The sermon text is from the Gospel of Mark, the ninth chapter, verses 33-35: "... when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you discussing on the way?’ But they were silent; for on the way they had discussed with one another who was the greatest. And he sat down and called the twelve; and he said to them, ‘If any one would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.’ "

What does one get out of being a Christian?

Each of us has probably asked that of himself on occasion.

Ask it again, right now, if you wish.

What’s the point of being Christian?

What good comes out of anyone’s membership in the church?

Where’s the profit? The benefit?

We all have expectations.

When we’re honest

we expect something in return for our dedication.

If the pastor doesn’t call frequently enough,

or at all;

if the church council seems to ignore our plan or program;

if the thank you doesn’t come when it’s due,

then each of us is likely to wonder

Why?

Why bother?

I don’t see the point.

I give and give and give

and no one seems to care.

I think I’m being taken for granted.

Maybe we are.

Maybe we don’t get the praise and support each of us deserves.

Saying thank you is more than a matter of manners.

It’s helpful.

It makes us feel good,

and willing to do even more.

For a moment, let’s feel sorry for ourselves.

Let’s admit it.

Each of us has done his share, and more,

and it hasn’t seemed to matter one iota.

[Pause]

Now then, what are some alternatives

to feeling sorry for ourselves?

We can languish in our sorrow much longer if we wish,

but we’ve done that often enough to know

that it doesn’t change a thing.

The appreciation and recognition still aren’t there.

We can pretend that it doesn’t matter,

even though it does.

That helps a little,

but the help is slight and temporary.

We can give up on the whole thing,

withdraw a mile or two from the activity,

take a rest,

or even quit.

Some do, with apparently little regret.

Yet, if that is the decided way to go,

we ought to take this advice:

Go slowly.

Drift away, a little at a time.

That way we’ll have time to adjust.

The guilt will be easier to ignore.

It’s not as honest to drift away,

but it’s easier.

There is one more alternative, and it’s not much to offer.

You’re not going to like the sound of it

any more than I do.

It’s the teaching of Jesus:

"You must be last of all and servant of all."

Let’s admit it here, now,

as only families can.

None of us wants to be last.

None of us likes that word "servant."

Servants don’t get a lot of thank yous.

Servants don’t get half what they’re worth.

Servants are chosen.

Without their own permission, they are chosen.

Servants live in the shadow of wealth

but seldom sit at the table of wealth.

Servants serve.

And, then, to make the teaching stick,

Jesus suddenly had a child in his lap.

"When you spend your precious time

with children like these," Jesus said,

"when you teach them about me,

love them, because you love me,

care for their needs,

wipe their runny noses,

make them smile and laugh,

because you are my servant,

do not expect a thank you from them.

When one such child is received in my name,

you’ve received me, and that is enough."

Most of us would prefer

to be an advisor to the president.

Most of us think we have enough talent

to make a difference at our jobs,

it only the boss would listen.

Most of us think that children are for parents to care for.

That’s not the way it really works.

After all, a good percentage of our property tax

educates children we’ll never meet.

Our offerings purchase materials

for children who come here for instruction.

And some of us know,

we even have some persons who serve in the

nursery who don’t have any children there.

They do it because it’s one more job

that has to be done.

Children

Certainly we ought not waste our good talents on children!

We are greater than that,

good enough to be an advisor to the boss,

or a disciple of the master.

And the Master asked them that embarrassing question.

It grew very quiet when he asked,

"What were you talking about?"

You can almost feel the flush in their faces.

Jesus had been talking with them about his coming death.

He even told them about the resurrection,

but they didn’t understand.

They were too busy.

This Jesus was something else!

Something big was happening around them.

That much they knew.

Jesus was different.

Crowds were everywhere.

The crowds sensed it, too.

Talk about death was unimportant.

Jesus was still young, about thirty,

and in good health.

He was coming into power, no doubt about that,

and when he did, then what about us?

Can’t you hear them speculating?

Can’t you hear them whispering?

Their dumb dream made sense to them.

Jesus was another David, a king!

He’ll need generals and diplomats.

Someone will have to be his secretary of state.

He’ll need publicity, ambassadors, a whole

cabinet, and a vice-president.

And Jesus said, "The Son of man will be delivered

into the hands of men, and they will kill him,

and when he is killed, after three days he will rise."

They couldn’t hear that message,

not because they had wax in their ears,

but because they had glory in their eyes.

They were ready to serve the king.

That’s the kind of servants we’d all like to be.

And so he asked them,

"What were you discussing on the way?"

Talk about the bionic woman

and her ability to hear conversations!

She’s no match for our Lord.

"What about it?" he asked.

"Do you want to tell me, or should I tell you?"

Jesus must have been a little bit worried by now.

What would happen when it happened?

What would these ambitious servants think

when they saw their dream die

like a criminal on a cross?

How would they stay together?

Would they stay together?

Would they remember then,

what he tried to tell them now?

Would they drift away, or quit,

or panic and run?

You see, there’s not a single instance in all of

Scripture where Jesus says thank you to his disciples.

They were his servants,

chosen to serve.

They were to serve, not for the sake of a thank you,

but for the sake of their Lord.

Jesus must have been a little bit worried.

How was this motley crew ever to carry on?

What would they do during those three days

he was in the grave?

Scripture says, "They were silent; for on the way

they had discussed with one another who was the greatest."

Who is the greatest?

Not among them. Among us.

The pastor?

We’ve been together long enough to know

that if this is the greatest,

God help all of us!

The teachers?

We’re getting closer.

The students? The children?

We’re almost there, but not yet.

It wasn’t the child who was so great.

It was Christ who was received through the child.

And he didn’t stop there either.

"Receive a child in my name," said Jesus,

"and you receive me."

And then he adds that marvelous promise:

"Whoever receives me,

receives not me but him who sent me."

That’s who’s the greatest among us,

for Christ never pointed at himself, but at his Father.

Jesus was a servant too!

He was the servant, the chosen,

and Scripture doesn’t record

a single thank you from the Father.

The closest we get is a "well-done"

and a "beloved son."

Listen to a description of a very special person.

If you listen closely, you’ll know who it is.

He/she wasn’t rich, and he wasn’t poor.

Beautiful or ugly wouldn’t fit the description.

Although work was necessary for a living,

sometimes he wondered why.

He had his share of grief, maybe more than his share.

He didn’t talk much about it.

If he were asked how he felt about it,

he might say something like this:

"I don’t know what to think about it yet,

The Lord is still molding me."

This person wondered about his own death.

He understood that any bed he slept on at night

could be his death bed,

not because he was ill,

but because life is fragile.

"Are you ready to die?" he was asked.

"Ready to what?" he exclaimed.

"Are you ready to die?"

"Not until the Lord’s through molding me."

"When might that be?"

"Don’t know. He’s got some more to do, I can tell."

"How do you know he’s not through with you yet?"

"Because I’m not all his yet."

"What’s he making you into?"

"I don’t even know that, but I’ll be all his when he’s done."

Who is that man?

Who is that woman?

It’s hard, sometimes,

to recognize ourselves in a sermon.

That person is you. That person is me.

Perhaps we’re not sure yet who we are,

or what’s happening, or why.

But when God is done we’ll be all his.

We’ll no longer look for the thank yous in life,

but we’ll be giving thanks.

We’ll worry less about being great

while we serve the greatest.

That’s the life of a Christian.

That’s the life of a servant,

and that’s who we are.