The A+ in Grace
Sermon on Mark 9:30-37
My grandfather used to tell us: “When I was a kid, I didn’t know whether I would be able to study medicine. But I decided that, no matter which job I would ever have, I would be the best in that job! If I had become a trash collector, I would have aimed at being the best trash collector in town.”
That story stuck with me. It left a deep impression, showing me the dignity of work in any profession. Teaching me that no matter where you end up in life, you should always give your best and be your best self. It taught me not to look down on anybody’s work, to appreciate everybody’s efforts.
And it is a story that early on imposed the knowledge in me, that being the best at what I do, is to be expected by my family. Always. Like, when I came home with an A in elementary school, my father, the child of my grandfather, would always ask first “So, what did your friend get?” If she had happened to have an A+, he would raise an eyebrow and ask “Why didn’t you?”.
Comparing oneself to others, being the best at something in comparison to others, that was always part of the story, part of the expectation. And for a long time, I told this story as part of my roots that made me who I am. In a good way.
It just recently occurred to me that my grandfather’s value is not as great and healthy as I always thought it was. Until a couple of months ago, I would tell that story as an example of what was driving me from early on. Thinking this is what we should teach kids.
And, while my family might be a fairly extreme example of that mindset, I know that it’s typical in our culture. It’s a way of thinking that gets you ahead in society, that makes you successful, maybe even rich.
It might also screw you up emotionally and mentally. We know that the numbers of kids and youth treated with depressions and burn-out are on the rise. Young people already breaking under the burden of daily performance and the fear of not finding a place in this world if they don’t succeed.
And so, we all play along. Parents, ensuring that their kids get the best college education. Even if that includes bribing the admission office. Kids learning STEM or languages or coding all summer at summer camps just to have that little bit of an advantage that will get you into the best universities. Think about it: Most kids don’t get any real vacation anymore. Summer break means educational camps for many of them, all day long. There is little space for free play and hanging out with friends or just spending an entire day reading and day-dreaming, maybe even being bored for a while.
Recently, there has been lots of research on the effect of high pressure and expectation in kids. The findings aren’t surprising, I guess. It’s not healthy. Not for the individual, not for the society. Don’t get me wrong. The problem isn’t the hard work. The problem is that we are all trained to outperform others. We are trained to determine our worth and worthiness by looking at everyone else around us.
It surely doesn’t make us better people to be in a constant mode of competition. It does make us more productive though. Which explains why it’s so hard to lose this mindset, at least for me. Because productivity is the God we have all learned to worship. The idea that in order to be somebody you need to do something. The idea that in order to be someone special, you need to be the best. The idea that our work, and more importantly, our success at work, defines us.
While we might have brought individualism to perfection, it’s surely not a modern invention. According to today’s Gospel, Jesus caught his friends arguing on their walk to Capernaum. When asked about it, his friends remained silent. As every teacher and parent knows, that’s never a good sign. The students or kids already know that they messed up big time. Eventually, one of them must have admitted the quarrel, probably by blaming the others. They had argued with one another who was the greatest. Who was the best disciple, student and friend of Jesus? You know, the A+ student, not just the A one.
So, Jesus sits them down. He doesn’t do that often, but when he does, it’s time for the straight talk. His answer: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Uuuh, that hurts. Real deep. You want success? You want to be the best and get the award? Well, you’ve got it all wrong. Jesus’ AP class of “How to be a disciple” just went back to learning the ABC of community and fellowship. Of course, his friends can’t believe that this is really the lesson here. Jesus must speak metaphorically, right? This is a secret code to protect their club, or something. So, Jesus becomes explicit. So explicit that it takes theologians to turn his words and actions into another metaphor.
A little child happens to linger around. Jesus waves at the kid, invites it into their midst. The child is confused, scared. Grown men talking business is no place for a child. Will the teacher mock it? Or just tell the kid to go get something? Maybe it can earn a dime? Trembling, the child walks into the circle. At the time, a child is considered a nonentity. It was not until early adulthood that a young person was seriously considered a member of the family group. Revered were age and tradition and status.
Jesus looks at the kid, and embraces it. The kid feels seen in a way it has never felt before. The teacher starts speaking: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
Strange words, a long combination of words. The child doesn’t understand it all. Just the word “welcome” rings in its ears. This rabbi bids welcome to a child. The child gets up and walks away. What an afternoon, what a moment to remember.
Meanwhile, Jesus’ friends are totally confused. First “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” And then the kid-talk? “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
It dawns on them that Jesus, again, turns upside down what they hold to be true. They learned: That hard work will make one successful and honorable in the eyes of a community. That there has to be a hierarchy, a natural order of people with one at the top and many at the bottom.
Just a couple of days ago, the friends had failed. They hadn’t been able to heal a boy until Jesus helped them. That little episode showed them how much there still was to improve and to learn. To be the best, like Jesus. It created an atmosphere filled with insecurity and self-doubt.
Jesus’ friends are afraid to fail. To go back to where they came from. The lower end of the social ladder. The hood they were desperate to leave. For years they have been traveling now, drawing great crowds, healing in the name of God. They have achieved something. They think like my grandfather. If you ought to be a disciple, you might as well be the best one.
It’s the old emotional pattern. Needing to shine and perform in order to know that one matters. No matter, what. Shame and insecurity try luring us back into the false security of performance-based belonging. As long as we shine no one can see our pain, our fears, our doubts. Strength is what we worship, power and might, health and success. Greatness, Jesus’ friends call it.
And Jesus points to a child. Not to romanticize childhood or the innocence of kids. That wasn’t a thing at his time. Kids were nobodies, not worth a look or one’s time. Kids back then had the least social status in the neighborhood. Welcome one of those little ones, and you will have welcomed Jesus himself. Be a servant to everyone, and you will be like Jesus. Give up your longing for status. God’s kingdom is all about a radical status-reveal. The most radical status change one can possibly imagine.
Now, that’s nothing too new to all of us. We have heard many sermons on how we are supposed to give more and hoard less and see everyone with the eyes of God. How we have to receive God like a child.
But what does that look like in our culture that’s still dominated by success and pressure, that still mostly cares about academic achievement and often only treats mental health as something to take care of when there are issues? When someone can’t perform anymore?
As a child I learned to clench my teeth and get things done. I learned to prioritize achievement over sleep and listlessness. In many ways this has served me well. I got scholarships and opportunities. Yet, I am still learning to listen to myself, to my needs, to my body and soul. Something kids know. And learn to unlearn.
Nobody taught me how to take care of myself. Nobody taught me that I am loved without doing something extraordinary. People told me, sure. But the clues and reactions told me differently. Even today, whenever I talk to my grandparents, I catch myself bragging about my kids. About stuff I know my grandparents value. Like learning an instrument, being good at school. Things that are measurable in grades and performances and applause. Yet, it’s the many moments I am really proud of my kids, I don’t usually share with my grandparents. Like when Toni’s friend spontaneously decides that she doesn’t want to play that afternoon. And I feel disappointment and rejection dwell in me while Toni just notes: “Yeah, sometimes one just needs some quiet time. It’s nothing to do with me or our friendship.” She already knows so much more to be true than I might ever feel. She already listens to her needs and therefor understands her friends’ needs. And that not everything is about her in life.
And yet, when there is a playdate and one of my kids doesn’t want to go, I will force them to go. Telling them that you don’t let your friends down. Which is true. And, saying NO and risking to upset a friend for one’s own well-being has to be learned as well. Especially by moms like me.
What and who we celebrate and lift up matters. Jesus chose children. Not because they are super cute. But because back then nobody else lifted up children. So, I am celebrating that my kids aren’t confused or full of self-doubt when they aren’t in the spotlight... and that they do not overlook those who have never had a shot at standing on stage, applauded. I celebrate them for being allies, for standing up for what’s right. And I try to be less disappointed when the report cards aren’t all As. I try, I often fail. The worship of success is too engrained in me. The wish to be the greatest at whatever it might be. To serve, sure. But in the best way possible. To be noticed, valued, honored. Which is still not Jesus’ way.
It’s also absolutely not Lutheran. Luther fought hard against any kind of salvation through achievement. Against a hierarchy of grace and the greatest among us Christians. We are saved by grace alone through faith alone through Christ. That’s our Lutheran mantra. At least, it should be. Meaning: We are worthy of God’s love, no matter what we do, what we achieve, how often we fail. We are worthy of God’s love including our self-doubts and fear of failing. We are the greatest in God’s eyes from the very beginning of our lives. We don’t have to prove anything to God. We don’t even have to be the best at everything we do in life. There is room for failure, room for errors, room for grace, room for times out and for rest. Room for us to even be nobodies in the eyes of the world. Because we are always seen and celebrated by God. Not for what we do, but for who we are. God’s people. Marked with the A+ of the cross through baptism. Amen.
