On the Discipline of Giving Up Winning
Second Sunday in Lent
Mark chapter 8 for Lent 2 seems chosen for the occasional church attendee who missed the Ash Wednesday service and is not yet certain what Lent is about. At first sight the Roman lectionary (Mark 9) appears more palatable, until we realize that the heavenly voice that had also appeared at Jesus’ baptism only confirms Mark eight by commanding the disciples listen to Jesus. And then Jesus tells Peter, James, and John not only to remain silent about what they had just witnessed but that what they had witnessed cannot be understood apart from Jesus’s suffering, rejection, and death.
While the announcements of Jesus’s suffering make sense for us who know the story, we would be glad to go without losing our life, even if it is for the sake of the Gospel. And for those of us who live in relative comfort and affluence, it is indeed a difficult passage to embrace.
A week ago I had hoped to attend a city council meeting and speak in support of a motion for a supervised injection site in our city. (A supervised injection site is a place where intravenous drug users can inject with the possibility of immediate medical intervention to prevent overdose deaths. It is also a place to connect them to other services, including rehab). I arrived early to put my name on the speakers list but the chambers were already full and the plaza was filled with protesters against the motion. I did not get in.
As I was speaking to a media outlet in the plaza I was joined by a fellow whose 36 year-old brother I had buried a year earlier. Quickly we were surrounded by a mob of approximately 50 people shouting us down.
This was a new experience and not one I had sought. It was distressing. I have no issue with people being against what I may be in favour of, but I am used to more civility in the way we address our differences. It made me feel very vulnerable.
Different story: Like many, I am distressed about the Hamas attack on Israel and about Israel’s response. In a previous parish we had members who were Palestinian and had come to Canada to get away from the unstable and unpredictable future of their homeland. Yet they had left behind not only their ancestral lands, but also family and friends they loved.
At the same time, as a descendant of those who engineered the holocaust and in a society in which anti-semitism is on the rise, it is important for me to remain faithful to my Jewish friends whose politics I may or may not share. Besides, those are the views of friends not the politics in the state of Israel, which are more complex than they may seem on the news.
But in all these weeks since October 7 I have been thinking about a piece I read fifteen years ago, entitled The Cost of Peace. In it, the author – a development contractor in Afghanistan in 2009, argues that the ability of a civilian to help farmers adopt new crops or improved growing methods depends on regular interaction and the ability to build trust. “This ability is diminished when he or she can visit only infrequently, accompanied by a squad of private militia.”
While the author is not arguing against security, he is pointing out the mixed messages sent in the situation in which he worked. The reason I remember the piece is because for me the logical conclusion of his argument is the need to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, perhaps even foolishly so. For without vulnerability we cannot build trust. Another way of looking at it is that the way of vulnerability is the way of Jesus.
When we were surrounded by the angry mob, I did not know what to do, except not to be reactive (much easier when you are in a minority). When I heard those standing closest to me shout things that were discompassionate, I leaned toward these folks and suggested they try more empathy as the one speaking to the reporter then had lost his brother to an overdose only a year earlier. I am not sure whether it worked for them, for there is a particular dynamic for those caught up in a mob. But it worked for me. It was the only thing I could imagine to do.
In a sermon on the Naaman story in 2 Kings 5 Walter Brueggemann points out that after all is said and done, Naaman will resume his service in Damascus, including his participation in liturgies that worship a pagan god.
And Brueggemann points out that Elisha does not condemn Naaman but sends him in peace, because peace is the business of the prophet and peace is the business of God’s people.
So, when we wonder what it may mean for us to lose our life, maybe it simply means that we don’t have to win, we don’t have to get our way, all we need is to be faithful to Jesus, which makes us vulnerable. But we would not want it any other way.
Considering the readings from Genesis and Romans, Abraham did not have it any other way either. All he had was the promise of God, and that was enough.