little egocentric. Delusional
even! Yet there remains a truism, that in order for a self to
be denied or authentically given away, there needs to be a self in
residence within here in the first place. Because it is that
self-hood, that content of character, that reservoir of creativity
and grace that becomes the substance and legacy of our unique expression
of love to the world. Not mere activity in Christ’s name,
nor obligatory responses to life, but all we are; the very
essence of who we are. This is the substance and content of the
self’s denial – self giving.
Liz Boase (who is preaching here next week, by the way) suggested
last week that she was tempted to call out at the beginning of the
service that it wasn’t Nelson Mandela who authored the phrase
I read: “As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence
automatically liberates others.” It was actually written
by one Marianne Williamson. The fuller quote is well known also
but worth repeating here again, I think:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our
light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who
am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually,
who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing
small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about
shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We
are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest
the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us;
it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously
give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated
from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
This ownership (and authorship) of our selves, is the Christian
gift to give and give and give to the world. It will not always
be received with thanksgiving or adulation, particularly in our own
cultural context, wherein self-belief is often equated with unbridled
pride or big headedness. Playing small, at times, and demanding
that others do the same, is almost a national past time, except for
our sporting heroes. They, of course, need to be for us what
we never can be. But if we can get past that hurdle, that mean-spirited
cringe toward ourselves and our neighbor, what we will notice through
our generosity and audacity of spirit, is people rising to their own
occasion and celebrating the only short life they have been given;
our own liberation being as a key to help set others free from prisons
of fear and diffidence.
And so, although seemingly dour and exacting, the words of Jesus are
ultimately about life given, not life denied, and about his determination
to share life’s wonder and the human capacity to express love,
even in the face of the most strident and disbelieving voices. To take
up his cross then, is to follow that same big hearted and believing
path in this complex and pained world. A broad path that I suspect
we all experience to be quite narrow and demanding at times. It is
about making conscious choices for love and for life and laying everything
on the line for their hoped-for fruition, even through great human
sufferings. It is about risking all we are, for the end or at
least the diminishment of fear in this fear-ridden world.
In his last days in prison before his execution at the hand of the
Nazi’s (Gestapo), Deitrich Bonhoefer wrote these famous, telling
words to a life-long friend:
During the last year or so I have come to appreciate the worldliness of
Christianity as never before. The Christian is not a homo religosus, but a
man, pure and simple, just as Jesus was a man, on par with John the Baptist
anyhow. I don't mean the shallow this-worldliness of the enlightened, of the
busy, the comfortable or the lewd. It's something much more profound than that,
something in which the knowledge of death and resurrection is ever present.
I believe Luther lived a this-worldly life in this sense.
I remember talking to a young French pastor thirteen years ago.
We were discussing what our real purpose was in life. He said he
would like to become a saint. I think it is quite likely he
did become one. At the time I was very much impressed, though
I disagreed with him, and said I should prefer to have faith, or
words to that effect. For a long time I did not realise how far we
were apart. I thought I could acquire faith by trying to live a holy
life or something like it. It was in this phase that I wrote the
Cost of Discipleship. Today I can see the dangers of this book, though
I am prepared to stand by what I wrote.
Later I discovered, and am still discovering up to this very
moment, that it is only by living completely in this world
that one learns to believe. One must attempt to abandon every attempt
to make something of oneself, whether it be a saint, a churchman
(the priestly type, so called!) a righteous man or an unrighteous
one, a sick man or a healthy one. This is what I mean by worldliness
- taking life in one's stride, with all its duties and problems,
its successes and failures, its experiences and helplessness. It
is in such a life that we throw ourselves into the arms of God and
participate in his sufferings in the world and watch with Christ
in Gethsemane. That is faith, that is metonoia and that is what makes
a man and a Christian (cf Jeremiah 45) How can success make us arrogant
or failure lead us astray, when we participate in the sufferings
of God by living in this world?
I think you get my meaning, though I put it so briefly. I am
glad I have been able to learn it, and I know I could only have done
so along the road I have traveled. So I am grateful and content with
the past and the present. Perhaps you are surprised at the personal
tone of this letter, but if for once I want to talk like this, to
whom else should I say it? May God in his mercy lead us through these
times. But above all may he lead us to himself!
To follow in the ways of the Christ – in this present, given
reality - is to continually throw ourselves into the merciful arms
of God. And from that quite vulnerable, healing, affirming, ennobling,
all too human place (the place of true selfhood), love can and will
arise, and it will express itself both courageously and hopefully for
the sake of a better, if not redeemed world.
In our desire to participate - and before the mystery that is God -
let us be still….
