One of my favorite films never really caught on. As a matter of fact, many of my favorite films never get very wide distribution, but today I’m thinking about a film called Defending your Life. It starred Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep, and its subtitle was What really happens after you die. The premise of the movie is that our life tasks are about dealing with our own particular character weaknesses and that we are judged at the end of our lives to see if we’ve learned enough to earn another shot at it. In the film, a panel of judges reviews the evidence of a person’s life. The testimony is video footage of every second of the life in question. The prosecutor points out all the ways the person has failed, the defender offers excuses for the behavior, and the person whose life is under scrutiny has a chance to speak about each of the episodes that are shown.
The movie addresses the human struggle to persevere despite our weaknesses with great sensitivity, and it has an excellent ending. Nevertheless, I found myself watching those video evidence segments with much stronger sense of vicarious embarrassment than was comfortable. That’s probably because those video moments bore such strong resemblance to my own private video showings of the less than admirable moments of my life. You may have similar experiences in your own life. My screenings occur most often just as I’m about to drift off to sleep. Out of the blue, I’m reliving one of those events that I’d really like to wipe from my memory. Sometimes the event is recent – maybe something happening that very day. Sometimes I’m remembering something that happened way back in the 5th grade. Either way, I find myself feeling the same sense of shame and remorse that I felt when I first realized I’d messed something up. Usually, in addition to those feelings, I have a sense of hope. Maybe the person whose feelings I hurt back in the 5th grade has forgotten all about it. Perhaps the person I was rude to today didn’t hear me.
It took me a few years to recognize that my discomfort with the video review wasn’t limited to my failure to meet my own standards and to live as I want to live at all times. My discomfort as I contemplate my less-than-perfect life is also connected to what other people might think of me. I admit I’m grateful that my lie review – unlike the film, as far as I know – has no additional witnesses.
When I began reading today’s gospel passage, the first thing that caught my attention was my own response to disciples’ behavior on the road to Capernaum. This segment of their story certainly doesn’t show them in the best light, and I had an immediate response of disdain. There they go again, I thought. Jesus has just told them that he is going to be killed, and their response is to argue about which one of them is the greatest. When are these guys going to get a clue? That thought led me to wondering about how much those who have gone before us are able to see what’s happening in our world. I had a fleeting vision of the disciples sitting on a cloud, looking down at us – theological education doesn’t really erase images that are imprinted on our minds early on, you know. Anyway, I had a vision of them sitting there, looking down at us while we read this story all over the world. I had a vision of them hearing how tacky they had been all those centuries ago and getting all squirmy at the idea that millions of people are hearing this story yet another time. Now, please understand that I have great faith that we continue to learn and grow in our lives following our earthly death and that we must surely learn at some point in the hereafter to put down the burden of unhealthy focus on ourselves. However, if contrary to my hope and dearest prayer, something like that long-distance viewing is really happening this morning, then those disciples must dread Year B in our lectionary. This is the year when our readings focus on the Gospel according to Mark – sometimes known as the gospel of the clueless disciples.
I’ve tried to think of a gospel story that really presents the disciples in a good light, and I haven’t had much luck. As we read, we get a sense of them doing good ministry in a global, non-specific sort of way. They are obedient, they go out preaching, teaching and healing, they struggle to understand a perspective that’s radically different from their own worldview, they are living a life that’s not easy in order to follow Jesus. The big story is of people like you and me, called to live in a way that is healing and transforming. The big story is of people touching people, sharing the Good News of God’s love, but the specific stories, the ones that focus on individual disciples, show us mostly the warts and freckles. We see very human men, firmly attached to their egos, absolutely convinced that they know the truth about the world and Jesus’ place in it. We see people who are unable to hear Jesus’ words because they’re too busy listening to their own. We see behavior of the sort that’s guaranteed to engender those drifting off to sleep video reviews. In short, we see people very like ourselves.
And what does Jesus do about the rampant cluelessness we can see so easily in the disciples? Over and over and over again, he tells them what he’s come to do. Over and over and over again, he shows them how to live with radical compassion for the world. In today’s story, he tells them that true power comes not from worldly position but from taking the position of a child, the least powerful and most vulnerable position in any society.
Over and over and over again, Jesus tells the disciples, he teaches them, and he shows them. He does all those things. He also does something that is perhaps even more important. He loves them and he accepts them. Never does he say, “I’ve had it with you guys.” Never does he say, “You people go home – I’m going to find some folks who can really do this job.” Never does he say, “You’re not good enough for me.”
Never.
Instead, he keeps telling, teaching and showing them God’s way for the world. Instead, he keeps calling them into his ministry of caring. Instead, he keeps drawing them near to him.
And we come here to be near him. We bring all that we are – including our videotapes. We come to be near him – to be forgiven – to be given strength and courage to go back out there and try again.