Over thirty years ago Robert K. Greenleaf wrote a book called Servant Leadership: A Journey into the Nature of Power & Greatness. It was so popular that it has remained in print ever since, most recently appearing in a 25th anniversary edition. The dust jacket claims that with its publication, “a new paradigm of management entered the boardrooms and corporate offices of America.” Perhaps so. Yet the idea of servant leadership was at least two thousand years old when Greenleaf started writing. It was Jesus who said, “The greatest among you will be your servant.”
Jesus knew the history of leadership in Israel, from the patriarchs through Moses, through David and the sorry succession of kings who followed him. By the time of Micah, more than two centuries after David, leadership was reaching its nadir. Micah castigates prophets “who cry ‘Peace’ when they have something to eat, but declare war against those who put nothing into their mouths.” Perversion of justice, bribery, requiring payment to dispense God’s free grace – that was “leadership” in Micah’s time. The future is described in terrifying words: “Therefore because of you Zion shall be a plowed field” and “Jerusalem shall become a heap of ruins.” Micah called everyone to true justice, to return to God’s Law.
Jesus is equally condemnatory of religious leaders. He acknowledges that they know the Law; they just don’t follow it. They create more and more rules, but do nothing to adjust the burden to make it bearable once they have thrown it on someone else’s back. And they make sure that everyone knows just how holy they are. Today they would sport hundred-dollar haircuts and thump big gold-edged Bibles and park their new BMW in a reserved space right next to the church door. Everyone would know them from TV broadcasts and call them “Pastor,” or “Doctor” if they had an online degree. And they’d love it.
By contrast, Jesus calls for someone who leads not as a person apart and above, but as one who is in common relationship with all. “Call no one Rabbi,” Jesus says, “because you have one teacher [God], and you are all brothers and sisters. And call no one father of yours upon the earth, for you have one heavenly Father” – one Father to whom each owes life in the Christian community. And call no one your private tutor, for you have only one tutor: Christ.
Within that community of Christ, Jesus maps out a path to greatness: “The greatest among you will be your servant.” The Greek word is diakonos: agent, intermediary, assistant; not doulos, slave. Leaders assist the community in doing God’s work, carrying out God’s mission. Indeed, it is the deacons among us who are icons of servanthood, showing us how to serve Christ by serving others.
I have to admit that I’ve had trouble getting through Greenleaf’s book. I’m not sure why. It seems a bit preachy to me, and I’ve never responded well to preachy books [!]. But the real reason, I think, is that servant leadership has much greater power when it comes from the mouth of one who served people so faithfully that he was willing to die for them. “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many,” Jesus says. If all of us, especially church leaders, were to live that way, it would transform more than corporate America. It would transform the world.
[Pentecost 20: Micah 3:5-12; Matthew 23:1-12. The last saying of Jesus is from Mark 10:45. Once again I am indebted to John Nolland’s The Gospel of Matthew, and the classic Greek-English Lexicon familiarly known as BDAG.]
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
It's All Greek to Me
The priest I worked with in my field education placement had been in the business a long time. He was raised a Roman Catholic and entered a pre-seminary high school at the age of fourteen. From then on his life was regulated by the Church. When I asked Bill how he came to the Episcopal Church, he raised his left hand and showed me his wedding ring. Clear enough!
I valued Bill’s experience. Once when we were talking about sermon preparation, I told him how I like to translate the Gospel, at least, from the original Greek. Smiling, he assured me that once he left seminary he had found no use for Greek or Hebrew. I noted his opinion but it didn’t change my habits. Whenever I did find occasion to mention Greek in a sermon after that, I’d look over at Bill and he would have this little smile on his face.
This week Bill would really be smiling. It was the Greek Gospel text rather than any translation that started me thinking. There are several nuances that are lost in English, in part because of idioms that require rephrasing to make them intelligible.
Jesus, having told a series of parables that really honked off the religious establishment, finds that those leaders are retaliating. They send a group to trap him in words – representatives of the religious right and those who favor the status quo (sound familiar?). The Pharisees want every Jewish law followed to the letter, and the Herodians want Caesar in control so that they can keep their cushy jobs.
They come to Jesus with simpering smiles and false praise. They try to set him up with flattery, not realizing that they are actually speaking the truth. “Teacher,” they say, “we know that you are truthful and teach the way of God in truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.” At least that’s what it says in English. The Greek is literally, “for you do not look into the face of people.”
Having softened him up, they spring the trick question. “Tell us, then, how it seems to you. Is it permitted to pay tax to Caesar, or not?” The questioners think this puts Jesus in a box. If he says yes, all of the zealous Jewish Rome-haters will desert him. If he says no, they can run him in on a charge of sedition.
But Jesus, being Jesus, sees right through them. “Why do you test me, you hypocrites?” he says. “Show me the coin of the tax.” So they produce a silver denarius. “Whose is this image and inscription?” he asks. Well, Caesar’s, duh! So he says to them, “Then give back the things of Caesar to Caesar and the things of God to God.” Astonished at his answer, they slink away, trying to figure out how he slipped out of their noose.
The whole story is very visual, but the only word in English that hints at it is “image.” Even that one word should resonate, however, reminding us that we are made in the image of God. If the denarius goes to Caesar because his image is on it, God’s claim on us is even greater, because all that we are and have comes from God.
“Image” is eikon in Greek. Icons themselves are windows to God – or rather, windows from God to us, through which God sees us, and we see God. If we are made in the image of God, then we, too, become icons through which other people can see the love of God in Jesus Christ.
But what about this business that Jesus doesn’t look into the face of people? It’s not that Jesus is shifty-eyed. Rather, he isn’t checking people’s reactions to see whether or not they approve what he says. He’s not a political poll-watcher. Nor does he tailor his speech based on the kind of reaction he’s getting. I don’t know about you, but I find myself doing that a lot. If I see someone’s blood pressure starting to rise because of my words, I’ll modify what I say to prevent an explosion. Jesus, like the prophets, lets the Word of God fly, unconcerned who takes offense.
Jesus calls his questioners “hypocrites.” That itself is a Greek word, originally meaning actors on a stage. Given that acting involves deception, pretending to be someone else, it fits Jesus’ use very well. And if you consider that actors wore masks in classical Greek drama, we are back to the whole question of true image.
Our true likeness is found in God. Often we put on masks out of fear or deception, hiding that likeness. We study the faces of others to see how they react to us, to see if our deception is working, to peer through their masks. “Hypocrites!” Jesus would say. Put off your mask and reveal your true image, the image of God. Be transparent. Let the love of God shine through you, and look for the face of Christ in everyone you meet.
And Bill, my priest friend, still smiles, now not at the Greek, but at the thought of seeking Christ in everyone he meets. He knows his own faults and the temptation to put on masks. Yet he also knows that there is nothing greater than to seek the love of God revealed to us in Jesus Christ.
[Pentecost18: Matthew 22:15-22.]
I valued Bill’s experience. Once when we were talking about sermon preparation, I told him how I like to translate the Gospel, at least, from the original Greek. Smiling, he assured me that once he left seminary he had found no use for Greek or Hebrew. I noted his opinion but it didn’t change my habits. Whenever I did find occasion to mention Greek in a sermon after that, I’d look over at Bill and he would have this little smile on his face.
This week Bill would really be smiling. It was the Greek Gospel text rather than any translation that started me thinking. There are several nuances that are lost in English, in part because of idioms that require rephrasing to make them intelligible.
Jesus, having told a series of parables that really honked off the religious establishment, finds that those leaders are retaliating. They send a group to trap him in words – representatives of the religious right and those who favor the status quo (sound familiar?). The Pharisees want every Jewish law followed to the letter, and the Herodians want Caesar in control so that they can keep their cushy jobs.
They come to Jesus with simpering smiles and false praise. They try to set him up with flattery, not realizing that they are actually speaking the truth. “Teacher,” they say, “we know that you are truthful and teach the way of God in truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.” At least that’s what it says in English. The Greek is literally, “for you do not look into the face of people.”
Having softened him up, they spring the trick question. “Tell us, then, how it seems to you. Is it permitted to pay tax to Caesar, or not?” The questioners think this puts Jesus in a box. If he says yes, all of the zealous Jewish Rome-haters will desert him. If he says no, they can run him in on a charge of sedition.
But Jesus, being Jesus, sees right through them. “Why do you test me, you hypocrites?” he says. “Show me the coin of the tax.” So they produce a silver denarius. “Whose is this image and inscription?” he asks. Well, Caesar’s, duh! So he says to them, “Then give back the things of Caesar to Caesar and the things of God to God.” Astonished at his answer, they slink away, trying to figure out how he slipped out of their noose.
The whole story is very visual, but the only word in English that hints at it is “image.” Even that one word should resonate, however, reminding us that we are made in the image of God. If the denarius goes to Caesar because his image is on it, God’s claim on us is even greater, because all that we are and have comes from God.
“Image” is eikon in Greek. Icons themselves are windows to God – or rather, windows from God to us, through which God sees us, and we see God. If we are made in the image of God, then we, too, become icons through which other people can see the love of God in Jesus Christ.
But what about this business that Jesus doesn’t look into the face of people? It’s not that Jesus is shifty-eyed. Rather, he isn’t checking people’s reactions to see whether or not they approve what he says. He’s not a political poll-watcher. Nor does he tailor his speech based on the kind of reaction he’s getting. I don’t know about you, but I find myself doing that a lot. If I see someone’s blood pressure starting to rise because of my words, I’ll modify what I say to prevent an explosion. Jesus, like the prophets, lets the Word of God fly, unconcerned who takes offense.
Jesus calls his questioners “hypocrites.” That itself is a Greek word, originally meaning actors on a stage. Given that acting involves deception, pretending to be someone else, it fits Jesus’ use very well. And if you consider that actors wore masks in classical Greek drama, we are back to the whole question of true image.
Our true likeness is found in God. Often we put on masks out of fear or deception, hiding that likeness. We study the faces of others to see how they react to us, to see if our deception is working, to peer through their masks. “Hypocrites!” Jesus would say. Put off your mask and reveal your true image, the image of God. Be transparent. Let the love of God shine through you, and look for the face of Christ in everyone you meet.
And Bill, my priest friend, still smiles, now not at the Greek, but at the thought of seeking Christ in everyone he meets. He knows his own faults and the temptation to put on masks. Yet he also knows that there is nothing greater than to seek the love of God revealed to us in Jesus Christ.
[Pentecost18: Matthew 22:15-22.]
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Wedding Dress
I grew up in a large family, so we didn’t go out to eat very often. It was just too expensive. On those few occasions when we did, we often went to the Viking Restaurant. The Viking had an authentic Scandinavian smorgasbord, the precursor of today’s huge buffets that encourage people to eat in one sitting enough food for a week. We liked it because we could get as much of whatever we wanted. My mother liked it because she didn’t have to cook. I still remember the little cards on every table: “Eat with taste; please don’t waste.”
The Viking had a dress requirement. Every male from adolescence onwards had to wear a sport jacket or suit coat, or he wouldn’t be allowed in the dining room. The management even had a few spare jackets available in case someone forgot. After wearing one of those garish ill-fitting loaners a time or two, I always remembered to bring my own.
Dress requirements seem quaint, a thing of the past, certainly in our corner of the world. It’s like three-piece suits in our church, a clear indication of a visitor. Even festal occasions nowadays don’t always mean festal dress. R and I recently attended a wedding reception at the local country club, and saw a farmer in his overalls with a pair of pliers still in the tool loop. I’ve lived in Iowa long enough that it didn’t faze me a bit.
Thus a Bible story about someone getting booted out of a wedding feast because of improper clothes seems yet another example of how out-of-date Scripture is. What makes this story worse is that the ejected guest appears to have been welcomed at first. So why care what he looks like?
But I get ahead of myself. This wedding feast is a parable of Jesus, another one that begins with “the kingdom of heaven is like…” Once again there’s a king, whom we’ve already seen is the stand-in for God. As Jesus describes the banquet, it sounds more and more like the feast, the messianic banquet God offers to everyone. One hears echoes of Isaiah: “a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.” The steaks are on the grill and the beer is in the cooler. All the king needs are guests.
The trouble is that those who got the invitation don’t want to come when everything’s ready. One decides that the combine needs some tinkering and another remembers paperwork at the office that needs shuffling. With the steaks heading toward very well done, the king tells his servants to go out into the streets and haul in everyone they find. (I love the Authorized Version’s translation of the parallel passage in Luke: “Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in.” It’s so British.)
When the king comes in and starts working the room, he spies someone who isn’t wearing the right wedding garment. Either the man didn’t stop at home to change first, or he didn’t like the loaners the king had hanging on a rack. Or maybe he was just walking by as everyone went in and decided to crash the party. The king, calling him “friend,” gives him a chance to explain himself. But the man is speechless, and his silence condemns him. So the king has him thrown out on his ear.
In this parable, Jesus tells us something important about the messianic banquet. First of all, God’s feast is going to be a big one. Everyone is invited. But not everyone is going to be there. Some of the invitees will be too busy to show up. They’ll walk the other way when the time comes. And a few will try to get into the banquet on their own terms, not God’s. When they’re found out, they’ll be shown the exit.
We don’t like the idea that some people will be excluded from the banquet. We want to think that everyone is there. That’s called universal salvation: everyone gets to be with God, everyone goes to heaven. It is true that God intends salvation, reconciliation with God and one another, for everyone. Yet it’s also true that we are given the freedom to walk away from God. We can make light of God’s invitation. We can try to get in on our terms, not God’s. Jesus made it quite clear that such behavior has consequences. It puts us in darkness, not light. It separates us from the joy of the wedding feast.
As far as I can tell, the Viking Restaurant is no longer in business. I’m not surprised. The formality of the owners and their stinginess with the food (remember those table cards?) could not compete with the informality and largesse of the modern family buffet. I no longer have to worry about wearing an ill-fitting loaner jacket. And when the day comes for that big feast, the messianic banquet, I hope and pray that I will have the sense to accept the invitation and arrive clothed in Christ. In the meantime, I better do something with the pile of paperwork on my desk.
[Pentecost 17: Isaiah 25:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14.]
The Viking had a dress requirement. Every male from adolescence onwards had to wear a sport jacket or suit coat, or he wouldn’t be allowed in the dining room. The management even had a few spare jackets available in case someone forgot. After wearing one of those garish ill-fitting loaners a time or two, I always remembered to bring my own.
Dress requirements seem quaint, a thing of the past, certainly in our corner of the world. It’s like three-piece suits in our church, a clear indication of a visitor. Even festal occasions nowadays don’t always mean festal dress. R and I recently attended a wedding reception at the local country club, and saw a farmer in his overalls with a pair of pliers still in the tool loop. I’ve lived in Iowa long enough that it didn’t faze me a bit.
Thus a Bible story about someone getting booted out of a wedding feast because of improper clothes seems yet another example of how out-of-date Scripture is. What makes this story worse is that the ejected guest appears to have been welcomed at first. So why care what he looks like?
But I get ahead of myself. This wedding feast is a parable of Jesus, another one that begins with “the kingdom of heaven is like…” Once again there’s a king, whom we’ve already seen is the stand-in for God. As Jesus describes the banquet, it sounds more and more like the feast, the messianic banquet God offers to everyone. One hears echoes of Isaiah: “a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.” The steaks are on the grill and the beer is in the cooler. All the king needs are guests.
The trouble is that those who got the invitation don’t want to come when everything’s ready. One decides that the combine needs some tinkering and another remembers paperwork at the office that needs shuffling. With the steaks heading toward very well done, the king tells his servants to go out into the streets and haul in everyone they find. (I love the Authorized Version’s translation of the parallel passage in Luke: “Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in.” It’s so British.)
When the king comes in and starts working the room, he spies someone who isn’t wearing the right wedding garment. Either the man didn’t stop at home to change first, or he didn’t like the loaners the king had hanging on a rack. Or maybe he was just walking by as everyone went in and decided to crash the party. The king, calling him “friend,” gives him a chance to explain himself. But the man is speechless, and his silence condemns him. So the king has him thrown out on his ear.
In this parable, Jesus tells us something important about the messianic banquet. First of all, God’s feast is going to be a big one. Everyone is invited. But not everyone is going to be there. Some of the invitees will be too busy to show up. They’ll walk the other way when the time comes. And a few will try to get into the banquet on their own terms, not God’s. When they’re found out, they’ll be shown the exit.
We don’t like the idea that some people will be excluded from the banquet. We want to think that everyone is there. That’s called universal salvation: everyone gets to be with God, everyone goes to heaven. It is true that God intends salvation, reconciliation with God and one another, for everyone. Yet it’s also true that we are given the freedom to walk away from God. We can make light of God’s invitation. We can try to get in on our terms, not God’s. Jesus made it quite clear that such behavior has consequences. It puts us in darkness, not light. It separates us from the joy of the wedding feast.
As far as I can tell, the Viking Restaurant is no longer in business. I’m not surprised. The formality of the owners and their stinginess with the food (remember those table cards?) could not compete with the informality and largesse of the modern family buffet. I no longer have to worry about wearing an ill-fitting loaner jacket. And when the day comes for that big feast, the messianic banquet, I hope and pray that I will have the sense to accept the invitation and arrive clothed in Christ. In the meantime, I better do something with the pile of paperwork on my desk.
[Pentecost 17: Isaiah 25:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14.]
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