"Power and Weakness"

My grace is sufficient for you--for my power is made perfect in weakness.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Last week we heard the story of David and Goliath from the book of Samuel and, from the Gospel according to Mark, the story of Jesus calming the storm--a very appropriate lesson for last week's weather. The preacher talked about the courage that allowed David to confront Goliath and about the way Jesus calls on us to trust in him. Today's lessons continue those themes: they talk about power and our individual talents. In the Gospel, we see Jesus refusing to use his divine power, and in the lesson from Corinthians, St. Paul explains how God kept him from being conceited about his talents. At a camp where we try to learn about the power of leadership, and where we compete for medals by using our own talents, these lessons have much to say to us.

Now, the first thing we should notice is that today's Gospel lesson is meant to be surprising. The story says that Jesus was back in his home town preaching, and that no one believed in him, and that he could do no miracles in Nazareth, except to heal a few sick people. When we read a story like this in Mark's gospel, we always need to bear in mind what Mark expects us to know. His stories often depend on what he has already told us, or what is about to come. And the stories that accompany this one include not only stories of people who were healed, or even raised from the dead, but also the passage we heard last week, about Jesus calming the storm. In several of these stories we hear people asking, "Who is this man?" "Who is this that even the wind and the seas obey him?" "Who is this carpenter who seems so wise?" The people who ask these questions are sincere: they really don't know who Jesus is, even though they may know lots of things about him, like the names of his parents and brothers and sisters. They don't know Jesus, but Mark has made sure that we know. From the first verse of the Gospel to the last word at the foot of the cross, Mark reminds us that this man is the son of God.

So, if we know that Jesus is the Son of God, if we know that the wind and the seas obey him, if we know that he casts out demons and raises the dead, and that a woman could be healed just by touching his clothes, then we should be surprised by today's Gospel. We should be surprised because today's lesson seems to suggest that Jesus could not do any miracles in Galilee because the people there did not have faith. Yet we know that the Son of God can calm the storm, and then turn to the disciples and say, "Do you still have no faith?" If Jesus can calm the storm for unbelieving disciples, it seems as though he should have been able to do miracles back in Nazareth, whether they believed in him or not. Yet Mark, surprisingly, seems to say just the opposite.

The fact is, of course, that Jesus could have done miracles in Nazareth if he had wanted to. The son of God did not stop being the Son of God just because he visited his home town, nor did he stop doing all the godly things he always does, like creating the universe, and holding everything in that little town in Galilee in existence. Every person in that synagogue, every person in the crowd, every grain of dust in the street only existed because Jesus was causing it to be. The question St. Mark wants us to ask is why Jesus would not do any miracles in Nazareth; what made him choose not to?

The answer, I think, is that Jesus performs miracles as signs. If the point of healing miracles were to cure disease, Jesus could simply do away with bacteria and viruses and genetic disorders. If the point of raising people from the dead were to end death, Jesus could simply raise the dead in one general resurrection. But in fact he only healed a few people, and only raised a few people from the dead. The miracles are signs, hints about the Reign of God. They give us glimpses of the who, the what, and the how of the Kingdom which is already among us and yet is still to come. Calming the storm tells us about who: it shows us that the humble carpenter of Nazareth who died on a Roman cross really was what Pontius Pilate called him, and more. Jesus is, as Pilate said, the King of the Jews; but more than that, he is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. His name is YHWH, the LORD God, and at that Name all creation bows on bended knee. That is the who of the Kingdom. Healing the sick and raising the dead tell us about what the Kingdom will be like in its fullness--then there will be a general resurrection of the dead, and neither sickness nor death will ever be known again. That is one hint of what the Reign of God will be like. And the absence of miracles in Galilee tells us about how the Kingdom is coming. Some day, one day, perhaps even tomorrow, the Kingdom will come in the full power and Glory of Jesus the Christ, the Son of Man and Son of God, descending with legions of angels. But now, and in Palestine 2000 years ago, the Kingdom is coming not in power and glory, but in weakness and humility. One day, no one will have any choice about believing Jesus is the Christ. But for now, we do have that choice; for now, if we choose not to believe, Jesus will not force us. This fact, this freedom that God gives us to believe or not believe, reflects the way God has always dealt with the human race. The history of Israel's relationship with God is basically the story of God trying to get a date. He sends flowers and notes, and sometimes even hires a prophet to deliver a message, the Biblical equivalent of a singing telegram. Sometimes Israel listens, but most often she rips up the letters, stomps on the flowers, and slams the door in the prophet's face. And so when God himself comes and stands on the front step, Israel is free to mistake him for another messenger, another prophet, and slam the door in his face as well. God could break down the door, but for now, he says "Behold, I stand at the door and knock."

So Mark's message to us in this surprising passage is that the Reign of God for now is coming in ways that human beings can reject. We can shut the door, we can ignore the knocking, we can even crucify the caller with a crown of thorns. But he will not stay dead, he will not stop knocking, and one day every door will be burned through by the glory of his mere presence.

Now, then. I've told you about the stories that come before this one in Mark. But I've deliberately avoided telling you about what comes after this story. What happens is that Jesus sends out his disciples to begin to preach about the Kingdom of God, and gives them instructions about how they are to do the job. They are to go quickly, without carrying anything that would slow them down; and if they meet with resistance, they are not to respond with power, but simply to shake the dust off their shoes as a testimony against those who do not believe. The messengers of the humble King who allows himself to be crucified are instructed to appear as weak and powerless as their master.

This point about Christ's messengers is the subject of the other lesson we heard this morning, the reading from St. Paul. Paul has been writing to the church in Corinth in some excitement, upset because some of the people there have been trying to find more impressive Apostles than he. There were plenty of wandering teachers and preachers in the ancient world, and we know that some of them took over part of the Christian gospel into their own routines. These men were professional public speakers, and apparently they could hold a crowd's attention better than Paul. His response is to lecture the Corinthians about his credentials--if they are looking for a super-Apostle, he says, they won't find anyone better qualified than he. If they want someone who knows about Judaism, Paul is of the tribe of Benjamin and a student of Rabban Gamaliel, the greatest teacher of the age; if they want someone who has suffered for the faith, Paul has often been flogged within an inch of his life. If they want someone who has dreamed dreams and seen visions, Paul knows someone--modesty prevents him from saying whom--who has been given a revelation of heaven itself. If the Corinthians want someone with good credentials, Paul says, his letters of reference are signed by Almighty God.

Yet all of this talk about his own talents bothers Paul, for two reasons. The first reason is simple modesty: Paul really doesn't mean to brag. The second reason gets back to the matter of the Kingdom coming in weakness: Paul recites his credentials only to show that the Kingdom actually doesn't depend on super powers. These two concerns, Paul's modesty and Christ's weakness, turn out to be related. Paul is modest about his credentials because he knows all of his talents, all of his special revelations, were given to him only for the sake of the Kingdom. They are tools for a purpose, not grounds for Paul's individual pride. The important thing is that Paul is a messenger for Jesus Christ. Paul goes on to explain that his modesty isn't entirely natural for him. God has given him a permanent reminder, he says, some sort of chronic pain or temptation, just so that Paul will know that God doesn't really need all of Paul's special credentials. In fact, Paul says, one of his special revelations has been a reminder that special talents aren't even necessary--and this is where the weakness of Christ comes in. Being an Apostle doesn't require a superman, Jesus told Paul, because the good news Apostles have to share is not good news about super powers, it is good news about humility and weakness. "My grace is sufficient for you," Jesus said, "for my power is made perfect in weakness." Like the disciples sent out in Mark's Gospel, Paul is a messenger for a King who has put aside his royal powers. The ambassador of a crucified Christ will not be a Superapostle, but rather a stuttering short-tempered tentmaker whose weakness is his best credential of all.

Well, then. From our two lessons we learn that the Reign of God has not yet come in power, but rather in weakness, and that messengers of that Kingdom are expected to spread the word in humility and weakness, not in pride and domination, following the example of their king. This all hangs together; it is consistent. But I have not yet said anything about what this set of ideas means for us.

In fact these ideas have two levels of importance for us. They tell us something about our role as Christians and something about our roles as leaders. In the first place, as Christians, we are all ambassadors for Christ. The first duty of every baptized person is to proclaim the faith of Christ crucified. But like Paul, we are Ambassadors by God's grace, and we are Ambassadors of God's power which is made perfect in weakness. God gives us talents and abilities to use in our Christian lives, but if we begin to treat those talents as if they were our own achievements rather than gifts of God's grace, God reminds us with our own thorns in the flesh; and if people attempt to use those talents to bring the Reign of God by force rather than by weakness, God allows the whole project to fall down around their ears. That goes for any kind of force--not just physical force, but also verbal or emotional intimidation, whether live or on television. So, as Christians, we try to live modestly, remembering that our talents and experiences are gifts from God, and we try to understand how God means for us to use them. We work to share the Good News of God in Christ, but we do so remembering that this is Good News about a god who humbled himself even to die on a cross for our sake, not another tale of a tyrant god who compels obedience.

Now in the second place, as to our lives as leaders. Both modesty and weakness pay a part in leadership, though you might not think so when you're at a garrison parade with the Regimental Adjutant roaring out directions. Modesty plays a role because leaders have to remember that the powers of their offices are given to them so that they can serve the group they lead, not as a personal possession. Just as St. Paul had to remember that his vision of heaven did not entitle him to special privileges, but was rather meant to help him as an ambassador for Christ, so too a platoon leader or a regimental commander has to remember that his or her authority is not a special privilege, but is really meant to help him or her lead the group. People who think that power belongs to them by personal right are not leaders, but dictators; their groups become personality cults, like Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia, or North Korea in our own day. Real leaders, like St. Paul, need the modesty to recognize the true nature of their powers.

Now even if I have convinced you that modesty is a leadership trait, you may still wonder about the claim that weakness has a place in leadership. After all, when we want to praise leaders, one of the most common words to use is strong. "Jane is a strong leader," someone will say at a counselors' meeting, "Let's make her Regimental Commander." How then can we say that weakness is a leadership trait?

Certainly, a leader should not be weak in the sense of being indecisive; nor should a leader be weak in the sense of giving way to the opinions of the group rather than doing what the leader knows to be right. But a good leader will be weak in the sense of motivating people rather than intimidating them. Many people down through history (even through Annandale's history) have tried to move their groups toward their goals by frightening them into action; but in the long run this doesn't work. Even in the military world an army of people fighting for something they value--whether that value is patriotism or freedom or simply money--an army motivated by desire generally fights better than an army which has been terrorized into battle. A good leader prefers to create desire for a goal rather than fear of the leader, just as Jesus introduces the Kingdom in a form we can reject, rather than in the fullness of its glory.

A good leader will also be weak in the sense of putting the groups' interests before his own. In fact, leadership is based on self-sacrifice. Some philosophers have claimed that self-sacrifice is a particularly bad sort of weakness, almost a plague that Christianity has unleashed on the world. But all of human experience--even the experience of animals defending other members of their pack--shows us that such philosophers are wrong. In ancient times, some societies believed that the king must literally be sacrificed, to insure that the crops would grow well. When modern kings are good at their jobs, they understand this principle. My English cousins sneered at King Edward VIII because he gave up the kingship in order to marry the woman he loved--he never thought of sacrificing his love for the good of the country. But my cousins adore King Edward's sister-in-law, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother. When London was being bombed during the Second World War, officials wanted to take the royal princesses (at least) to some safe place, maybe even to Canada. But the royal family stayed in London while the bombs fell. The Queen explained by saying, "The princesses cannot leave without me; I cannot leave without the King; and the King cannot leave." Unlike Edward, Queen Elizabeth understood self-sacrifice.

Of course, all this applies to other people besides Kings and Queens. We all know the old rule that when a vessel is sunk, the Captain should be the last one off, or else go down with the ship; here at school the regimental commander should eat last, or else go hungry. Sometimes the risk of self-sacrifice requires real courage. I remember a time here at Annandale in the winter school when one of the adults who was in a position of power decided, quite insanely, to schedule a special GI on the night before semester exams. This meant that the cadets would have to spend the day cleaning their barracks instead of preparing for their tests. When the adult arrived at the front lobby of Main Barracks, which was supposed to be the beginning of the inspection tour, he was met by the Regimental Commander and the Battalion Commander, both in full dress uniform. The Regimental Commander saluted and said "Colonel, you are not going to inspect the Corps this evening. I have ordered them to study for their tests." These two boys were risking demotion, expulsion, possibly the loss of their college recommendations--but they were willing to sacrifice it all for the good of the people in their commands. Self-sacrifice is a basic part of leadership, just as God's self-sacrifice on the cross is a basic part of Christianity.

Now, I have one last thing to say. We began by noticing that the lesson from Mark is supposed to be surprising, and we've now worked our way around to some observations about leadership. It may seem surprising again that the Gospel stories of Jesus should have a message about how to be a good squad leader. But actually, this should be no surprise at all. Jesus is not some being who drops in for a visit from another dimension, like a bad episode of Star Trek; no, Jesus is God the Son living a complete human life, and God the Son is the blueprint, the basic plan, of the whole created universe. The cross and the empty tomb, crucifixion and resurrection, are not mere historical accidents; they are the actions in which God shows us the most fundamental rules of Creation itself. In the life and death of Jesus the Christ, we not only see the first stages of the Kingdom, but also learn that the world was always meant to be the Kingdom. The pattern of the Cross is imprinted on the universe, and particularly on human society, the way the red saltire is imprinted on this campus. Leadership lessons can come from the Gospel because all the world bears the trademark of the King whose power is made perfect in weakness.

+ To him and to the Father and to the Holy Spirit be ascribed all might majesty dominion and power, as is most justly due. Amen.

--John Wm. Houghton