Mark 9:30-37

Jesus and his disciples went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again." But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?" But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

Sometimes I keep my mouth shut because I’m shy. Sometimes I keep my mouth shut because I’m confused or afraid. Sometimes I keep my mouth shut because I’m embarrassed.

Our gospel for today, which, by the way, is only seven sentences long, contains two instances of the disciples keeping their mouths shut when they might have chosen to do otherwise: two instances in seven sentences.

First, the disciples fall silent after hearing Jesus describe the dark things that are about to happen to him. Mark says they do this because they don’t understand what he’s saying and are afraid to ask him anything about it. And, second, the disciples demur and fall silent when Jesus asks them what they’ve been arguing about on their way to Capernaum. The reason for this silence, of course, isn’t fear or confusion, but apparently embarrassment because what they’ve been arguing about who is among them is the greatest.

The disciples’ silences tell us a lot about where they are in their relationship with Jesus at this stage of their life together. It is, we can surmise, a relationship that needs further development in that it’s more about reticence than openness, more about fear than trust more about withholding than it is about honesty.

Commentators on this passage love to go to town on the disciples, beating them up once again for their immaturity and cluelessness. “They don’t get it,” one commentator says while another calls them “dense” and “stupid.” I’m not so hard on them because on many days, I myself am more reticent than open, more fearful than trusting, more embarrassed and withholding than honest. While I’d love to think of myself as a grown up who’s worked through most of her issues related to openness, trust and honesty, if truth be told, I get quiet when it comes to the big questions that confuse and scare me. I keep things to myself when it comes to sharing some of my real motivations for doing things.

And so I don’t think the disciples in this passage are completely clueless or hopelessly immature. They are instead like me and perhaps like you.

And so I wonder this morning. Where have you been keeping your mouth shut in the face of questions you’re afraid to ask or on account or embarrassments you’re afraid to disclose? What has it been like for you to keep silent about these things? How has it affected you and your relationship with others? How has it affected your relationship with God?

There is a tiny book I’ve been reading for my work in the College for Congregational Development. It’s called Naming the Elephants: How to Surface Undiscussables for Greater Organizational Success. It’s all about things that are not said, questions that are not asked, vulnerabilities that are not admitted to, things that, because they are denied and edged out of the conversation, turn into wild elephants that trumpet and stamp and pull people and the organizations they inhabit in directions that are not only unhealthy, they are dangerous.

Looking at the book and its idea that when undiscussables are brought to light and explored that the whole organization is made healthier and more functional, it strikes me that this is true for the individual person, for communities and for entire nations as well. Through not being embraced or examined, undiscussable questions, undiscussable fears, undiscussable vulnerabilities gain power. And often along with this, someone or something important gets cut off, left out, trod upon.

This is perhaps why in the middle of all that the disciples will not ask about or express, Jesus does something to make a dramatic point. He gathers the disciples together as a and sits down as a rabbi would when an important teaching was about to happen, and he takes a little child and puts him or her in their midst. Mark specifies that this is a little child, probably incapable of speech and most certainly perceived to have been one of the most marginalized of ancient society. Jesus brings a little child into the middle of their gathering —a living symbol of all that is unvoiced in us and in the world, a living symbol of all who are unacceptable and voiceless in the world. With this, Jesus reverses the disciples’ expectations, telling them that in the realm of God the first will be those who serve others such as this one and that those who receive the ones who have been pushed down or out or not given a voice will receive nothing less than God’s own self,

It is a small thing perhaps in the personal, the community and the global scope of our invitation to discuss undiscussables and to receive both the parts of ourselves and the others who have been pushed down or out or not given a voice, it is a small thing perhaps but later this morning we will be engaging in an exercise of discussing some work related to our building which in part is about becoming more of a place that welcomes those so easily marginalized, those with issues of mobility. More than any other project I’ve worked on at St. Paul’s, this building renovation project has put me in touch with my own undiscussables. It has also asked me in the process and in the plans to admit into my consciousness perspectives that differed from my own and the needs of those who often do not speak up but whose struggle to be in our space is as striking as Jesus placing a child in the midst of the disciples.

We have a chance together today in our town meeting in a small but momentous way both to look at ways some of us have been working on making our space do a better job at reflecting our receiving of all of God’s own, and we have a chance to practice giving voice to our perspectives—to ask questions or make statements that we may be reticent to voice. I was discussing our meeting to someone outside the parish and then referred to it as a “dog and pony show.” For me our meeting are more like kingdom activities—a taste of the realm of God where many voices are hard just as they are and somehow organically flavor the things that we do, the directions we take.

Sometimes we keep my mouths shut because we’re shy. Sometimes we keep my mouths shut because we’re confused or afraid. Sometimes we keep my mouths shut because we’re embarrassed.

In the God’s kingdom, we don’t have to be fearful of embarrasses as we give voice to our questions as we express who we are. From in receiving the voiceless and the marginalized we receive God’s very self.

Back to Sermons