Human Surströmming
Preacher: The Rev. Andrew Van Kirk
Passage: Mark 9:30-37
In the Brookshire’s closest to the state park campground, Sean found the marshmallows on the baking aisle. They always seem to be on the bottom of the baking aisle, don't they? I guess that's because they're light and so you're unlikely to strain yourself bending down to pickup a bag of marshmallows? Who knows?
Sean reached down and paused for a second. He definitely didn't want the mini ones; those are for hot chocolate. But should he get the normal Jet-puffed Marshmallows or the Extra Large Jet-puffed Marshmallows. "Whoa, look at the size of those things," Sean thought. He picked normal. There were metal sticks with prongs on the end dangling off one of those hanging racks right next to the marshmallows. This Brookshire’s knew it's market; no one is making Rice Krispie treats with these things. He grabbed a pack of metal sticks with prongs, tucked those and the marshmallows under his arm on top of the graham crackers and giant Hershey's bars, and went to check out.
Sean and his wife Emily gotten the minivan all the way to the park gate before the kids had thought about s'mores. But then one of them made an inquiry, and upon learning there were no s'more supplies, a ransom demand was communicated from the backseat. "We must have s'mores. If we do not have s'mores, parental units, we will make the next 18 hours of your life at this campsite a living hell." So, off to Brookshire’s they had gone. Problem solved. Ransom paid.
Later that night, around a smokey campfire, with a soundtrack of sniffles due to ants and a spilled water bottle, Sean pulled a blackened, smoky, burnt hunk of marshmallow out of the campfire. He carefully sandwiched it between two pieces of graham cracker and a square of chocolate, and thought, for the 143rd time in his life – these things aren't even that good.
He knelt down and placed it in the greedy clutches of a red-faced, snotty child. And then he realized it. "I have just made a burnt offering to an idol."
I tell you this story not because I hate s'mores; though Sean is right, they are vastly overrated. But I think his realization about the way we serve our children is funny. But it also has some bite.
Kids in suburbia are demigods.
Kids don't appreciate it, but they're basically running the show up here in suburban America.
My life is entirely oriented around the schedule of my kids. From how long I can play pickleball before sunrise on Monday morning to who is driving to youth group on Sunday night, my calendar is scheduled around my kids' school, soccer, baseball, play dates, lessons, etc. Where we go on vacation, what kind of car I drive (and how many car seats are in there), what food we eat, what TV I watch, and where we live – all of that is determined, or at least strongly influenced by, my kids.
And it's not just parents. How many of you grandparents have your life determined by grandchildren's needs and schedules?
A couple of weeks ago we had some Hidden Springs ladies over here in Michie Hall working on a service project, and they were sharing where they were from. And then I asked them how they got to McKinney. The answer, for every single one of them: kids and grandchildren.
I am not anti-kid; I'm pro-children actually. But, for us to make any sense of Jesus' teaching today, I need you know that our culture treats children entirely differently from the way Jesus' culture treated. Jesus never, ever, ever came home from a long day of work to a delicious plate of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets with Blue's Clues on in the background.
Some of you may have grown in up days when children were to be seen but not heard. Ancient children had it even worse.
They were tiny humans, who consumed scarce resources in a subsistence economy on the edge of starvation. They were ineffective laborers until at least 6 or 7; and they frequently died on you. They were at the bottom of the social pecking order. They were property of their parents, and their value was basically proportional to their height.
When Jesus takes a child in his arms, he's taking the least of these. He's grabbing the lowest rung on the social ladder and saying, "Here, guys, this is the sort of work I'm about."
Jesus used this child in his teaching because his disciples were trying to figure out who was the greatest. Who was the best disciple? Who should have the most authority and power? Who should be the leader?
On the surface level, when you're going along reading the Bible, this discussion topic sounds a bit absurd. Come on guys! Even when we're not trying to be religious, we don't tend to have the conversation on such baldfaced terms – though I really like imaging one of the passengers on the Hidden Springs bus this morning standing up and shouting, Mohamed Ali style, "I am the greatest!"
But, what the disciples did literally on their walk with Jesus, most of humanity spends metaphorically doing on the walk of life.
Kids ask this question when they choose teams at recess: the one who is chosen first is the greatest. Academics snipe away at each others' arguments from the cover library stalls, trying to claim the title of greatest mind for themselves. When the CEO steps down, the entire C-Suite and board have a discussion about who should be the greatest among them next. California held an election this week to choose who should be the greatest among them.
For as long as humans have been around, they have discussed the question of who is the greatest with the language of politics and war and violence. Rocks and spears gave way to swords and cannons, in turn to machine guns and airplanes, and now to drones and nuclear weapons. Yet the question "Who is the greatest?" only ever remains answered only until such time as someone new rises with the strength or popularity to ask it once more. "The greatest" is a crown that does not fit our human heads; therefore no one can keep it on for long.
And yet despite the ill-fittedness of it, "Who is the greatest?" is one of the most important, and most tragic, questions of human existence. The disciples, walking on a dusty path along the Sea of Galilee, were having a miniature version of the debate that has animated human history.
And so Jesus' rebuke in reply is no less than a response to all of human history.
"Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." And then he takes the child and says "the one who is really the greatest will take care of the least." The most important takes care of the one of no importance.
So if your child is important to you – and they should be – you can't imagine Jesus taking your child into his arms in this moment.
Jesus loves your little angel, I know. Jesus loves the little children. But precisely what's remarkable about that is that Jesus loved the little children in a time when the little children were not loved!
Jesus was weird like an American who likes surströmming. Surströmming is Swedish fish, but not the candy kind. It is fermented Baltic herring. It is widely considered the worst smelling dish in the world. Now the thing of it is, many Swedish people love this stuff. It's a delicacy. But here is what happens when Americans – who did not grow up with the stuff – try surströmming:
I'd show you more, but there are a lot of cuss words in this clip.
In Jesus day, people felt about serving a child like those taste testers felt about surströmming (and I'm only slightly exaggerating). To a first-century person, our cultural fetish of children would have seemed as strange as Swedish people downing a can of that stuff. And Jesus is essentially taking a can of surströmming and telling them this is the path to spiritual health.
So, here's a question: who is our surströmming? Rather than imagining Jesus taking into his arms someone we love; imagine him taking into his arms someone we don't. Not who do we make s'more burnt offerings to; but who do we not want around except to take care of us. Rather than think of someone you serve already, imagine someone in Jesus' arms that you expect to serve you.
What about hospitality workers, flight attendants, grocery and retail workers, housekeeping staff, customer service representatives (especially ones in overseas call centers), delivery drivers. The sort of people who unwittingly end up as the supporting characters in short internet movies where some jerk treats them like trash. The people whose very best case scenario at work is that they get through a whole shift without being berated or demeaned.
What if Jesus called us to sit on the front porch with him, and when the Amazon driver pulled up with a delivery, he said to us, "Your greatness in the kingdom of God is revealed by how you treat this woman." Or if Jesus sat down next to you at the restaurant table and when the waiter brings your order but with the wrong side dish on the plate, Jesus nudges you and says, "How great are you?"
Maybe surströmming is a little harsh. But who are the people we take for granted? Those are the people Jesus was talking about. The people who never, ever figure into the conversations we have with our friends, family, and coworkers about who is the greatest. The greatest, Jesus said, is precisely the person who cares for the people who aren't. Because that's how God works. Let us be those kind of people. Amen.
