Sermon, by Pastor Joel
Eighteenth Sunday After Pentecost
September 22, 2024
Jeremiah 11:18-20
Psalm 54
James 3:13—4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37
The context of this sermon is
100% written by a human
Humanity has a bad habit that we cannot seem to give up. It is a habit that we know is bad for us, for those around us, for the world we live in. This habit endangers our very future as a species, and yet we struggle to give it up. We struggle because it’s the way it has always been done. We struggle because it costs money and time and sacrifice to change it – which is the way of most insidious bad habits. What’s more, this bad habit will require the most fortunate to give up more than the least. To break our habit of consuming fossil fuels at the cost of the world, the greatest - as the disciples say in our gospel this morning - will have to sacrifice the most.
This weekend, some of our members participated in a rally for a treaty that hopes to address our use of fossil fuels. Coal, oil, and gas are responsible for 86% of all carbon emissions in the past decade. Scientists warn us that if we don’t change our ways, temperatures will continue to rise above what is liveable for human civilizations: our cities will become unbearably hot, the oceans will rise, and the forests will burn – even more than they already are.
Yet this treaty recognizes that we can’t just give up a habit cold turkey. We also can’t give up a habit just by talking about it. First, we have to stop making it worse – in this case, by not expanding the use of fossil fuels. We have to give and receive support, with nations with the capacity helping those without transition more smoothly into forms of green energy. And we need to ensure that this happens in a just way – with new green-energy jobs and opportunities – so that people, and countries, are not left unfairly behind.
And yet, how often, even when it comes to our bad habits, are we just like those disciples, bickering about who is the greatest? Let’s pause here for a moment, because what is this argument really about? The disciples on the walk between towns have to sheepishly admit to Jesus the nature of their argument. But what did they mean by “greatest”? Was it who had been a disciple the longest? Who was the most pious? Who was the best at crowd control? Who was the most generous? Who was the best healer? Or was it something smaller: who was the most loved by Jesus?
In the end, isn’t that what most of our “who’s the greatest” conversations come to? Praise and adoration. We want to feel secure and loved and safe. And we have translated that in our world to mean wealthy and ambitious and successful. That drive for wealth has led to larger houses that need more air conditioning and fancier cars that use more gas. It has led countries to measure value not by the happiness of their people, or by the functioning of the care their systems provide, but by the size of their economies, and how many Fortune 500 companies exist within their borders. The economy is important, and a healthy one drives innovation and creativity, but it must be balanced against care for humanity and the world – indeed, a fossil fuel treaty seeks to create that better, more sustainable balance.
If you think about it for us as disciples, arguing about who is the greatest is never sustainable: someone seemingly greater usually comes along. There’s a reason why the trophies we win usually have little meaning to our children and grandchildren: their value falls the minute they have been walked or driven off the lot by the receiver, so to speak. But then we also have to ask ourselves how we measure greatness. Surely the disciples ran into this problem. In fact, if you consider the list of qualities that define greatness, isn’t the joke on them? Didn’t the gospel require a helping of all those “great” qualities to come together?
Jesus settles the discussion once and for all. Whoever wants to be first of all must be the last of all. Because the gospel is not about awards and accolades; it is about service. And then Jesus placed a child among the disciples, and said, “Whoever welcomes this child, welcomes me.” Surely, he meant this lesson on several levels: A child requires selfless love and care. A child offers love purely. A child sees the world as it could be, and yet might be.
And is this not the place where we need to get to solve so many of the problems we face – not just our own individual problems, but the larger daunting ones we need to solve together. We cannot be clambering over one another as the disciples were, for fame and glory. We must break the habit of seeing “the greatest” as a goal unto itself. We must redefine what is great in acts of service, kindness, and generosity.
Whoever wants to be first must be last. After all, if we are all trying to make room and space for someone else, if we are all giving our space in line to another, and if we are all sharing what we have, then the result may be that no one is the greatest. But we will all be good. And that child placed among the disciples will know a better world. Amen.
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