"Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." It was with that abrupt request that disciples James and John one day approached Jesus. I don’t know how that strikes you, but, to me, it smacks of impertinence. How would you have responded? In kind, I suspect, with "Oh, you do, do you!" But Jesus, always the gentleperson, made patient reply: "What do you want me to do for you?" Perhaps he smiled indulgently as he spoke. "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand, and one at your left, in your glory." What unmitigated gall! But Jesus did not blink an eye. He had known the two fishermen too long to be surprised at anything they might say or do. He responded firmly and without hesitation; his response reveals how great is the gap between the divine and human understanding of what is truly important.
I.
Most men and women, it is safe to say, attach considerable importance to receiving recognition for one reason or another. For example, the kitchen crew responsible for preparing and serving the church supper would feel slighted if the master of ceremonies failed to have the guests express appreciation with a round of applause. James and John craved far greater recognition. They thought in terms of sitting at the head table, or on the platform, with the Guest of Honor.
In all honesty, I must confess that I have never been one to resist being escorted to the head table at a church or civic affair. I’ll take my place, with little urging, on a platform weighted down with dignitaries. Who wouldn’t find that a heady experience? But be warned. The craving for recognition can lead one to emptiness and disappointment. I can attest to that from shattering personal experience.
I was a Director of Evangelism for my denomination at the time. My post had recently been established, over the opposition of some colleagues who saw no need for a specific emphasis on evangelism. They regarded me with jaundiced eye, and acceptance was slow in coming. For a time I felt like a pauper among the princes of the church.
When I received a formal invitation to join colleagues from the boards of education and missions for the dedication of a large church school facility, it seemed that the Board of Evangelism - and its new director, of course - was finally receiving the recognition it deserved. The construction of the building marked a milestone in the history of an inner-city congregation. I was elated at the prospect of participating - onstage - in the celebration.
Upon arriving at the church on the appointed date, I escorted my wife to her pew and joined the other celebrants for the procession to the stage of the new edifice’s auditorium. The bishop and members of his cabinet, an array of clergypersons from several denominations, and my peers from missions and education were assembled in vested splendor. Dutifully taking up the rear were prominent representatives of the laity. As the "new kid on the block," I greeted one and all with a fixed smile and deferential bearing. Some of the luminaries condescended to welcome me stiffly. Others simply stared blankly in my direction before turning away to continue conversation already in progress.
Suddenly I understood that the others considered me an intruder. Strangely, they had not expected to see me there. In panic, I glanced down at the program in my hand. Sure enough, the name of the Director of Evangelism was conspicuous by its absence. Whoosh! My ego collapsed like the proverbial balloon. Humiliated and embarrassed, my face burning, I shed my robe and exited as inconspicuously as I could. I exaggerate but little when I say that I crept on hands and knees to join my wife in the pew.
I no longer covet the limelight. That painful experience taught me a valuable lesson. I learned to take to heart Jesus’ admonition not to seek the praise of men, and to find satisfaction in his reassuring words, "Your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matthew 6:4b). To receive recognition that stems spontaneously from appreciation for honorable and hard-earned accomplishments is one thing. That certainly has God’s approval. To seek it intentionally for self-glorification and self-gratification is quite another. The selfish quest is unworthy of Christians, whom Christ calls to self-effacing discipleship for the sole purpose of glorifying the Father.
II.
That is where the priorities of the Kingdom are to be found, in discipleship. When men and women pursue recognition, Jesus points to the path of discipleship. On that path they are called to accept whatever experiences are alloted them by God, experiences equal in severity to those endured by Christ. "Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?" Jesus asked James and John. "What he is saying is ‘Can you bear to go through the terrible experience which I have to go through? Can you face being submerged in hatred and pain and death, as I have been?’ "1
James and John answered bravely, "We are able." As it turned out, they were able. Except for a brief defection at Gethsemane and moments of weakness at the Crucifixion, they carried, unswervingly, the cross of sacrifice and service for Jesus’ sake. "James was rewarded for his faithfulness by being beheaded by Herod Agrippa (Acts 2:2) and while John was spared from making the supreme sacrifice, he too suffered much for his Lord."2 Impulsive, impatient, and impertinent they may have been, but they were able!
"Are ye able? Still the Master whispers down eternity, and heroic spirits answer, To the death we follow thee." So runs the familiar old hymn, and so responded pastor Stanley Scott, when he decided to enter the chaplaincy. The war in Vietnam had heated up, and some young people Scott knew had died in the conflict. Stan felt that his ministry was needed over there. As a Marine Corps veteran of the Korean War, he knew, better than most, the needs of fighting men.
Scott’s decision was contested by his ecclessiastical superiors. Ministers, they said, were needed as badly at home as on the battlefield. Later, when they learned that Scott had sustained serious wounds, some colleagues in ministry said that he got no more than a "glory boy" deserved.
But Scott was determined to abide by his decision, and his self-esteem could not be shaken by adverse criticism. His persistence was rewarded. Reluctantly, his superiors released him to the Navy.
For a time, Scott served with the fleet, flying by helicopter from ship to ship, conducting services of worship. But he never surrendered his goal to serve with his "youth fellowship" who were fighting in Vietnam, even though it became increasingly clear that a bitter cup of suffering and a fierce baptism by fire might await him there.
Finally, the orders Stan sought came through and he found himself in the thick of the action in Vietnam. It was as he had expected. He was needed by his "boys," and he was equipped to meet their needs. He lived the gospel and practiced his discipleship where they lay torn and bleeding. He came close to making the supreme sacrifice for them. An enemy rocket exploded a few feet away and fragments ripped into his legs. He recovered sufficiently to return to the front. His jeep tripped a land mine, and again he nearly lost his legs. This time his superiors refused to allow him to go back to the combat zone, although he pleaded for still another chance.
Today, Stan Scott, a non-combatant, bears the marks of battle: legs that are scarred and unsteady, and a lung that frequently collapses from service-related causes. He also bears the stars of battle on a chestful of ribbons. But brightest and best is the star that God has pinned on him for Christ’s sake, for having, at his own volition, drunk from the cup of Christ’s suffering, and for having been immersed in his baptism of "hatred and pain and death."
III.
Discipleship has a partner; it is servanthood. Servants are not normally honored in our society, but in the kingdom, where priorities are in proper order, servanthood wins the praise and recognition of God. "Whoever would be first among you must be slave of all." Two men, one a Baptist and the other a Roman Catholic, come to mind whenever I make the connection between greatness and servanthood.
The Baptist said:
Every now and then I think about my own death, and I think about my funeral ... I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long ... Tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize ... Tell them not to mention that I have three or four hundred other awards ... I’d like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. I’d like for somebody to say, that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody ... Say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. That I was a drum major for righteousness. And all the other shallow things will not matter. I won’t have any money to leave behind. I won’t have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind.3
The Roman Catholic was honored with a place at the head table at a dinner with other clergy, prior to an ecumenical service. He was high in the hierarchy of his church, a colorful television personality, and a witty and insightful writer. He had every reason to have an exalted opinion of himself; but instead, he had the spirit of a servant.
This famous man never finished his meal. Instead, he left the head table to greet the laity who were present and chat with the waitresses and busboys. And afterward, in church, Bishop Fulton J. Sheen preached powerfully and passionately on the text, "I have been crucified with Christ" (Galatians 2:2a).
These two great men, both of whom knew the true meaning of discipleship and servanthood, demonstrated fine disdain for the recognition of men, and revealed, as few others have, the secret of greatness in the kingdom of God.
Do you crave the praise and recognition of men and women? Your hunger cannot possibly be satisfied. Are you able to follow the path of discipleship? Yes? Then at the end of the path - indeed, all along the way - you will find fulfillment and cause for thanksgiving. Are you willing to be a servant? Good! You will be great in the eyes of God. It was the style of ministry Christ adopted. "For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."
He asked no more of others than he demanded of himself.
1. William Barclay, The Gospel of Mark, The Daily Study Bible Series, (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1975), p. 255.
2. Ibid, pp. 255, 256.
3. From a speech delivered after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize for 1964.