Mark 6:1-6 · A Prophet Without Honor
Like a Phoenix
Mark 6:1-13
Sermon
by Dean Feldmeyer
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Almost every culture has, in its foundational mythology, a Phoenix or firebird.

The one with which we westerners are most familiar is the Greek Phoenix which, like all such mythological creatures, is said to die in a burst of sparks and fire only to be born anew from its own ashes.

Because this mythological creature lives in a constant cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, the Phoenix is, in most cultures, a symbol of renewal. While early Christians rejected any literal interpretation of the Phoenix myth, they did adopt the mythic bird as a symbol for Jesus Christ, Easter, and resurrection.

It is believed that Pope Clement I adopted it as his official symbol.

Today it remains an appropriate symbol for any Christian who has had to face the reality of failure and the struggle to rise from the ashes of unrealized hopes and dreams only to begin again with renewed faith and vigor.

The Modern Phoenix

Phoenix stories abound in our culture:

Colonel Sanders, the founder of KFC, started his dream at 65 years old after receiving a social security check for only $105. Realizing that he couldn’t live on that, he decided he had to come up with a plan for making money in his old age. The only marketable skill he had was frying chicken and he thought restaurant owners would love his secret recipe and use it. Their sales would increase, and he’d get a percentage of their profits. He drove around the country knocking on doors, sleeping in his car, wearing his white suit, and his idea was rejected 1,009 times before someone finally decided to try it.

Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Giesel’s first book, To Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street was rejected by 27 different publishers before he finally sold it.

John Grisham’s first book, A Time to Kill, took three years to write and was rejected 28 times until he got one yes for a 5,000 copy trial run printing. Today he’s sold over 250 million total copies of his books, world wide.

Steven Spielberg applied and twice was denied admission both times to the prestigious University of Southern California film school. Instead he went to Cal State University in Long Beach from which he went on to direct some of the biggest movie blockbusters in history. Now he’s worth $2.7 billion and in 1994 got an honorary degree from the film school that rejected him twice.

Stephen King’s first book Carrie was rejected thirty times

Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team. He turned out to be the greatest basketball player of his generation, maybe of any generation but his most famous speech begins with these words: “I have missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 occasions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot, and I missed. I have failed over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

We often make the mistake of thinking that people who are successful don’t fail. The truth is that they fail, often, and they let their failures inform them but they do not let their failures define them.

Jesus as Phoenix

In this morning’s gospel text, Jesus experiences failure and then offered advice to his disciples about how they should handle it when they find themselves and their message rejected.

Jesus, we are told, went to his home town of Nazareth and taught in the synagogue but these were his old neighbors and his family. They knew him when he was a snotty nosed little kid, when he had scabs on his knees, teased his little sisters, and was bossy to his little brothers. His father was the carpenter who fixed their roof and rehung their door when it came off the hinges.

They knew him and he’s no big deal to them.

Sociologist Tex Sample told a story not unlike this about a softball team he played on when he was in college and working in a factory to pay his way through school. He played on the factory’s team in a beer league that played in the local park in the evenings.

There was, on the team, one guy who had never caught a fly ball in his life. He was fat, uncoordinated, and not very bright. If all that wasn’t bad enough, he was also kind of loud and obnoxious. No one on the team liked him very much but they had to field ten guys to have a team in the league and he was the tenth.

So on this particular night they stuck him over in right field where no ball ever went and about half way through the game, a left hander came up to bat and hit a low arching fly ball right into right field. As luck would have it, it hit right into the glove of our anti-hero. He didn’t even have to move his glove. The ball just fell right into it as though pulled there by a magnet. Three outs and the good guys were up to bat.

Next inning, Tex was pitching and he and the catcher were talking, mapping out some strategy or something, and this guy was out in right field, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Hey, hit it to me. Hit it to me and I’ll get ya out.”

The catcher looked at Tex, shook his head, spit and said, “Listen to that idiot? He catches one ball in a whole dang season and he thinks he’s somethin’. Thinks he’s better’n the rest of us. That fool ain’t no different from any of us. He ain’t nothin’.”

Tex says that was a lesson that always stuck with him. If you wanted to get along with these guys you had to keep your mouth shut and admit that you were, just like them, nothing.

That’s what Jesus was confronting. He was nothing special to these people. He had nothing to say that they want to hear. They’ve known him too long and too well. To them, he ain’t nothin’.

And because they aren’t receptive, he was unable to help them. Do you hear that? He can’t help them. I always thought Jesus could do anything but, apparently, he can’t. He can’t un-ring a bell. He can’t change the past. And he can’t help those who won’t be helped.

Mark tells us, he is amazed at this situation. Why won’t they listen to him, accept him, learn from him? He just didn’t get it. But he did accept it. He did what he could — healed a couple of people — and moved on.

And when he was giving advice to his disciples about how they should go about doing ministry, he remembered this lesson and advised them accordingly:

First, travel lightly. Don’t burden yourself with extra provisions trying to cover any possible eventuality. And this applies not just to your physical provisions but to your mental/emotional ones as well. Take your faith with you but don’t feel like you have to pack every answer to every question in your mental suitcase. Give yourself the freedom to trust in the Lord a little bit.

Second, be a good guest. If someone invites you to stay with them, accept gracefully and stay with them. Don’t be moving around trying to get a better deal, a softer bed, a bigger honorarium.

And third, if you go somewhere and they reject you or refuse to listen to you, leave. This business about shaking the dust off your shoes was an old Jewish ritual that people in those days practiced. If they went outside Israel, when they returned and crossed the border, they would turn and shake the dust off their shoes which symbolized that they were now cutting their ties with those who were not of their faith.

Jesus suggested that this was an appropriate ritual — literally or figuratively — for anyone whose ministry is rejected.

If you’re a doctor and you tell your patient to stop smoking and he doesn’t…

If you’re a teacher and you tell your students to do their homework, and they don’t…

If you’re a dentist and you tell your patients to brush and floss, and they don’t…

If you’re a dietitian and you give your client a diet plan but she doesn’t follow it…

Well, there’s only so much responsibility you can take for other people, right? Kick the dust off your shoes and move on.

Tools for the Road

But it’s not always that easy, is it?

We feel responsible.

It’s hard to just cut your ties and move on – so God has given us four things to help us let go of failure. Actually, probably more than four, but four will do for today.

One, is grace.

We are not saved by our success rate. We are not saved by our ability to meet our goals. We are not saved by our accomplishments or our achievements.

We are saved by God’s grace, God’s unconditional love for us, and that is all.

If we fail, we need not worry that our value as a human being is somehow going to be lessened, that God is going to love us less, that Jesus is going to reject us at the pearly gates. Our failures do not count against us. They are, as soon as we let loose of them, part of the past that has been relegated to the dustbin of history.

We can let go of our failures because we are not saved by our success.

Two, is our capacity to learn.

We can learn from our failures.

Think of each failure as a can full of some delightful beverage that we shall call “meaning.” You fail at something and there you stand with this can in your hand and you just can’t bring yourself to throw it away, let it go. So what you need to do is pour the contents of that can out into another vessel- – call that vessel “memory” — and then throw the can away.

Keep the contents long enough for it to nourish you and refresh you with meaning but that is all.

Learn all you can from that failure, then let it go.

We can let go of our failures because we have learned from them, we have let them inform but not determine our future choices.

Three, is our capacity for story.

Each failure is a story to tell — with humor, with grace, with whit, with fun — so others can learn from it as well.

We do not have the right to horde our failures to ourselves. Our failures are gifts that have been given to us and we owe it to the world to share them with others. One of the things that separates us from other animals is our capacity to learn from the experience of others, and we dare not withhold that capacity from those who might benefit from it.

My experience can be of value to others and my failures are as much of my experience as my successes. If all I share with others are my success stories, I’m denying them a major part of the gifts that have been given to me.

We can let go of our failures because they are occasions for learning, not just for me, but for those I love as well.

And the fourth tool, the fourth gift that God has given to us in our failures, is that they teach us empathy. They teach us what other people feel like. They expand our capacity for being with and going with others who are facing uncertain roads ahead.

One of the greatest examples of this that I have ever heard was given in a TED Talk by Doctor Abraham Verghese.

TED is a nonprofit organization devoted to spreading ideas, usually in the form of short, powerful talks (eighteen minutes or less). TED began in 1984 as a conference where Technology, Entertainment and Design converged, and today covers almost all topics — from science to business to global issues — in more than 100 languages.

Over 2,000 TED talks have been archived on their web site and I encourage you to go there, from time to time, and listen to some of them. I can just about guarantee that, no matter what topic you lite upon, you will find the talks fascinating. I have never heard one that wasn’t amazing.

Anyway, Dr. Verghes gave one of the most beautiful and moving TED Talks I’ve ever heard. It was called, “The Doctor’s Touch” and he concluded his speech like this:

I’m an infectious disease physician, and in the early days of HIV, before we had our medications, I presided over so many scenes like this. I remember, every time I went to a patient’s deathbed, whether in the hospital or at home, I remember my sense of failure the feeling of I don’t know what I have to say; I don’t know what I can say; I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. And out of that sense of failure, I remember, I would always examine the patient. I would pull down the eyelids. I would look at the tongue. I would percuss the chest. I would listen to the heart. I would feel the abdomen. I remember so many patients, their names still vivid on my tongue, their faces still so clear. I remember so many huge, hollowed out, haunted eyes staring up at me as I performed this ritual. And then the next day, I would come, and I would do it again….

I recall one patient who was at that point no more than a skeleton encased in shrinking skin, unable to speak, his mouth crusted with candida that was resistant to the usual medications. When he saw me on what turned out to be his last hours on this earth, his hands moved as if in slow motion. And as I wondered what he was up to, his stick fingers made their way up to his pajama shirt, fumbling with his buttons. I realized that he was wanting to expose his wicker-basket chest to me. It was an offering, an invitation. I did not decline.

I percussed. I palpated. I listened to the chest. I think he surely must have known by then that it was vital for me just as it was necessary for him. Neither of us could skip this ritual, which had nothing to do with detecting rales in the lung, or finding the gallop rhythm of heart failure. No, this ritual was about the one message that physicians have needed to convey to their patients. Although, God knows, of late, in our hubris, we seem to have drifted away. We seem to have forgotten — as though, with the explosion of knowledge, the whole human genome mapped out at our feet, we are lulled into inattention, forgetting that the ritual is cathartic to the physician, necessary for the patient — forgetting that the ritual has meaning and a singular message to convey to the patient.

And the message, which I didn’t fully understand then, even as I delivered it, and which I understand better now is this: I will always, always, always be there. I will see you through this. I will never abandon you. I will be with you through the end.”

Thank you very much.1

Our Failures — Our Gifts

Our failures in life can be painful, even heartbreaking. No one is denying that.

But what our faith offers us is a choice. My failures can be occasional chapters in the book that is my life, or they can be the whole book. I can, by God’s grace, walk through them, learn from them, and then go on to the next thing, or I can choose to put down my roots there and dwell in them.

I can ignore them or I can learn from them.

We can, with time, come to see our failures as gifts, given to us to share, along with the lessons we have learned from them, with others. Or we can simply pretend they didn’t happen, learn nothing and, consequently let no one else learn anything, either.

Our failures can, if we wrap them in our faith in God and our love for each other, be amazing gifts that can heal, edify, encourage and maybe even save those who are hurting, lonely, and lost.

Amen.


1. http://www.ted.com/talks/abraham_verghese_a_doctor_s_touch

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Like a Phoenix: Cycle B sermons for Pentecost through Proper 14, by Dean Feldmeyer