Head and Heart: Victory in a Time of a Plague

photo by Elis Alves / flikr

You stumble out of bed—go outside and get the paper. Back in the house you move toward the coffee pot and fix your coffee. You open the paper and it all pours out: Washington. Stimulus package. Biden. Trump.The Virus the vaccinated and those not vaccinated. Murder in a prominent family downstate. Then the Obituaries. Sports. Who won and who lost. And so you put down the newspaper and turn on the television. Maybe this will be better. Not so. Chatter. Chatter everywhere. And it’s all pretty negative. So you press the off button and fix your breakfast. But somehow all that stuff that we have just heard this morning stays with us. What’s going to happen. Are we all just going the drain. Maybe the sky really is falling. Hope not.

This is where a lot of us are. Almost buried by headlines and Breaking News. And I remembered a story I read somewhere. Someone asked a social worker how she could stand to deal with the homeless, the poor and all those other things that broke her heart. And she said, “The only way I can make it is to rejoice in the smallest of victories.”

Victories

It got me to thinking. Hmm. The smallness of victories. What kind of pollyanna thinking is this? What about the big picture?

The disciples were having the same problem and the Pharisees with folded arms and pursed lips piously asked, “Is this Jesus not the carpenter’s son?” Not only that but a carpenter himself.

And so early in Mark’s gospel Jesus tries to set the record straight. What a strange thing he said. “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed…” Remember the temptations of Jesus there at the very beginning.

The devil whispered, “Turn these stones into bread—and they’ll love you.” And since that didn’t work the Tempter whispered, “Throw yourself down four stories from this temple—you’ll wow them Jesus.” And that did not work and so the Devil then said, “Let me show you the kingdoms of the world—look…look. All these will be yours if you fall down and worship me. You’ll have them at your feet.”

This should have given us a clue of how his kingdom was not to be. The gospel turns most of our thinking on its head. It started with a little sixteen year old slip of a girl and her scared to death husband. God’s son born in a dirty barn because there was no room in the inn. The word became flesh—like our flesh. Like us? Lord—like us.

“They all were looking for a king

To slay their foes and lift them high:

Thou cam’st, a little baby thing

That made a woman cry,”

—G.K.Chesterton

No parades. No dancing girls. No riches exactly. No popularity as the world counts. Just doing the very opposite. Calling a rag-tag band to follow him. Touching a leper—nobody did that. Picking up a little child. Telling about the black sheep of the family leaving home—frittering away his inheritance—coming back in rags only to hear his Daddy say: “My son…my son.” The religious leaders couldn’t believe him. “A friend of publicans and sinners.” Women with a shabby past. Tax collectors. The common people whose names never made it into the newspaper—or the obituary notices—these common people heard him gladly. Then he was nailed to cross. Buried in somebody else’s tomb.

No wonder we didn’t know who he was. We are impressed with the big houses and cars. And going to the right schools. Wearing Rolex’s—winning all the ball games. Number One…Number one. I never will forget someone in Clemson telling me one day, “Well—They live in Central but they live in a nice house.”

Seeds

We forget what Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed.” This tiny seed grows into of all things a tree—and birds of all kinds came and made nests in its branches.”

Back to our theme—“I rejoice in the smallest of victories.” Do you do this? Rejoice in the smallest of victories. I certainly miss the point many days. I just let so many of these small victories pass unnoticed as I look at the big churches and houses and big bank accounts and those other children that have done so well. C.E.O’s for this and that company. Doctors. Lawyers or bankers. Why didn’t my kids do that?

Maybe we find the mustard-seed story early in Mark’s gospel to remind us that his kingdom is not the way of the world.

Maybe we are to pay attention. Wendell Berry has a point in which says: “Look out your window—what do you see?” Stop. Look at what’s around you. What do you see? Maybe I have been so down in the mouth many times because I didn’t even see the mustard seeds around me. The teacher says: “Children pay attention. “ And when she gets in her car dog- tired she mostly thinks about the big things. Didn’t I tell them to hang up their pajamas this morning? Did they eat their spinach? Wonder if they fed the dog?

Looking Out Your Window

So often we don’t look out the window but we see the smudges. How this window needs a cleaning. Years ago when we first came to Clemson our little boy was so impressed at this big church. It had a balcony. And a big sound system. And one Sunday as I stood up to preach there was a note on my Bible on the pulpit. It read: “Daddy—talk in the microphone and tell everybody I love you.” Whew. For years I kept that note under the glass on my desk. I hadn’t thought about this in years until I started thinking about this sermon. The smallest of victories.

Remember old Noah and his family cooped up in that smelly boat with all those animals and weird family members. The flood came and stayed and stayed. But one day a dove came with an olive branch in her beak saying the water had gone down and they could open that door and walk once more on solid ground. An olive branch—the smallest of victories.

It is more than a seed folks. Think about your life what really counts. Look out your window. Stop and look. Something your child said. Some note you got when you lost your loved one. Just looking out one of these frosty mornings at the leaves—the turning leaves. The smallest of victories. Maybe it’s not winning the lottery after all.

Just week before last our daughter came down from Atlanta where she teaches a very hard class. She came for my birthday. And she said, "Let's go walk on the dike by the lake before it gets dark. And so as we walked the sun was going down and she turned and said, “This is why I wanted you to come to see this sunset.” What a gift. Maybe the little things may be a whole lot bigger than all those so-called important things.

Craddock's Seed Story

Fred Craddock was one of our great story-tellers and preachers. He said he and his wife visited one of their favorite spots The Great Smoky Mountains. He said they were having dinner in a restaurant one night. Looking out the window was a great view of the mountains. Early in the meal an elderly man came by and said, “Good evening. Are you on vacation?” he said. Craddock said “Yes” and wanted to say it is none of your business.

“Where you from?” Oklahoma. “What do you do there?” Craddock said his blood pressure was going up. He wanted to say: Leave us alone. We don’t even know you. He told the man he was a minister. “What denomination?” The Christian church. The man said, “I owe a great deal to a preacher in the Christian church. “ And he pulled out a chair and sat down. Who was this person?

The man said “I grew up in these mountains. My mother was not married and everybody knew it. I was illegitimate. In those days he said, this was a great shame. And I was ashamed. “When I went into town” he said, “ I could saw people whispering. “See him—he’s a bastard. No daddy.” Children called me ugly names at school. You don’t know your Daddy.

He said in his early teens he began to attend a Christian church way back in the mountains. He said the preacher there was attractive and frightening. Tall with a deep voice. He said he kept going back to hear the man preach. He said, “I was afraid I would not be welcomed if they knew I was a bastard. I would go just in time for the sermon and slip out fast.

But one Sunday the line was long trying to shake the preacher’s hand and he was struck. He said he made it through the line and he was stopped. There was a hand on his shoulder, a heavy hand. And it was the Preacher. The man told Craddock he was scared to death. The preacher turned the boy’s face around and said, “Boy, you are a child of God—I can see a striking resemblance.” Then he said the preacher swatted him on his back and said, “Now go on out and claim your inheritance.” Craddock said the man told them as a little boy he left the church a different person. In fact, he said, it was the beginning of his life.

Craddock said he was so moved by the story he asked the man sitting next to them,“What is your name?” “Ben Hooper, he said.”

After they left he said he remembered when he was little his Mama saying how the people of Tennessee had twice elected a governor who was a bastard. His name was Ben Hooper.*

We all hold in our hands the smallest of victories. Let’s go out remembering that.

“The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. When sown on the ground it is the smallest of seeds yet when it grows up it becomes great tree and birds come to nest in its branches.”