Who we are is whose we are
Commentary
Object:
Every parent of young children can identify with this: A little boy was asked his name, and he replied, "John Don't." Sometimes it seems that parents have only "no's" for their little ones. No, Sarah. You mustn't do that, Matthew. John, don't! It may sound harsh, but when we say "no" to our children it's often a matter of safety, a means of survival. We say it to keep them from falling out a window or stepping out into a busy street or drinking poison.
Adults need "no's" in their lives too. But for adults it's not always a matter of safety or survival. Usually it has more to do with self-definition. In order to truly say "yes" in life, we must also learn to say "no."
Think of it. If you can't say "no," then you lose the power to say "yes." If you are capable of doing anything, if there's nothing you wouldn't do, then you have no character. Character is something we define by drawing lines, by closing off possibilities, by saying, "I am this, because I am not that. I cannot be that, because I want to be this."
That's really the point of the negatives in the Ten Commandments. God isn't trying to play the killjoy. He's dealing with us in grace. "Don't have any other gods before me," he says; "if you do, you'll miss the real thing your life is all about. Don't look for happiness in illicit sexual encounters; if you do, you'll miss the one greatest joy of your sexuality that you could find in troth. Don't speak an untruth, or you yourself will become a lie."
G.K. Chesterton put it marvelously. He said that art and morality have this in common: they know where to draw the line. That's definition. That's closing some things and shutting other things out. Only when we draw lines can we develop some sense of character, some understanding of personality, some consciousness of identity.
This is the theme in all of our scripture passages today. Job needs to be reminded that the limits of his understanding are the beginning of his relationship with God. The Christians who first read Hebrews had to be reminded that religion means nothing if we don't stick close to Jesus. And Jesus himself had to talk sternly with his disciples who wanted more for themselves than the lines of submission allowed. Who we are is, indeed, whose we are!
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
According to the prose prologue of Job 1, the story is set somewhere in Mesopotamia because of references to "the land of Uz" (Job 1:1) and "the people of the East" (Job 1:3). When the lifestyle of Job is described, it has the same qualities and feel as do the conditions expressed regarding the patriarchs of Genesis, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. So the cultural context of Job's misfortunes is an agrarian society around the year 2000 BC somewhere in the eastern half of the Fertile Crescent.
Although there is a brief prose narrative setting up the drama at the beginning (Job 1-2), a tiny prose interruption to explain a change of scenes in 32:1-5, and a short narrative concluding note (Job 42:7-17), the essence of the book of Job is found in the dramatic dialogues that make up its bulk. These are rhythmically arranged and contain nuances of theodicy, which attempt to answer the question of why Job is suffering. After Job makes his initial lament (Job 3), there are three rounds of dialogue in which Job's primary friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, explain their views. Each time Job responds in an attempt to refute their harsh judgments about him. The friends focus on some secret, heinous sins that must have been uncovered by God, resulting in Job's horrible current condition as divine payback in a tit-for-tat mechanistic moral world. Job continually protests his innocence and decries their poor bedside manners.
The third round of these dialogues seems to be cut short. As usual, Eliphaz (Job 22) and Bildad (Job 25) rush in to challenge Job, but Zophar is not included this time. Job's final response in this section is more extended (Job 26-31). The apparent incompleteness of this round of disputations may be a literary device hinting that Job's three friends have not been able to adequately respond. At precisely this moment a new voice enters (Job 32-37), bringing the younger and yet more complex and profound insight of Elihu. While the earlier interactions muddied down into almost tedious accusation and defense, Elihu adds the dimensions of divine chastisement and education. Although suffering is usually a sign of divine judgment, Elihu notes, sometimes it is merely our lot as human beings living in a compromised world. Moreover, even where there are no specific sins on our part to merit punishment, God often uses pain as a means to keep us aware of our limitations and remind us of our need for divine help.
We are not given an indication as to how Job responds to Elihu's assessment, for before Job can answer Yahweh suddenly thunders in (Job 38:1--42:6). We do not know why God chooses to make a speech at this time, nor are we party to what conversations might have happened in the heavens of the opening scenes as the rest of the earthly exchanges unfolded. Also, to our frustration, Yahweh does not answer the assertions made by either the friends or Job. Instead, Yahweh gives ten object lessons from the physical realm (Job 38:2-38) and another ten object lessons from the animal realm (Job 38:39--39:30), which apparently are meant to remind the participants in the drama (and also those who read it) that Yahweh's power vastly supersedes human exploration or co-engagement. Because of this, according to the brief encounters Yahweh then has with Job (Job 40:1--42:6), we ought not presume too much about why things happen as they do, nor pride ourselves about any normative or comprehensive insights we might think we have.
In the end, although Satan is never mentioned again, nor are we taken back to the transcendent perch granted at the beginning, Job is vindicated. His suffering, which was not specifically brought on because of grievous sins in his life, is ended, and his world is restored to its former prosperity.
What are we to make of this drama? When the drama is taken as a whole, it becomes apparent that Job's message is not entirely about suffering. Instead, the book seems to be at least as much about what might be termed the fundamental values that make humanity human. Suffering merely provides a context in which the critical issues of meaning rise quickly to the surface.
Do we live in a world where we are masters to ourselves? No, this is a moral universe, and there are laws that must be obeyed if we are to survive.
But is it then a mechanistic cosmos in which cause and effect are the only determiners of outcome? Not at all, for above and around and beyond our typical powers of perception swirls a spiritual realm in which God and angels and demons take a vital interest in our habits and activities of life.
So what can we learn about our existence from this drama? Mechanistic worldviews belittle and reduce life, either by claiming that physical possessions and prosperity are the end product of right living or that pain and suffering will automatically drive one away from God. The former forgets that God desires to have meaningful relationships with humans, even when they are flawed and sinful. The latter believes that atheism is a viable option in a world where things no longer make any sense.
This is a moral universe, though not all pain and problems are the direct result of our sinfulness. The normal or natural human identity involves acknowledging and worshiping God, but this worship cannot be coerced. The fundamental challenge to human living is that of continuing to be our truest God-worshiping selves even when the limited evidence of daily experience sometimes seems to speak to the contrary. Job neither gives in to his friends' reductionistic worldview nor gives up in the face of insufficient evidence to confirm God's care or presence. In this Job remains truly human at its most fundamental level: he believes in God not for the sake of trinkets he might gain by that relationship, but because to lose that transcendent connection would be to deny his very self and its reason for existence. Whose he is ultimately is who he is.
Hebrews 5:1-10
Although there are many smaller sections and parenthetic notes, the thrust of Hebrews as a whole is on explaining the unique identity and role of Jesus, and drawing out the implications this has for all who know him:
* Jesus is the superior way to God (Hebrews 1-6):
- Angels delivered the Torah, but Jesus is himself the living word (chs. 1-2).
- Moses received the Torah, but Jesus is a new and living symbol (chs. 3-4) of God among us.
- Aaron and the priests sacrificed daily and yearly, but Jesus sacrificed himself once for all (chs. 5-6).
* Therefore Jesus is like Melchizedek, uniquely filling a mediatorial role (Hebrews 7-10).
* So keep following him in spite of challenges and tribulation (Hebrews 10-13).
Melchizedek is a shadowy figure who only emerges three times in the Bible. First, there is a brief mention of Abram's encounter with Melchizedek, the "king of Salem" and "priest of God most high" (Genesis 14:18), after rescuing Lot from neighboring kings. Because Abram has a unique relationship with God and yet receives a blessing from Melchizedek and honors this king and priest by giving a tenth of his goods, Melchizedek gains distinction as standing above Abraham (and his descendants) in spiritual authority.
Second, this heightened sense of Melchizedek's mediatorial role is played out in Psalm 110, which might be David's response to the promise made by God in 2 Samuel 7 that one of his descendents will always be king over God's people. Melchizedek was somehow divinely commissioned outside of the Mosaic/Aaronic family appointments, and the unique gift given to David's family had the same qualities about it.
Third, this becomes the source of allegorical material for the author of Hebrews. Like Melchizedek, Jesus stands outside the ordinary priestly system of Israel, and therefore can function in a unique way as a mediator. There is even a play made on the limited information about Melchizedek in Genesis (his parentage is not noted) and the special circumstances of Jesus' birth (the miracle of the incarnation).
Hebrews brings a word of wisdom to the New Testament community. It compares the two great redemptive interruptions of God into human history, and shows how these were paired aspects of God's one primary desire to reassert the divine presence and care. Setting them over against each other makes no sense; but neither does remaining handcuffed to the former when its greater replacement has come. True religion is not about how humans can become better people through the ritual acts of even the best of systems; rather, it is about how we can follow Jesus with confidence, especially during times of persecution, since he is the latest and greatest expression of the kindness and majesty of God.
Mark 10:35-45
Do you remember Rudyard Kipling's tale of "How the Camel Got Its Hump"? At the dawn of creation, according to Kipling, God gave each of his wonderful animals a job to do. Working together they began to prepare the new world for the coming of humankind.
The only one among them that would not work was the camel. Whenever the other animals asked for his help, he just said, "Humph!!" and walked away. The camel, according to Kipling, thought he was better than all the other animals, so he "Humph!"ed around every day with his proud nose in the air and a disdainful swagger in his legs.
But when God saw what was happening, he collected all of the haughty camel's "Humph!"s, and one day dumped them right down onto the camel's back. And that, said Kipling, is how the camel got its hump.
Proud people are a lot like camels, aren't they? Noses in the air, swaggering steps, and humps of self-importance pushing up wherever they invade the company of others. Mid-twentieth century Italian dictator Benito Mussolini played the part so well. Although he was short of stature he was long on pride. People said that he could strut even when he was sitting down. A newspaper once reported that "he was a solemn procession of one."
Pride is a funny thing. It is an extension of many very good qualities that God has given us as gifts. Why, then, does a great athlete cross the line from confidence to cockiness? What pushes a beautiful woman from graciousness to arrogance? When does a businessman step up one rung too high on the ladder of success and become self-important? How can disciples of Jesus claim positions of honor in his kingdom?
The ancient Greeks tried to define the transition from piety to pride in the story of Narcissus. Narcissus was a wonderfully beautiful young man, greatly talented and admired. Unfortunately he had ears large enough to hear the whispers of appreciation that buzzed through every crowd when he approached. Soon he began to believe what others said and fell in love with himself.
One day he was scrambling through the rocks of the hills on a hunt. Thirsty, he paused at a pool in the hollows and bent down to drink. But before his lips broke the mirrored surface he caught sight of a marvelous water nymph staring at him from below. He was entranced by the beautiful face, the wonderful eyes, the marvelous nose and chin, and he reached down to embrace the nymph.
When he disturbed the water it seemed as if the nymph scurried away. That pained him deeply and he began to cry. But when the ripples subsided, the nymph was back. Though Narcissus didn't seem to catch on, he was actually seeing himself.
Over and over the scene repeated itself -- Narcissus staring in love at his own reflection in the pool -- until he finally fell famished to his death!
The point was clear: the moment we begin to love ourselves as the highest good we lose the power to live authentically. We cross the line from piety to pride when we become the object of our own appreciation.
This is a perplexing issue, however, since we all need self-esteem to function to our fullest potential. The concern Jesus had with James and John in today's gospel lesson becomes a matter of where that self-esteem originates. When we are loved by another, our self-esteem grows. The source of the power is located outside of ourselves and energizes us to be the best we can be. Once we fall in love with ourselves, the empowerment becomes cancerous, and we destroy the very qualities that might otherwise make us lovely.
Tony Campolo said it well. When he was in seminary, taking his first class in preaching, he was already a very gifted speaker. After his first "practice" sermon to his fellow-students and professor, his peers praised him up one side and down the other. He couldn't wait to see what his professor wrote.
The evaluation came back with a single line in red marking ink: "Tony, you can't convince people that you're wonderful and that Jesus is wonderful in the same sermon."
That is why Jesus needed to put his disciples all in their places. They could not love anyone else when they were obsessed with themselves, even if their obsession was for holy living or righteous behavior.
Application
Obedience and submission are scarce commodities in most of our lives. There are probably at least two reasons for that. For one thing, we are self-made people. Early in life we make it clear that "I do it myself!" We have a need to be right, and a need to save face. One of my friends has a cartoon on his office door that pictures a senior official standing grimly in front of a subordinate's desk. The boss says, "I didn't say it was your fault; I said I was going to blame you."
There is a lot of that in all of our lives. Since Adam and Eve passed the blame along to others we all try to outwit reality in order to save face. We need to be right. We need to be strong. We need to be identified as "winners" rather than "losers." Submission is for the weaklings, not the strong.
A second reason why we hesitate to submit to anyone else is that we don't know if we can trust the other person. One man in his middle years can recount to me every promise his father made to him and then broke when he was a lad. To this day he finds it hard to trust God. After all, as a wise person has noted, " 'Daddy' is the name for God on the lips of a child." When parents fail us (and they always will), we learn mistrust in the religious core of our beings. In order to keep from getting hurt we won't submit, even to God.
Wise pastors have always known that. Yet they continue to encourage people to trust and submit because it is the essence of who we are as humans in our relationship to the Creator of the universe. Whose we are is ultimately who we are.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 5:1-10. The name "Melchizedek" has always intrigued me. I wonder what a "Melchizedek" would look like; rather imposing, I'm sure. The name rolls around for a while before it comes out. You begin with soft sounds and warm touches, and then you sort of sneeze the rest of it out. In my mind, Melchizedek would have to be rather tall; a short Melchizedek just wouldn't be Melchizedek. Maybe "Melchy" or "Chizy," but not the whole thing.
A Melchizedek would have to be fairly old too. A handle like that could crush a baby. Can you imagine youngsters playing ball, and the coach calling for Melchizedek to get in the game? He'd be laughed off the field.
No, there's something old and tall and wise and authoritative about a person who fits the name Melchizedek.
You can't have too many people in your community by the name of Melchizedek either. It loses its punch if you see it on every 37th mailbox. Melchizedeks are few and far between. They have to be, or they can't be Melchizedeks. Not that you don't want one around; a good Melchizedek in the family line sort of spruces it up. You can point to that name back in the pages of the family Bible, and it gives importance to your bloodline: "See! I come from a good family."
But it's not one of those names that you want to pass down from generation to generation either. You can understand it when someone wants to call a baby Franklin Jr., or Theodore Geisbert IV. But you have to handle a name like Melchizedek with care. One Melchizedek is enough; you wouldn't want to try to clone him or force someone else to walk in his shoes.
There's something royal in the name, of course. A Melchizedek deserves to rule. Maybe that's not putting it strongly enough: a Melchizedek needs to rule. Authority goes with the name. You can't be a Melchizedek and be a wimp at the same time.
In fact, you might find a Melchizedek in kingly legends, like the quest for the Holy Grail. A Melchizedek shouldn't just sit there on his throne and grow benignly old; he should have a mission, a purpose, a cause to champion, a crusade. If a Melchizedek sits around too long you start calling him "the old man," or "the head honcho," or something demeaning like that. But when you see him on his steed, something in you stirs magnificently. His face is slightly weather-beaten, and his hair is brushed by the wind. You know he's a man of purpose. You know there's depth to him.
So what's this all about? Am I dancing around in ignorance, trying to make something out of a name that's only mentioned twice in the Old Testament (Genesis 14:18 and Psalm 110) and in this single New Testament passage (Hebrews 5-7)? Is this an exercise in theological silliness?
Not really. Melchizedek is a strange figure, scattered lightly across the scriptures. Of himself, he doesn't really amount to much, I suppose. But his very insignificance, coupled with the single act of faith to which he's tied in the life of Abraham (Genesis 14:18-20), have given him the stature of prince among legends.
That's really the point of these references to him. With whom can you compare a divinely appointed king like David? Certainly he doesn't fit the mold of the other monarchs around him. In fact, when he resembles them most, he's least like his truest self. David is the stuff that becomes a legend. And before he becomes one himself, you can only talk about him and his sons in the hushed terms of larger-than-life figures. Like Melchizedek.
The Bible doesn't let you read too much theology into Melchizedek. But when it comes to thinking about David, your thoughts naturally turn to those few who stand slightly above the natural order of things. Melchizedek comes to mind.
That's probably why David's later, greater Son ran into the same family history generations further along. Someone probably bumped into him one day and started thinking, "That man's got a Melchizedek in the family tree, I'm sure."
Adults need "no's" in their lives too. But for adults it's not always a matter of safety or survival. Usually it has more to do with self-definition. In order to truly say "yes" in life, we must also learn to say "no."
Think of it. If you can't say "no," then you lose the power to say "yes." If you are capable of doing anything, if there's nothing you wouldn't do, then you have no character. Character is something we define by drawing lines, by closing off possibilities, by saying, "I am this, because I am not that. I cannot be that, because I want to be this."
That's really the point of the negatives in the Ten Commandments. God isn't trying to play the killjoy. He's dealing with us in grace. "Don't have any other gods before me," he says; "if you do, you'll miss the real thing your life is all about. Don't look for happiness in illicit sexual encounters; if you do, you'll miss the one greatest joy of your sexuality that you could find in troth. Don't speak an untruth, or you yourself will become a lie."
G.K. Chesterton put it marvelously. He said that art and morality have this in common: they know where to draw the line. That's definition. That's closing some things and shutting other things out. Only when we draw lines can we develop some sense of character, some understanding of personality, some consciousness of identity.
This is the theme in all of our scripture passages today. Job needs to be reminded that the limits of his understanding are the beginning of his relationship with God. The Christians who first read Hebrews had to be reminded that religion means nothing if we don't stick close to Jesus. And Jesus himself had to talk sternly with his disciples who wanted more for themselves than the lines of submission allowed. Who we are is, indeed, whose we are!
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
According to the prose prologue of Job 1, the story is set somewhere in Mesopotamia because of references to "the land of Uz" (Job 1:1) and "the people of the East" (Job 1:3). When the lifestyle of Job is described, it has the same qualities and feel as do the conditions expressed regarding the patriarchs of Genesis, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. So the cultural context of Job's misfortunes is an agrarian society around the year 2000 BC somewhere in the eastern half of the Fertile Crescent.
Although there is a brief prose narrative setting up the drama at the beginning (Job 1-2), a tiny prose interruption to explain a change of scenes in 32:1-5, and a short narrative concluding note (Job 42:7-17), the essence of the book of Job is found in the dramatic dialogues that make up its bulk. These are rhythmically arranged and contain nuances of theodicy, which attempt to answer the question of why Job is suffering. After Job makes his initial lament (Job 3), there are three rounds of dialogue in which Job's primary friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, explain their views. Each time Job responds in an attempt to refute their harsh judgments about him. The friends focus on some secret, heinous sins that must have been uncovered by God, resulting in Job's horrible current condition as divine payback in a tit-for-tat mechanistic moral world. Job continually protests his innocence and decries their poor bedside manners.
The third round of these dialogues seems to be cut short. As usual, Eliphaz (Job 22) and Bildad (Job 25) rush in to challenge Job, but Zophar is not included this time. Job's final response in this section is more extended (Job 26-31). The apparent incompleteness of this round of disputations may be a literary device hinting that Job's three friends have not been able to adequately respond. At precisely this moment a new voice enters (Job 32-37), bringing the younger and yet more complex and profound insight of Elihu. While the earlier interactions muddied down into almost tedious accusation and defense, Elihu adds the dimensions of divine chastisement and education. Although suffering is usually a sign of divine judgment, Elihu notes, sometimes it is merely our lot as human beings living in a compromised world. Moreover, even where there are no specific sins on our part to merit punishment, God often uses pain as a means to keep us aware of our limitations and remind us of our need for divine help.
We are not given an indication as to how Job responds to Elihu's assessment, for before Job can answer Yahweh suddenly thunders in (Job 38:1--42:6). We do not know why God chooses to make a speech at this time, nor are we party to what conversations might have happened in the heavens of the opening scenes as the rest of the earthly exchanges unfolded. Also, to our frustration, Yahweh does not answer the assertions made by either the friends or Job. Instead, Yahweh gives ten object lessons from the physical realm (Job 38:2-38) and another ten object lessons from the animal realm (Job 38:39--39:30), which apparently are meant to remind the participants in the drama (and also those who read it) that Yahweh's power vastly supersedes human exploration or co-engagement. Because of this, according to the brief encounters Yahweh then has with Job (Job 40:1--42:6), we ought not presume too much about why things happen as they do, nor pride ourselves about any normative or comprehensive insights we might think we have.
In the end, although Satan is never mentioned again, nor are we taken back to the transcendent perch granted at the beginning, Job is vindicated. His suffering, which was not specifically brought on because of grievous sins in his life, is ended, and his world is restored to its former prosperity.
What are we to make of this drama? When the drama is taken as a whole, it becomes apparent that Job's message is not entirely about suffering. Instead, the book seems to be at least as much about what might be termed the fundamental values that make humanity human. Suffering merely provides a context in which the critical issues of meaning rise quickly to the surface.
Do we live in a world where we are masters to ourselves? No, this is a moral universe, and there are laws that must be obeyed if we are to survive.
But is it then a mechanistic cosmos in which cause and effect are the only determiners of outcome? Not at all, for above and around and beyond our typical powers of perception swirls a spiritual realm in which God and angels and demons take a vital interest in our habits and activities of life.
So what can we learn about our existence from this drama? Mechanistic worldviews belittle and reduce life, either by claiming that physical possessions and prosperity are the end product of right living or that pain and suffering will automatically drive one away from God. The former forgets that God desires to have meaningful relationships with humans, even when they are flawed and sinful. The latter believes that atheism is a viable option in a world where things no longer make any sense.
This is a moral universe, though not all pain and problems are the direct result of our sinfulness. The normal or natural human identity involves acknowledging and worshiping God, but this worship cannot be coerced. The fundamental challenge to human living is that of continuing to be our truest God-worshiping selves even when the limited evidence of daily experience sometimes seems to speak to the contrary. Job neither gives in to his friends' reductionistic worldview nor gives up in the face of insufficient evidence to confirm God's care or presence. In this Job remains truly human at its most fundamental level: he believes in God not for the sake of trinkets he might gain by that relationship, but because to lose that transcendent connection would be to deny his very self and its reason for existence. Whose he is ultimately is who he is.
Hebrews 5:1-10
Although there are many smaller sections and parenthetic notes, the thrust of Hebrews as a whole is on explaining the unique identity and role of Jesus, and drawing out the implications this has for all who know him:
* Jesus is the superior way to God (Hebrews 1-6):
- Angels delivered the Torah, but Jesus is himself the living word (chs. 1-2).
- Moses received the Torah, but Jesus is a new and living symbol (chs. 3-4) of God among us.
- Aaron and the priests sacrificed daily and yearly, but Jesus sacrificed himself once for all (chs. 5-6).
* Therefore Jesus is like Melchizedek, uniquely filling a mediatorial role (Hebrews 7-10).
* So keep following him in spite of challenges and tribulation (Hebrews 10-13).
Melchizedek is a shadowy figure who only emerges three times in the Bible. First, there is a brief mention of Abram's encounter with Melchizedek, the "king of Salem" and "priest of God most high" (Genesis 14:18), after rescuing Lot from neighboring kings. Because Abram has a unique relationship with God and yet receives a blessing from Melchizedek and honors this king and priest by giving a tenth of his goods, Melchizedek gains distinction as standing above Abraham (and his descendants) in spiritual authority.
Second, this heightened sense of Melchizedek's mediatorial role is played out in Psalm 110, which might be David's response to the promise made by God in 2 Samuel 7 that one of his descendents will always be king over God's people. Melchizedek was somehow divinely commissioned outside of the Mosaic/Aaronic family appointments, and the unique gift given to David's family had the same qualities about it.
Third, this becomes the source of allegorical material for the author of Hebrews. Like Melchizedek, Jesus stands outside the ordinary priestly system of Israel, and therefore can function in a unique way as a mediator. There is even a play made on the limited information about Melchizedek in Genesis (his parentage is not noted) and the special circumstances of Jesus' birth (the miracle of the incarnation).
Hebrews brings a word of wisdom to the New Testament community. It compares the two great redemptive interruptions of God into human history, and shows how these were paired aspects of God's one primary desire to reassert the divine presence and care. Setting them over against each other makes no sense; but neither does remaining handcuffed to the former when its greater replacement has come. True religion is not about how humans can become better people through the ritual acts of even the best of systems; rather, it is about how we can follow Jesus with confidence, especially during times of persecution, since he is the latest and greatest expression of the kindness and majesty of God.
Mark 10:35-45
Do you remember Rudyard Kipling's tale of "How the Camel Got Its Hump"? At the dawn of creation, according to Kipling, God gave each of his wonderful animals a job to do. Working together they began to prepare the new world for the coming of humankind.
The only one among them that would not work was the camel. Whenever the other animals asked for his help, he just said, "Humph!!" and walked away. The camel, according to Kipling, thought he was better than all the other animals, so he "Humph!"ed around every day with his proud nose in the air and a disdainful swagger in his legs.
But when God saw what was happening, he collected all of the haughty camel's "Humph!"s, and one day dumped them right down onto the camel's back. And that, said Kipling, is how the camel got its hump.
Proud people are a lot like camels, aren't they? Noses in the air, swaggering steps, and humps of self-importance pushing up wherever they invade the company of others. Mid-twentieth century Italian dictator Benito Mussolini played the part so well. Although he was short of stature he was long on pride. People said that he could strut even when he was sitting down. A newspaper once reported that "he was a solemn procession of one."
Pride is a funny thing. It is an extension of many very good qualities that God has given us as gifts. Why, then, does a great athlete cross the line from confidence to cockiness? What pushes a beautiful woman from graciousness to arrogance? When does a businessman step up one rung too high on the ladder of success and become self-important? How can disciples of Jesus claim positions of honor in his kingdom?
The ancient Greeks tried to define the transition from piety to pride in the story of Narcissus. Narcissus was a wonderfully beautiful young man, greatly talented and admired. Unfortunately he had ears large enough to hear the whispers of appreciation that buzzed through every crowd when he approached. Soon he began to believe what others said and fell in love with himself.
One day he was scrambling through the rocks of the hills on a hunt. Thirsty, he paused at a pool in the hollows and bent down to drink. But before his lips broke the mirrored surface he caught sight of a marvelous water nymph staring at him from below. He was entranced by the beautiful face, the wonderful eyes, the marvelous nose and chin, and he reached down to embrace the nymph.
When he disturbed the water it seemed as if the nymph scurried away. That pained him deeply and he began to cry. But when the ripples subsided, the nymph was back. Though Narcissus didn't seem to catch on, he was actually seeing himself.
Over and over the scene repeated itself -- Narcissus staring in love at his own reflection in the pool -- until he finally fell famished to his death!
The point was clear: the moment we begin to love ourselves as the highest good we lose the power to live authentically. We cross the line from piety to pride when we become the object of our own appreciation.
This is a perplexing issue, however, since we all need self-esteem to function to our fullest potential. The concern Jesus had with James and John in today's gospel lesson becomes a matter of where that self-esteem originates. When we are loved by another, our self-esteem grows. The source of the power is located outside of ourselves and energizes us to be the best we can be. Once we fall in love with ourselves, the empowerment becomes cancerous, and we destroy the very qualities that might otherwise make us lovely.
Tony Campolo said it well. When he was in seminary, taking his first class in preaching, he was already a very gifted speaker. After his first "practice" sermon to his fellow-students and professor, his peers praised him up one side and down the other. He couldn't wait to see what his professor wrote.
The evaluation came back with a single line in red marking ink: "Tony, you can't convince people that you're wonderful and that Jesus is wonderful in the same sermon."
That is why Jesus needed to put his disciples all in their places. They could not love anyone else when they were obsessed with themselves, even if their obsession was for holy living or righteous behavior.
Application
Obedience and submission are scarce commodities in most of our lives. There are probably at least two reasons for that. For one thing, we are self-made people. Early in life we make it clear that "I do it myself!" We have a need to be right, and a need to save face. One of my friends has a cartoon on his office door that pictures a senior official standing grimly in front of a subordinate's desk. The boss says, "I didn't say it was your fault; I said I was going to blame you."
There is a lot of that in all of our lives. Since Adam and Eve passed the blame along to others we all try to outwit reality in order to save face. We need to be right. We need to be strong. We need to be identified as "winners" rather than "losers." Submission is for the weaklings, not the strong.
A second reason why we hesitate to submit to anyone else is that we don't know if we can trust the other person. One man in his middle years can recount to me every promise his father made to him and then broke when he was a lad. To this day he finds it hard to trust God. After all, as a wise person has noted, " 'Daddy' is the name for God on the lips of a child." When parents fail us (and they always will), we learn mistrust in the religious core of our beings. In order to keep from getting hurt we won't submit, even to God.
Wise pastors have always known that. Yet they continue to encourage people to trust and submit because it is the essence of who we are as humans in our relationship to the Creator of the universe. Whose we are is ultimately who we are.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 5:1-10. The name "Melchizedek" has always intrigued me. I wonder what a "Melchizedek" would look like; rather imposing, I'm sure. The name rolls around for a while before it comes out. You begin with soft sounds and warm touches, and then you sort of sneeze the rest of it out. In my mind, Melchizedek would have to be rather tall; a short Melchizedek just wouldn't be Melchizedek. Maybe "Melchy" or "Chizy," but not the whole thing.
A Melchizedek would have to be fairly old too. A handle like that could crush a baby. Can you imagine youngsters playing ball, and the coach calling for Melchizedek to get in the game? He'd be laughed off the field.
No, there's something old and tall and wise and authoritative about a person who fits the name Melchizedek.
You can't have too many people in your community by the name of Melchizedek either. It loses its punch if you see it on every 37th mailbox. Melchizedeks are few and far between. They have to be, or they can't be Melchizedeks. Not that you don't want one around; a good Melchizedek in the family line sort of spruces it up. You can point to that name back in the pages of the family Bible, and it gives importance to your bloodline: "See! I come from a good family."
But it's not one of those names that you want to pass down from generation to generation either. You can understand it when someone wants to call a baby Franklin Jr., or Theodore Geisbert IV. But you have to handle a name like Melchizedek with care. One Melchizedek is enough; you wouldn't want to try to clone him or force someone else to walk in his shoes.
There's something royal in the name, of course. A Melchizedek deserves to rule. Maybe that's not putting it strongly enough: a Melchizedek needs to rule. Authority goes with the name. You can't be a Melchizedek and be a wimp at the same time.
In fact, you might find a Melchizedek in kingly legends, like the quest for the Holy Grail. A Melchizedek shouldn't just sit there on his throne and grow benignly old; he should have a mission, a purpose, a cause to champion, a crusade. If a Melchizedek sits around too long you start calling him "the old man," or "the head honcho," or something demeaning like that. But when you see him on his steed, something in you stirs magnificently. His face is slightly weather-beaten, and his hair is brushed by the wind. You know he's a man of purpose. You know there's depth to him.
So what's this all about? Am I dancing around in ignorance, trying to make something out of a name that's only mentioned twice in the Old Testament (Genesis 14:18 and Psalm 110) and in this single New Testament passage (Hebrews 5-7)? Is this an exercise in theological silliness?
Not really. Melchizedek is a strange figure, scattered lightly across the scriptures. Of himself, he doesn't really amount to much, I suppose. But his very insignificance, coupled with the single act of faith to which he's tied in the life of Abraham (Genesis 14:18-20), have given him the stature of prince among legends.
That's really the point of these references to him. With whom can you compare a divinely appointed king like David? Certainly he doesn't fit the mold of the other monarchs around him. In fact, when he resembles them most, he's least like his truest self. David is the stuff that becomes a legend. And before he becomes one himself, you can only talk about him and his sons in the hushed terms of larger-than-life figures. Like Melchizedek.
The Bible doesn't let you read too much theology into Melchizedek. But when it comes to thinking about David, your thoughts naturally turn to those few who stand slightly above the natural order of things. Melchizedek comes to mind.
That's probably why David's later, greater Son ran into the same family history generations further along. Someone probably bumped into him one day and started thinking, "That man's got a Melchizedek in the family tree, I'm sure."
