Today’s Gospel focuses our attention on the place of servanthood in the Christian life. We live in a society that tends to draw a sharp distinction between those who hold the positions of power and prestige, on the one hand; and those who provide the services and support, on the other. One of the marks of success in our world – of really having made it – is having lots of people work for you.
Some years ago, I was telling a certain gentleman that before coming to S. Stephen’s I had been rector of a parish in Staten Island, New York. “Ah yes, Staten Island,” he said. “When I worked on Wall Street many of the help used to come over from Staten Island. The housing there is affordable, and it’s so easy to get to the City on the ferry.” I was somewhat taken aback and not quite sure what to make of what seemed something of a put-down. I’d never thought of my former parishioners who worked in Manhattan as anybody’s “help,” but clearly this gentleman regarded them as near the bottom of the pecking order of his professional and social world.
In the ancient world, the same sorts of distinctions applied to an even greater extent. One mark of being an important person, a great person, a noble person was having lots of servants to work for you: to manage and run your estates, to keep your financial accounts, to cook your meals, to run your bath and help you get dressed, and so forth. To be a servant, on the other hand, was generally a position of low status – though this might vary with the type of service performed and the status of the master being served. Still, a servant could never be valued as a truly great or important person in his or her own right.
Yet, in today’s Gospel, however, Jesus reverses the world’s valuation of the relationship between greatness and servitude. James and John, two of his closest disciples, come to him saying, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Wisely, however, rather than just saying, “Okay, whatever you want, just name it,” Jesus probes a little: “What do you have in mind?” They respond: “Grant us to sit, one at your right and one at your left, in your glory.”
This request reveals their blindness, for Jesus has just finished predicting for the third time his coming death and passion. So, he replies, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am to drink or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” James and John answer: “We are able.”
In the Bible, these two images, cup and baptism, each carry two opposite meanings: blessing and woe. On one hand, a cup can signify rejoicing and festivity, as in the twenty-third Psalm, “My cup runneth over.” On the other hand, a cup can signify punishment, wrath, and suffering, as, for example, in Psalm 78, verse 8: “In the Lord’s hand there is a cup full of spiced and foaming wine, which he pours out; and all the wicked of the earth shall drink and drain the dregs.”
James and John are most likely imagining a cup of blessing and celebration. Little do they realize that Jesus is speaking instead of his passion and death: as when he prays in the Garden of Gethsemene: “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”
Likewise, the image of baptism carries two opposite meanings. In Greek, the verb to baptize means to wash, rinse, or bathe something (or someone) in water. In the biblical thought-world, such washing is a sign of cleansing: something done to rid oneself of ritual impurity, repent of one’s sins, or prepare oneself to participate in worship or to attend a social gathering such as a meal or banquet. For example, Psalm 26: “I will wash my hands in innocence, O Lord, that I may go in procession round your altar.” But the image has a dark side as well, when the waters become a torrent or flood that threatens death by drowning: for example, Psalm 69: “Save me, O God, for the waters have risen up to my neck … I have come into deep waters, and the torrent washes over me.”
Here again, when our Lord speaks of the baptism with which he is baptized, James and John most likely imagine a refreshing bath prior to dressing up for the victory celebrations of the kingdom. Little do they realize that he is instead using the biblical image of being overwhelmed and swept away by a deadly flood to signify his approaching passion and death on the cross.
Surprisingly, however, Jesus doesn’t tell them that they won’t share this cup and this baptism, but rather that they will. As his apostles, they will suffer many trials, tribulations, and persecutions for the sake of his name. Yet at this point Jesus leaves to his Father the question of who will end up seated at his right hand and his left in his glory.
When the rest of the disciples begin to get indignant at James and John, Jesus proceeds to explain that worrying about who gets the greatest honor and prestige, and jockeying for position, is really to miss the point of what the kingdom of heaven is all about: “whoever would be great among you must be your servant; and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.”
Here Jesus completely reverses the world’s values. Greatness in the kingdom of heaven consists not in having others serve you but in serving others. And of such greatness Jesus is himself the supreme example, having come not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.
This Gospel reminds us in a profound way that leadership in the church must always be understood and exercised as a form of service. We must never seek power and authority as ends in themselves, but rather use them as means of serving God and those whom God has entrusted into our care. To some extent, this ideal of servant leadership marks one place where Christianity has historically made a positive imprint on the cultural and political life of western civilization. I suspect that the ideal of government officials and lawmakers as public servants – not as our lords and masters but as our servants—derives in some measure from this Gospel ideal.
In today’s Gospel, then, Jesus is telling us that the way to true greatness is precisely through self-sacrifice and service. He promises us nothing more and nothing less than to drink the same cup that he drinks, and to be baptized with the same baptism with which he is baptized. Yet by the power of his death and resurrection, the destroying flood is ultimately transformed into a purifying bath; the cup of wrath into a cup of blessing and joy.
Some years ago, I was telling a certain gentleman that before coming to S. Stephen’s I had been rector of a parish in Staten Island, New York. “Ah yes, Staten Island,” he said. “When I worked on Wall Street many of the help used to come over from Staten Island. The housing there is affordable, and it’s so easy to get to the City on the ferry.” I was somewhat taken aback and not quite sure what to make of what seemed something of a put-down. I’d never thought of my former parishioners who worked in Manhattan as anybody’s “help,” but clearly this gentleman regarded them as near the bottom of the pecking order of his professional and social world.
In the ancient world, the same sorts of distinctions applied to an even greater extent. One mark of being an important person, a great person, a noble person was having lots of servants to work for you: to manage and run your estates, to keep your financial accounts, to cook your meals, to run your bath and help you get dressed, and so forth. To be a servant, on the other hand, was generally a position of low status – though this might vary with the type of service performed and the status of the master being served. Still, a servant could never be valued as a truly great or important person in his or her own right.
Yet, in today’s Gospel, however, Jesus reverses the world’s valuation of the relationship between greatness and servitude. James and John, two of his closest disciples, come to him saying, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Wisely, however, rather than just saying, “Okay, whatever you want, just name it,” Jesus probes a little: “What do you have in mind?” They respond: “Grant us to sit, one at your right and one at your left, in your glory.”
This request reveals their blindness, for Jesus has just finished predicting for the third time his coming death and passion. So, he replies, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am to drink or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” James and John answer: “We are able.”
In the Bible, these two images, cup and baptism, each carry two opposite meanings: blessing and woe. On one hand, a cup can signify rejoicing and festivity, as in the twenty-third Psalm, “My cup runneth over.” On the other hand, a cup can signify punishment, wrath, and suffering, as, for example, in Psalm 78, verse 8: “In the Lord’s hand there is a cup full of spiced and foaming wine, which he pours out; and all the wicked of the earth shall drink and drain the dregs.”
James and John are most likely imagining a cup of blessing and celebration. Little do they realize that Jesus is speaking instead of his passion and death: as when he prays in the Garden of Gethsemene: “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”
Likewise, the image of baptism carries two opposite meanings. In Greek, the verb to baptize means to wash, rinse, or bathe something (or someone) in water. In the biblical thought-world, such washing is a sign of cleansing: something done to rid oneself of ritual impurity, repent of one’s sins, or prepare oneself to participate in worship or to attend a social gathering such as a meal or banquet. For example, Psalm 26: “I will wash my hands in innocence, O Lord, that I may go in procession round your altar.” But the image has a dark side as well, when the waters become a torrent or flood that threatens death by drowning: for example, Psalm 69: “Save me, O God, for the waters have risen up to my neck … I have come into deep waters, and the torrent washes over me.”
Here again, when our Lord speaks of the baptism with which he is baptized, James and John most likely imagine a refreshing bath prior to dressing up for the victory celebrations of the kingdom. Little do they realize that he is instead using the biblical image of being overwhelmed and swept away by a deadly flood to signify his approaching passion and death on the cross.
Surprisingly, however, Jesus doesn’t tell them that they won’t share this cup and this baptism, but rather that they will. As his apostles, they will suffer many trials, tribulations, and persecutions for the sake of his name. Yet at this point Jesus leaves to his Father the question of who will end up seated at his right hand and his left in his glory.
When the rest of the disciples begin to get indignant at James and John, Jesus proceeds to explain that worrying about who gets the greatest honor and prestige, and jockeying for position, is really to miss the point of what the kingdom of heaven is all about: “whoever would be great among you must be your servant; and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.”
Here Jesus completely reverses the world’s values. Greatness in the kingdom of heaven consists not in having others serve you but in serving others. And of such greatness Jesus is himself the supreme example, having come not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.
This Gospel reminds us in a profound way that leadership in the church must always be understood and exercised as a form of service. We must never seek power and authority as ends in themselves, but rather use them as means of serving God and those whom God has entrusted into our care. To some extent, this ideal of servant leadership marks one place where Christianity has historically made a positive imprint on the cultural and political life of western civilization. I suspect that the ideal of government officials and lawmakers as public servants – not as our lords and masters but as our servants—derives in some measure from this Gospel ideal.
In today’s Gospel, then, Jesus is telling us that the way to true greatness is precisely through self-sacrifice and service. He promises us nothing more and nothing less than to drink the same cup that he drinks, and to be baptized with the same baptism with which he is baptized. Yet by the power of his death and resurrection, the destroying flood is ultimately transformed into a purifying bath; the cup of wrath into a cup of blessing and joy.
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