It Is Not So Among You

It Is Not So Among You by Anne Le Bas
I’ve been treading the corridors of power this week. The local clergy of Sevenoaks and Malling Deaneries went for a trip to the Houses of Parliament on Tuesday. It was fascinating – if you’ve never been there I can recommend it. We were shown around by a guide and then had a meeting with a Labour peer, Lord Anderson of Swansea, to talk about various issues of faith and politics. It was, as I have said, a very interesting experience – seeing this institution from the inside. But it was a bit seductive too. It was a place full of history, a place of power, a place where momentous decisions have been made for over a thousand years. All around us were people going to and fro carrying important looking bundles of paper. Occasionally one saw a famous face, or a name one knew from the news on a pigeonhole. We were warned that it was forbidden to plonk oneself down on the seats in the debating chambers of the Commons and the Lords, but it was very tempting to do so, just for a moment, to see what those seats of power felt like. So I suppose I have a little sympathy with James and John in today’s Gospel reading. Jesus is moving towards Jerusalem, and though he keeps talking about suffering and death, warning them of what is to come, they don’t seem to hear him. Instead they have caught the scent of victory. Surely Jesus is about to make a move to take up his rightful position as king. In fact in their own minds, it is as good as done. They are planning for the new regime. “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left in your glory, “they ask. The other disciples are furious with them – why? Because they have voiced what everyone else is clearly wondering. Who’s going to get the top jobs when Jesus comes to power? Of course, they have got it utterly wrong, as Jesus points out. The only people who are going to be at his right and left hands will be the two criminals who will be crucified with him. There won’t be any thrones on offer, just crosses. But they are oblivious to all of this at the moment – refusing even to think of it. There is a very obvious sermon I could preach from this reading. It goes like this. Power is bad – all power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. James and John are wicked people for wanting power. Real Christians are humble, preferring to stay out of the limelight, working behind the scenes, never voicing their own opinions, always doing what other people want instead, content to follow, not wanting to assert authority. But that isn’t the sermon I’m going to preach, first because I don’t think that is what Jesus is saying, and second because I don’t think it helps. That sort of attitude deprives the world and the church of vital leadership and initiative. It squashes those who are called to leadership. It allows people to shrink back from the challenges they should rightly face, from giving the gifts which they are called to share. “O no – I couldn’t possibly,” we say, “I wouldn’t want people to think I’m pushing myself forward.” So I don’t want to talk about the dangers of power. I want to talk instead about the dangers of powerlessness. Because that is what I think this passage is really about. Why are James and John so desperate to sit in these influential positions with Jesus? Why do they long for power? It is because there is, in reality, precious little of it in their lives. Here they are, in occupied Israel, under the brutal thumb of Rome, which controls its huge empire with an iron fist and little mercy. They are ordinary people – fishermen – from the rather despised northern territory of Galilee. They have no armies at their command. They are not highly educated, not great thinkers; and who cares what they think anyway? True, there are those who are even more marginalized – women, children, the destitute and disabled – but these men are well aware that, in the eyes of the world, they don’t cut much ice. They’ve probably never had any real influence over anything or anyone outside their own family circle It is no wonder that their request for power from Jesus sounds a bit unrealistic – power like this is beyond their imagination. These thrones they dream of, their question “do for us whatever we ask” are like something out of a fairy tale, or the revenge fantasies of the bullied child. It’s not power that is really the problem – the power they have and the power they want. It is powerlessness and how they feel about it – which is messing up their lives, and, potentially, the lives of others too. In that respect they are very like all of us. It’s true that we aren’t living under occupation. It’s true that we can vote, lobby, speak out – we have much more political muscle. We have more financial muscle too. But most people I talk to don’t see themselves as truly powerful. It is usually the things we can’t seem to do and can’t change that bother us. We may have a political voice, but it can often feel as if no one is listening to it – the great machinery of government grinds on whatever we think or do. We may have more money to spend – financial power – but it feels like a drop in the face of the giant conglomerates, who can still buy and sell and organize global trade to suit themselves. People often feel powerless at work – employees and employers – hemmed in by other peoples’ demands, financial constrictions, or the red tape of legislation. And we are all powerless in the face of incurable disease, random disaster, and the evil acts of others. If we manage, by luck to escape all these threats, we know that there is no escape from the ultimate leveller, Death. We may be far more powerful than those first century peasant fishermen, but it doesn’t necessarily feel that way – still we often feel small and vulnerable. And what do we do when we are feeling small? Many of us, like James and John, try to ACT big. We grasp at the chance to throw our weight around, to make things go our way. We might go at it directly – as James and John do, much to the fury of the other disciples – or we might be more subtle, playing humble while all the time trying to curry favour with those who might give us a leg up, manoeuvring and manipulating. We do it at work, at home, in church too – almost every group I’ve ever been part of has had its power struggles, usually over things that are completely irrelevant to the real business in hand. But it’s not the lust for power that is the problem; it is the underlying insecurity and sense of insignificance which fuels that lust which really needs our attention. Unless and until we can come to terms with our weakness and limitation we will be unhappy and make others miserable too as we try to make ourselves look strong and capable at their expense. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take a lead or voice an opinion, but it does mean that we should ask ourselves what our motives are when we do so. If we want to look big, clever and busy because we secretly fear that we are actually small, dim and useless, then we should beware. The fact is that powerlessness – being small, dim and useless on occasion - is a part of being human. We will never be able to control everything, to have everything the way we want it, because we live in a world full of people who also want everything the way they want it. We will never be able to control everything because the forces of the universe are bigger than us, stronger than us. We will never have ultimate power because we must all one day die – there is no medicine in the world that can change that. So what is the answer that Jesus gives to his disciples and to us? He doesn’t show us the secrets of controlling the world. He doesn’t give us thrones to sit on. Instead he shows us that, whatever happens, God is in control, God is on the throne. He walks on to Jerusalem where he is nailed to a cross, pinned motionless, unable to move, to fight. Instead of seizing power, he abandons even what he has. Those who looked on saw this as the ultimate defeat. “Call yourself a Saviour?! You can’t even save yourself, never mind others!” But actually, this act of powerlessness changes the world, changes history. Through it God’s true power is seen, as he raises that powerless, lifeless body from death. Jesus doesn’t cling to power. He doesn’t even cling to life. He doesn’t need to, because he knows that his Father will cling to him, holding him fast in life and in death, both when he has power of his own, and when he has none. This is the true power we need to know too – not what we can do, but what God can do in us and for us. If we know we are eternally significant to God, we don’t need always to be shouting “look at me!”. If we know we are eternally loved by God, we don’t need to manipulate others to make them love and admire us. If we know we are eternally safe in God’s hands, we don’t need to be constantly watching our backs and wrapping ourselves in layers of defences. “It is not so among you…” says Jesus – “you don’t need to be like this.” In his life and in his death he shows us a different pattern, a different way to follow. Let us pray for the faith and the courage to walk in that way, to entrust our powerlessness to God, so that we can discover his loving power that knows no limits. Then, in both our leading and our following, in our weakness and our strength, we’ll find that we are serving others rather than ourselves. Amen. (Comments to Anne at annelebas@DSL.PIPEX.COM.)