In this week’s story, we find Jesus leaving Jericho with a large crowd, on his way to Jerusalem. At the side of the road sits a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, who is anything but shy.
When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’
This shouted prayer has come through the ages from the lips of Bartimaeus into the lives of millions of Christ-followers. It forms the heart the “Jesus prayer,” which many pilgrims and mystics have taken as a mantra to help them cultivate the practice of praying without ceasing. This spiritual practice, called “hesychasm,” flourished in Russia and some of the Eastern Orthodox churches, and has popped up in other unexpected places, most notably in J.D. Salinger’s great novella of spirituality and neurosis, Franny and Zooey. Also called “the prayer of the heart,” the words vary somewhat, but are most often rendered, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me,” with the words “…a sinner” added in some formulations.
What is it about these words that so many have found so compelling? Some might ask why we need beg for mercy from a God of love. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t. In the world we yet live in, awaiting the perfection of God’s plan of redemption, many of us find ourselves aware of the need for God’s mercy and love on a regular basis, whether from a place of pain or poverty or as a cry of repentance. No matter how well we know God’s grace, our awareness of being less than we were made to be compels us to that prayer.
But let us not mistake this for a prayer of degradation and forced humility. Bartimaeus uttered these words with vigor and volume; this was not a meek plea, but a prayer of faith and recognition both of who Jesus was and who he himself was. God is God, and we are not. God is all in all; we are ever becoming whole. This side of glory, we will always be in need of the mercy of the One who made us, knows us, loves us, and never lets us go.
What would you utter such a cry about? What are you in need of deliverance from or blessing with? Bartimaeus is our model – pray it with pride, “Lord Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me.”
10-19-15 - Son of...
This Sunday’s Gospel reading finds us at the cusp of the final act in Jesus’ earthly life and mission. He and his entourage come to Jericho and, the text suggests, leave it soon after. Jericho is his last stop on his way to Jerusalem for the last time; there he will enter into his passion and death. On the outskirts of Jericho, the ancient site of Joshua’s miraculous victory, the new Joshua – Yeshua – encounters a blind man, a blind man who can see better than anyone else around.
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’
Why does Mark make such a point about Bartimaeus’ son-ship? “Bar” means “son” in Aramaic, so Bartimaeus means “Son of Timaeus.” So Mark identifies him as “Son of Timeaeus, Son of Timaeus.” Now, maybe it’s just that his father was named Timaeus, but that’s not a Hebrew name. And this isn’t Mark’s usual pattern. Some scholars think Mark is trying to make a point with this name – “Timaeus” is also the name of one of the more influential Dialogs of Plato, and contains a discourse on the eye and vision. Is Mark signaling his readers with this name that we are talking about a new way of seeing the universe? Or is he suggesting that all the intellectual and philosophical insight in the world won’t allow you to see what can only be perceived by faith?
This blind man already sees by faith what no one else in the story seems to: who Jesus really is. Mark’s gospel is the one that makes the most of the “Messianic secret” – and here a blind man “outs” him: Son of David – code for the Messiah, whom prophets foretold would come from David's line.
What do these two sons, the son of Timaeus and the son of David have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with us? One might say we are all sons and daughters of both Timaeus and God, heirs to both worldly reason and spiritual sight. As Jesus lived with two identities at once, human and divine, so we in some measure live in these two realities simultaneously, which exist in some tension.
This rich story invites us to explore our dual citizenship in the realm of this world and the realm of God. It bids us question how our gift of physical sight and intellectual insight can help and/or hinder our faith vision. How does your capacity for thought about God lead you closer to God?
What “evidence” does the world present that holds you back from believing the impossible power of God? Do we fall prey to the mixed messages of too much data?
As we will see, Bartimaeus was unhindered by physical sight, even as he longed to see. But his faith vision was highly developed. The invitation for we who are blessed with physical vision is to be as sure as this blind man was about the God-Life that is all around us, unseen but very, very real.
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’
Why does Mark make such a point about Bartimaeus’ son-ship? “Bar” means “son” in Aramaic, so Bartimaeus means “Son of Timaeus.” So Mark identifies him as “Son of Timeaeus, Son of Timaeus.” Now, maybe it’s just that his father was named Timaeus, but that’s not a Hebrew name. And this isn’t Mark’s usual pattern. Some scholars think Mark is trying to make a point with this name – “Timaeus” is also the name of one of the more influential Dialogs of Plato, and contains a discourse on the eye and vision. Is Mark signaling his readers with this name that we are talking about a new way of seeing the universe? Or is he suggesting that all the intellectual and philosophical insight in the world won’t allow you to see what can only be perceived by faith?
This blind man already sees by faith what no one else in the story seems to: who Jesus really is. Mark’s gospel is the one that makes the most of the “Messianic secret” – and here a blind man “outs” him: Son of David – code for the Messiah, whom prophets foretold would come from David's line.
What do these two sons, the son of Timaeus and the son of David have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with us? One might say we are all sons and daughters of both Timaeus and God, heirs to both worldly reason and spiritual sight. As Jesus lived with two identities at once, human and divine, so we in some measure live in these two realities simultaneously, which exist in some tension.
This rich story invites us to explore our dual citizenship in the realm of this world and the realm of God. It bids us question how our gift of physical sight and intellectual insight can help and/or hinder our faith vision. How does your capacity for thought about God lead you closer to God?
What “evidence” does the world present that holds you back from believing the impossible power of God? Do we fall prey to the mixed messages of too much data?
As we will see, Bartimaeus was unhindered by physical sight, even as he longed to see. But his faith vision was highly developed. The invitation for we who are blessed with physical vision is to be as sure as this blind man was about the God-Life that is all around us, unseen but very, very real.
10-16-15 - Ransomed
Among the aspects of Christianity it seems more difficult to talk about these days are doctrines of Atonement. These are different ways of articulating how Christ’s death on the cross (and/or resurrection from the dead…) had a salvific effect for humankind. Some Christians today reject the idea that humanity needed saving; others are put off by the notion that our God of Love could be so wrathful as to require an atoning sacrifice to meet the demands of his justice, let alone the sacrifice of his own son. Ideas that Christians have prayed, confessed, preached and sung about for centuries are suddenly in the recycle bin.
And guess what? I don’t want to get into it in a short spiritual reflection, even if I were equipped. I bring it up at all because of the last thing Jesus said in his discourse to his disciples about service and humble leadership:
“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
If we wonder why there would be theories of atonement, that line about giving his life as a ransom is one reason. That tells us something about how Jesus saw his mission and impending passion. It suggests that “many” are indeed in need of being rescued, saved, liberated, redeemed like an item sitting on a pawn shop shelf.
I suggest that, whatever you think about sin and sinfulness, however you view your need to be forgiven and saved or not, each of us can relate to the notion of being held hostage to something. Whether we are hostage to our own schedules, to cycles of disease or addiction in family members, the materialism of our culture, the demands of social media, or our own broken patterns of relating to ourselves, to others and to God – each of us can, I believe, appreciate the notion of being ransomed from that bound condition into freedom.
Even if we accept Jesus’ gift only in that light, it is enough to make us profoundly grateful to be ransomed – meaning, someone else has paid the ransom so that we can walk out of captivity into the bright sunlight of liberation.
What in your life have you been ransomed from? What do you need freeing from now? Might you ask Jesus in prayer today how his offering of himself unto death and back into new life has provided you a key for the door?
Do you owe a debt to another person you can never repay, perhaps a hurt you caused or joy you stole? Can you accept that Jesus may even have paid that debt for you?
In what ways might we still be sitting in our captivity, even though the door has been opened – because it’s scarier to move out of our patterns of unhealth into the responsibility of freedom?
There’s a beautiful song called Be Ye Glad, with this refrain:
Be ye glad, O be ye glad; every debt that you ever had;
Has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord;
Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.
We are ransomed. Open the door and step into the Light!
And guess what? I don’t want to get into it in a short spiritual reflection, even if I were equipped. I bring it up at all because of the last thing Jesus said in his discourse to his disciples about service and humble leadership:
“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
If we wonder why there would be theories of atonement, that line about giving his life as a ransom is one reason. That tells us something about how Jesus saw his mission and impending passion. It suggests that “many” are indeed in need of being rescued, saved, liberated, redeemed like an item sitting on a pawn shop shelf.
I suggest that, whatever you think about sin and sinfulness, however you view your need to be forgiven and saved or not, each of us can relate to the notion of being held hostage to something. Whether we are hostage to our own schedules, to cycles of disease or addiction in family members, the materialism of our culture, the demands of social media, or our own broken patterns of relating to ourselves, to others and to God – each of us can, I believe, appreciate the notion of being ransomed from that bound condition into freedom.
Even if we accept Jesus’ gift only in that light, it is enough to make us profoundly grateful to be ransomed – meaning, someone else has paid the ransom so that we can walk out of captivity into the bright sunlight of liberation.
What in your life have you been ransomed from? What do you need freeing from now? Might you ask Jesus in prayer today how his offering of himself unto death and back into new life has provided you a key for the door?
Do you owe a debt to another person you can never repay, perhaps a hurt you caused or joy you stole? Can you accept that Jesus may even have paid that debt for you?
In what ways might we still be sitting in our captivity, even though the door has been opened – because it’s scarier to move out of our patterns of unhealth into the responsibility of freedom?
There’s a beautiful song called Be Ye Glad, with this refrain:
Be ye glad, O be ye glad; every debt that you ever had;
Has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord;
Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.
We are ransomed. Open the door and step into the Light!
10-15-15 - Serving and Being Served
Didn’t Jesus want to get breakfast in bed every now and then? Oh wait, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Okay, then how about dinner? We know he was not averse to attending dinner parties, and at least twice allowed women to anoint his feet, be it with ointment or tears. So he was willing to be served, on occasion.
Yet here he says, “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”
Okay, I’m being overly literal. Of course, Jesus received service as well as gave it. But overall, he was a net giver. (It’s kind of hard to top giving your life...). And he wanted his followers to get it through their heads and hearts that their life was to be one of serving others, often without reward, possibly at the cost of their lives. He even washed their feet to teach them kinetically what they couldn’t perhaps fully grasp from his words – that love needs to be embodied in order to be received. Afterward, he told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.”
Serving others, especially those who cannot repay you, is embedded in the Christian life. As followers of Christ, we are called to be net givers, even if some people to whom we give are net takers. At the same time, serving and being served need to be in some kind of balance. If we are never willing to receive service, we can find ourselves giving from a place of superiority rather than humility. As most people will tell you on Maundy Thursday, it’s a lot harder to accept someone else washing your feet than it is to wash someone else’s.
What does a community look like in which everyone believes they have come not to be served but to serve? At its best, it looks like a community of mutual caring and love, in which people are always looking around to see who needs to be served. Then everyone is at some point the recipient of another’s care, and everyone is a giver of service.
We have to offer service without thought to whether or not someone will care for us – but if we are never on the receiving end, that can be a sign that we are operating too much in isolation. Do a little assessment today – are you a net giver or net receiver in your life right now? How might Jesus invite you to address any imbalance?
One way is to ask Him to lead us each day in the service we offer. The Son of Man is still in the business of serving, but now we are his hands, feet, voice and love. We’ll find as we offer service with his Spirit in us, we are not drained, but somehow are served ourselves.
Yet here he says, “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”
Okay, I’m being overly literal. Of course, Jesus received service as well as gave it. But overall, he was a net giver. (It’s kind of hard to top giving your life...). And he wanted his followers to get it through their heads and hearts that their life was to be one of serving others, often without reward, possibly at the cost of their lives. He even washed their feet to teach them kinetically what they couldn’t perhaps fully grasp from his words – that love needs to be embodied in order to be received. Afterward, he told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.”
Serving others, especially those who cannot repay you, is embedded in the Christian life. As followers of Christ, we are called to be net givers, even if some people to whom we give are net takers. At the same time, serving and being served need to be in some kind of balance. If we are never willing to receive service, we can find ourselves giving from a place of superiority rather than humility. As most people will tell you on Maundy Thursday, it’s a lot harder to accept someone else washing your feet than it is to wash someone else’s.
What does a community look like in which everyone believes they have come not to be served but to serve? At its best, it looks like a community of mutual caring and love, in which people are always looking around to see who needs to be served. Then everyone is at some point the recipient of another’s care, and everyone is a giver of service.
We have to offer service without thought to whether or not someone will care for us – but if we are never on the receiving end, that can be a sign that we are operating too much in isolation. Do a little assessment today – are you a net giver or net receiver in your life right now? How might Jesus invite you to address any imbalance?
One way is to ask Him to lead us each day in the service we offer. The Son of Man is still in the business of serving, but now we are his hands, feet, voice and love. We’ll find as we offer service with his Spirit in us, we are not drained, but somehow are served ourselves.
10-14-15 - Slave of All
Pulling a power play rarely endears one to one’s colleagues, whether in an office, a kitchen, a classroom or a family. James and John’s attempt to secure places of honor by Jesus in the glorious future soon got back to their fellow disciples. They were not pleased.
When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, ‘You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.
The brouhaha did give Jesus a teachable moment, a chance to convey to his thick-headed disciples yet again the nature of the leadership to which they were called. This was not to be the leadership of corner offices and grand titles, of setting broad visions or managing underlings. This was to be the leadership of humble service. They were to excel in serving each other and the people around them. They were to be first in serving as slaves.
The language of slavery pervades the New Testament, reflecting a time when people, even godly folk, accepted slavery as a way of the world more than we do. (Slavery is probably no less pervasive in our day; we just use words like trafficking and condemn it even as we tolerate it.) Whatever Jesus thought of it, we know that here he uses that image, commending the status of those who have no status.
This message is counter-cultural in any age. We don’t all want to be leaders, but few people actually want to be servants, doing the scut work. Those who excel at giving humbly and sacrificially, working in the least desirable places, like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, often draw attention and respect, but few imitators. Yet she did it, she said, because she found Christ in the lost and the least. And he said that’s where he was to be found, in the hungry, naked and sick, the prisoner and the refugee.
What forms of “lowly” service are part of your life and ministry? It might be caring for an aging relative; it might be volunteering among people who live on the streets, or in a nursing home. Where do you find God in that offering?
If we truly want to be close to Christ, perhaps we want to spend less time on our knees in prayer, and more on our knees cleaning floors and tending the ragged. Of course, that’s a false dichotomy – we are called to do both, and are blessed in both. The common denominator, though, is the kneeling.
When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, ‘You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.
The brouhaha did give Jesus a teachable moment, a chance to convey to his thick-headed disciples yet again the nature of the leadership to which they were called. This was not to be the leadership of corner offices and grand titles, of setting broad visions or managing underlings. This was to be the leadership of humble service. They were to excel in serving each other and the people around them. They were to be first in serving as slaves.
The language of slavery pervades the New Testament, reflecting a time when people, even godly folk, accepted slavery as a way of the world more than we do. (Slavery is probably no less pervasive in our day; we just use words like trafficking and condemn it even as we tolerate it.) Whatever Jesus thought of it, we know that here he uses that image, commending the status of those who have no status.
This message is counter-cultural in any age. We don’t all want to be leaders, but few people actually want to be servants, doing the scut work. Those who excel at giving humbly and sacrificially, working in the least desirable places, like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, often draw attention and respect, but few imitators. Yet she did it, she said, because she found Christ in the lost and the least. And he said that’s where he was to be found, in the hungry, naked and sick, the prisoner and the refugee.
What forms of “lowly” service are part of your life and ministry? It might be caring for an aging relative; it might be volunteering among people who live on the streets, or in a nursing home. Where do you find God in that offering?
If we truly want to be close to Christ, perhaps we want to spend less time on our knees in prayer, and more on our knees cleaning floors and tending the ragged. Of course, that’s a false dichotomy – we are called to do both, and are blessed in both. The common denominator, though, is the kneeling.
10-13-15 - What's the Pay-Off?
It’s natural to want to see a return on investment, to see a pay-off when we’ve worked hard at something. Non-profits have learned to communicate the often intangible benefits to be reaped by donors and volunteers, and churches have jumped (or been forced…) on that bandwagon too. I spend a lot of my time preparing marketing materials in numerous media, spreading the message that being a part of life at Christ the Healer will help people feel better or more connected to God, others and themselves.
I even find myself “marketing” the life of following Jesus, reminding people how much joy and peace and love there is to be found in Christ in this life, not only the next. I have a sermon series on the promises of God – Peace, Power, Presence, Purpose (not Prosperity). Lots of pay-off!
James and John wanted to know there was a pay-off, too. But were they listening to Jesus? He has just spoken again about the adversity that he was soon to face in Jerusalem – arrest, trial, condemnation, crucifixion, and rising again Focused on their status when Jesus was in “his glory,” they seem to have forgotten his reminders of persecution. To their request that they have “dibs” on the seats next to him,
Jesus said to them, ‘You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?’
They replied “We are able.” Did they know what they were saying? For that matter, do we? This expression Jesus used meant, “Can you share my lot?” Jesus was soon to hold a cup of wine and say to his disciples, “This is my blood. Each time you drink this cup, remember me.” And what did he mean by baptism? A ritual of cleansing, of complete transformation? Early on, the church saw in the ritual of baptism a symbolic joining with Christ in his death and rising with him in resurrection. Were James and John up for all that?
Are we up for all that? Or do we turn away when life gets hard and the rewards of ministry seem hard to discern, when church attendance and giving don’t seem to go up, and the numbers at the homeless shelter don’t seem to decline, and it seems harder and harder to connect people to the life we find in the Gospels. How do we live into the joy of the Lord when we don’t see it? Ah, that’s why it’s called faith!
The Life of God, as Jesus revealed it, is not the realm of the big pay-off. It is the life of sacrificial, other-directed, giving without limits that Jesus lived and taught, and millions have done after him. When we fail to communicate it that way (mea culpa…), we don’t help people to cultivate that spirit of giving. We don’t foster maturity in the Spirit.The Gospel was, and is, counter-cultural.
Yes, and I will continue to preach that God doesn’t expect us to give out of an empty vessel. The cup we drink every Sunday is called the cup of salvation; it is the water of life, turned to wine through the power of Jesus’ love. Our invitation is to take in that life, again and again, and pour it out completely, again and again, for the sake of the world.
The world may not appreciate the gift, but as we do see good fruit of changed lives and hearts turned God-ward, we can give thanks. That’s the only pay-off we need.
I even find myself “marketing” the life of following Jesus, reminding people how much joy and peace and love there is to be found in Christ in this life, not only the next. I have a sermon series on the promises of God – Peace, Power, Presence, Purpose (not Prosperity). Lots of pay-off!
James and John wanted to know there was a pay-off, too. But were they listening to Jesus? He has just spoken again about the adversity that he was soon to face in Jerusalem – arrest, trial, condemnation, crucifixion, and rising again Focused on their status when Jesus was in “his glory,” they seem to have forgotten his reminders of persecution. To their request that they have “dibs” on the seats next to him,
Jesus said to them, ‘You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?’
They replied “We are able.” Did they know what they were saying? For that matter, do we? This expression Jesus used meant, “Can you share my lot?” Jesus was soon to hold a cup of wine and say to his disciples, “This is my blood. Each time you drink this cup, remember me.” And what did he mean by baptism? A ritual of cleansing, of complete transformation? Early on, the church saw in the ritual of baptism a symbolic joining with Christ in his death and rising with him in resurrection. Were James and John up for all that?
Are we up for all that? Or do we turn away when life gets hard and the rewards of ministry seem hard to discern, when church attendance and giving don’t seem to go up, and the numbers at the homeless shelter don’t seem to decline, and it seems harder and harder to connect people to the life we find in the Gospels. How do we live into the joy of the Lord when we don’t see it? Ah, that’s why it’s called faith!
The Life of God, as Jesus revealed it, is not the realm of the big pay-off. It is the life of sacrificial, other-directed, giving without limits that Jesus lived and taught, and millions have done after him. When we fail to communicate it that way (mea culpa…), we don’t help people to cultivate that spirit of giving. We don’t foster maturity in the Spirit.The Gospel was, and is, counter-cultural.
Yes, and I will continue to preach that God doesn’t expect us to give out of an empty vessel. The cup we drink every Sunday is called the cup of salvation; it is the water of life, turned to wine through the power of Jesus’ love. Our invitation is to take in that life, again and again, and pour it out completely, again and again, for the sake of the world.
The world may not appreciate the gift, but as we do see good fruit of changed lives and hearts turned God-ward, we can give thanks. That’s the only pay-off we need.
10-12-15 - Best Seats in the House
I often worry about where I’m going to sit. If I’m going to a wedding or gala, I hope I’ll be seated with people I know and not in the “outer darkness” at the edges of the room. If I’m headed to the movies, I’m anxious about getting a seat that is not behind a tall person. At concerts, I want a seat with an unobstructed view and close enough to catch the band’s energy. But it has never occurred to me to worry about where I’ll be sitting in the afterlife.
Not so James and John, disciples of Jesus of Nazareth:
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’ (This Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
Now, their request may not have been about seating so much as jockeying for leadership positions, and they might not have been talking about heaven. If they saw Jesus as the Messiah who would liberate the people from oppression, “In your glory” may have meant after Jesus had accomplished his mission as they understood it – which was not very well.
Jesus had more than a few things to say about people who try to get the best seats, whether at dinner parties or in glory. He usually reminded them of the “those who want to be first will be last” principle of God’s kingdom and recommended that they select the least desirable seats, with the least desirable company, where he was often to be found.
What if, instead of seeking the better seats, we searched out the least desirable ones? We'd give up a lot of stress and competition. What if I were to embrace meeting strangers at weddings, or let others have the closer seats in the concert hall? Once upon a time, the back of the bus was where the marginalized were forced to sit – how about joining them?
What do you see as the "good seats" in life? Might you ask God in prayer where he would have you sit?
Wherever we sit, whether humble or exalted, we can be sure that Jesus is sitting next to us, that we are on one side or another of the One who promised he would always be with us. There ain’t a bad seat in his house.
Not so James and John, disciples of Jesus of Nazareth:
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’ (This Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
Now, their request may not have been about seating so much as jockeying for leadership positions, and they might not have been talking about heaven. If they saw Jesus as the Messiah who would liberate the people from oppression, “In your glory” may have meant after Jesus had accomplished his mission as they understood it – which was not very well.
Jesus had more than a few things to say about people who try to get the best seats, whether at dinner parties or in glory. He usually reminded them of the “those who want to be first will be last” principle of God’s kingdom and recommended that they select the least desirable seats, with the least desirable company, where he was often to be found.
What if, instead of seeking the better seats, we searched out the least desirable ones? We'd give up a lot of stress and competition. What if I were to embrace meeting strangers at weddings, or let others have the closer seats in the concert hall? Once upon a time, the back of the bus was where the marginalized were forced to sit – how about joining them?
What do you see as the "good seats" in life? Might you ask God in prayer where he would have you sit?
Wherever we sit, whether humble or exalted, we can be sure that Jesus is sitting next to us, that we are on one side or another of the One who promised he would always be with us. There ain’t a bad seat in his house.
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