Big Shoes for Clay Feet

October 2, 2022

Matthew 20.17-28

While Jesus was going up to Jerusalem, he took the twelve disciples aside by themselves, and said to them on the way, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified; and on the third day he will be raised.”

Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to him with her sons, and kneeling before him, she asked a favor of him. And he said to her, “What do you want?” She said to him, “Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.” But Jesus answered, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?” They said to him, “We are able.” He said to them, “You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.”  

When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers. But Jesus called them to him and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

            Bob wrote me a letter.  It was a long, frustrated, at times angry, letter.  This was 2016 when civility of friendships and the accommodations offered to different opinions were fraying.  One line in the letter offended me.  Later I would come to find out, this was not meant as a personal insult; Bob was ridiculing all pastors not just me.  The line was “I don’t want a pastor in chief; I want a commander in chief.” 

            After I read the note, I called Bob and went to his house.  We talked for a few hours; walked the trails behind his house.  And the thing is Bob, and I weren’t opposed to each other, enemies.  In so many ways Bob and I were friends, we treated each other with respect and kindness. I performed the wedding ceremony for his daughter and thought his wife Polly to be one of the kindest people on the face of the earth. But there was tension. 

            Bob was certainly more conservative than I was.  But this didn’t mean disdain.  On numerous occasions Bob expressed how my more liberal views were a gift to the church, helped people who felt excluded in other places.  But on this one point, what sort of person should be president, well, we didn’t see eye to eye.  And it wasn’t ideology or policy or credential.  It really came down to swagger.  He saw swagger as a benefit; I saw swagger as a flaw.

            It could be our professions.  I am trained in theology and devote myself to the teachings of Jesus, one of the greatest teachings being humility, meekness.  Bob was a fighter pilot by training.  Humility might not be of great value when flying a hornet. I believe our different paths shaped our judgement of leadership.  For me humility is most important no matter what.  Bob, well, Bob disagreed with me.  We left it at that, a disagreement.  This was not the end of our friendship.  Bob and Polly traveled to Israel with us not long after our debate.

            Yet, there is another possibility here, something beyond the notion that civility allows opposing perspectives to resist disdain.  The other possibility is that Bob and I were both wrong.  Neither of us really had a clue about leadership or what the country really needs.  More directly, we were and probably still are, way off the mark when it comes to the relationship of ambition and reward.  What Bob meant by swagger is probably a nostalgic overvaluing of gender and what I meant by humility is the privilege of risk aversion that comes with having enough.  The chances are good we were both way off the mark when it comes to ambition, power, and achievement.

            I will be humble here and allow Bob’s error to be examined first; I don’t want to force my way to the front.  A few years ago, many in the congregation read a fabulous new book, Jesus and John Wayne.  Kristen Du Mez cast a light on “muscular Christianity.”  She detailed the icon of John Wayne, how he was a man of swagger.  Beyond the obvious flawed role of the Duke, Billy Graham played a role as did Phyliss Shlafly and the Promise Keepers in creating a very masculine Christianity. The book showed what it meant to be a man in American Christianity, mainly militarism and sexism, and the importance of nationalistic pride.  By default, she also showed what it means in our culture for a woman to support her man from a biblical standpoint.  What Du Mez made quite clear was this: our culture grafted the swagger of John Wayne onto Christianity and created an image of Jesus as a dude, a strong man, someone with bravado. The table is open for all but only those who earn their spot get a seat.

            When my friend Bob looks out at the malaise of our country and sees the staggering number of young men who are committing suicide or dying by overdose, when he sees the failure of men to graduate from college or enter a career or be a part of raising their own children, when Bob sees this, he is tempted to become nostalgic for a culture of real men.  You know, real men who man up and have grit and determination and stick-to-itiveness.  There is nothing that a good swift kick won't fix.  Right?

            While I don’t buy the swagger principle and have no lingering aspirations for a return of a muscular Christianity, my trust in meekness can be just as wrong as the trust in John Wayne.  More often my trust in humility has more to do with safety and complacency than it does with the radical challenge of losing your life to save your life.  I can take up the voice of humility as an idea, but I am really becoming the servant of all, the least, the last in line?  Is humility humble if it’s lived without sacrifice?

            As parents to young men and women, it is quite clear to us that education and job markets are rewarding the ambition of women.  We have seen firsthand the way classroom structure today is an easier fit for girls than for boys.  It is likely most children will not know a male teacher until they are an early adolescent.  We’ve also seen the cultural shift where boys are now treated as a problem, something to punish not reward.  We know and believe that the way genders mature is not a fit for our public expectations and demands on children and young people.  Add to this the constant path of diagnosis, medicating behavior, and we have quite a mess.

            I don’t believe the mess will be made better if we return to the place of rewarding boys and men simply for their gender or romanticizing the role of swagger.  But after seeing all this, knowing all this, and doing nothing, is this a good mark of leadership that is humble?  Being quiet or patient or accepting is not wrong, but it is not a true path of humility if we are simply silent about what is wrong.

           There must be something more, something better.  Perhaps we can see the better in our passage. I know there is at the very least a much better answer to ambition and reward than the ones offered by Bob or myself. 

           Our reading today is the next to the last, a final preparation before leaving the past behind.  Things are about to change big time.  And as always, the disciples have no clue.  This is the third time Jesus warns them of his suffering and death, and this does not appear to be clear to them.  The person who does see the landscape, the one who can read the tea leaves, is the mother of James and John, the sons of thunder. She approaches Jesus, kneels before him, and pleads for a place of power, seats of glory and prestige for her children.

          Jesus equates these seats with suffering and asks the two disciples if they can suffer.  To which both offer the brave response, we are able.  Jesus then changes tack and recasts the places of power as beyond him, above his paygrade.  It is as if he says, fellas you know I am in sales, not management.  And he leaves it at that.

          Our passage would be over were it not for the anger of the ten.  They are offended with James and John and grumble.  To this Jesus offers a distinction about tyranny.  How it is common, and thus easy, for power to corrupt and it is likely for responsibility to become personality or greed or violence.  He instructs them to be different, to remember to be a leader is to be a servant, to be first is to be last.

          What Jesus offered to the twelve, what eluded Bob and I, was a combination of ambition and humility.  It is not either/or; it is both/and.  Jesus crosses the wires of ambition and meekness; he doesn’t try to value one instead of the other.  The mother is not sent packing, the sons of thunder are not demeaned for their willingness to step up, to seek greatness; and the disciples are not affirmed for their anger, or false humility.  Righteous indignation is useless.

          Ambition can become swagger just as reward can be taken by the belligerent.  Yet, this is not the kingdom of God.  Humility is patient and more likely to listen than speak.  Yet, humility that accepts the wrong, is silenced by fear of risk, is not the kingdom of God either.  To navigate the storms of life we need both ambition and humility.

          David Brooks gave a review of a recent book on this topic. The book is by Richard Reeves; it’s called Of Boys and Men.  I am few chapters into it and for the most part I agree with Brooks’ review.  Of Boys and Men is not so much a call to restore the place of male dominance or to push the pendulum swing of cultural change back in favor of men, it is a recognition that pitting genders against each other is dumb.

          Designing classrooms or curriculum with one gender in mind is how we create social inequality not excellence in education.  Ignoring the way people develop while working with them as they develop is a recipe for disaster.  Mostly, though, Reeve’s research is like the mother of James and John pleading for a great future for her children. It’s not a call for boys to be restored so much as it is an invitation that we begin to recognize what it means for people to be rewarded for ambition, to have real opportunity.

          Two calls for change in Of Boys and Men are so simple and cut to the quick of making things better.  First don’t have children begin school until they are more developed.  Most males are not ready at the age of five to enter a classroom environment.  Let them enter at six or seven.  But don’t make this exclusive to boys.  Let children enter a classroom environment when they are mature enough.  Second, see childcare and nursery schools as economic and social infrastructure that helps all people earn a living wage.  Not single moms or single dads; not the ones who already have a good job or only those who have no job.  Make this affordable and available to all people who want to make a living wage. 

          My daughter Zoe and I argue about gender on a regular basis.  She takes the vantage that gender is purely a social construct, a costume our culture forces on to people.  I disagree and suggest that raising her and her sisters was a different experience than raising her brothers.  When we tried to treat our children as genderless, things went horribly awry.  Gender matters. 

          Yet it could be that neither Zoe nor I are right here.  Like the difference of either swagger or humility, the either/or is a false path.  How we reward ambition, how we encourage courage, how we resist false humility or allow suffering to persist because we fear becoming the ones who suffer, this is not a male problem or a female problem: this is a question for people.

          The best career advice I was given was about all people, not just me.  The advice came from my supervisor in a seminary internship.  The advice was this: all people are neurotic, filled with foibles and flaws, weaknesses and limitations; you don’t find success by getting rid of your neurosis; you find success by making your neurosis pay.  Make your neurosis pay. 

          If you want to be first discover what it means for you to be last; if you want to be great, ask how it is that you are the least.  To live this out we must do everything we can to encourage risk and ambition and reward, while at the same time not forcing one gender, one orientation, one race to the side, or forcing them to become less so someone else is more.  Let humility be true in sacrifice; and sacrifice be a choice of courage not a punishment.  Here we will find the kingdom of God for all people.  Amen.