A TIME TO KEEP SILENT
AND A TIME TO SPEAK
Sermon preached by Dr. Mark Smutny
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Pasadena Presbyterian Church
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” - Mark 9:3-37
No surprise to you, from the time I was a child I have held strong opinions and have expressed them. In first grade at Bickel Elementary School, my hand would shoot in the air, "Mrs. Trout. I know, I know, Mrs. Trout, call on me." She would and I would give the answer. In second grade with Miss Barkdull, it was the same; third grade with Mrs. Swisher, the same; and the same in fourth grade with Mrs. Louckes. Talking in public came easily. The shyness gene skipped me by. By the time fifth grade came along, I begged Mr. Armstrong to allow me to lead science demonstrations every Friday afternoon in front of class, using the science table I had discovered stored unused in the custodian's closet. Every Friday afternoon at Bickel Elementary School, front and center, with Mr. Armstrong's cooperation, I would present scientific experiments using a Bunsen burner and chemicals in various combinations, lecturing in front of my class, illustrating how to burn things, while everyone else watched and listened.
I've been front and center a good portion of my life. When the author of Ecclesiastes notes, "There is a time to keep silence and a time to speak," you could say I got straight A's on the "time to speak" part, but flunked the "time to keep silent."
Later in high school I joined the debate team and the reward in my mind for hearing me speak reached the seventh level of heaven. There is no wonder I became a preacher, now is there?
There are many occasions when speaking is exactly what is called for:
· when an important issue needs a prophetic voice. For instance, health care for the uninsured.
· or when a loved one needs to hear "I love you."
· or when one in pain needs to hear "I will stay with you. You need not be alone."
On the other hand, there are times when silence is much more what is needed:
· when we really haven't studied an issue and we should keep our mouths shut;
· or when our emotions are stirred up so much that all that comes out of our mouths is destructive venting, sheer ignorance and even patent bigotry;
· or when we confront a mystery and what we ought to do is bow down in awe and wonder and be perfectly hushed and completely silent;
· or when someone's pain is so deep and so raw and all we ought to do is bear holy witness and be still.
There are times to speak and there are times to keep silence. It's not always easy to know how to balance the two.
Sometimes we talk too much and sometimes we talk too little. Sometimes we talk too much when we try to dominate a situation with our words when it would be more helpful to be more open to the views and needs of others by listening. Sometimes we are silent when we ought to speak out in opposition to injustice or cruelty. Sometimes we speak because we feel entitled to speak but what comes out of our mouths is utter nonsense because we really don't know what we are talking about. Sometimes we have something really important to say but fear keeps us from saying it and we kick ourselves and wonder why we are such cowards.
The disciples in chapter 9 of Mark's Gospel seem to struggle with the issue of balancing speaking and listening. In verse 32, the disciples keep silent when it seems they should speak up. After Jesus tells them he will be betrayed, killed, and then raised from the dead, the first period of awkward silence emanates from the disciples. The text says that "they, the disciples, did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him."
It's not entirely clear why they were so quiet and afraid to ask him about what he said about his betrayal, death and resurrection. Maybe they kept their mouths shut because they did not want to believe what they were hearing. Maybe they preferred denial. Maybe they preferred to deny the suffering that was inevitably ahead. Maybe it was easier for them to pretend that change wasn't going to happen to their leader and consequently to themselves.
We, ourselves, often pretend that inevitable change will not happen. We human beings have an amazing capacity to pretend. We even go so far as to worship our delusions so powerful is our propensity to deny.
From ancient times there is a famous story of when the Hebrews attempted to fight off the anxiety of inevitable change by worshiping a golden calf. They assembled their gold and jewelry and thought by worshipping a fetish the Hebrews could pretend to glorify their past, even as miserable as it was, rather than step into the future with faith. It helped them deny the certainty and the inevitability of change ahead of them. Denial helped them temporarily have a false sense of security, the way purchasing a new gadget diverts our attention from the underlying facts.
As far as the church goes, denial helps us hold on to an image of the way the church used to be so that we can blame the present and avoid the future. For example, we can fantasize that one time the church was all white and rich and perfect and filled with children. That way we don't have to change and adapt to the radically changing world that swirls all around us. We can blame those who are younger, of a different ethnicity, race, language, national origin, etc.; we can dream of a time when all the children were above average, we can make an idol of a golden calf rather than follow Jesus to the cross and die and live again in a new form of church where all God's children are welcome whether they are pink, brown, olive or tanned. All of them are welcome in God's house because Jesus welcomed all into his fellowship. That's the church of the future, but the old church first has to die, before the new church can be resurrected.
Maybe the disciples were silent when they should have been asking Jesus how they might die with him and be raised up with him into a new way of being church that was alive and fresh and new, but they preferred denial because they thought denial was safer and less risky and so they stayed silent. Maybe the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus forthrightly about the cross and the resurrection because they had very little faith and they preferred to stick their heads in the sand and worship the gods of denial.
Well that's my point of view as to why they stayed silent when Jesus started talking about dying and rising again. They were afraid of inevitable change and that made them cowards – shriveled, puny cowards – that lacked faith in the death and resurrection of our Lord and the death and resurrection of themselves. I hope you are following me.
The story goes on in chapter 9, verse 33 of Mark's Gospel. Now they are no longer quiet. Whereas before they should have been talking and asking questions but were silent, now in this next section, where you wish they would be quiet, they are loudly talking. Now the disciples are loudly arguing who among them was the greatest. When Jesus comes among them and asks them a simple straightforward question about their topic of conversation, they grow quiet again.
It's hard to imagine the disciples having so little understanding of what Jesus had been saying to them that they were arguing about which of them was the greatest. It's hard to imagine that, at least, until we realize how often we would be silent if Jesus were to confront us and ask us what we have been talking and fretting about. Some of us spend quite a bit of time worrying about our status, trying to accumulate the symbols of prestige, seeking to maneuver so that we can receive the accolades we imagine we deserve. I imagine most of us ought to grow silent when we consider the silly marital spats we engage in that amount to nothing, the office politics that tear at human harmony, the petty ways we squander our resources, the little rigidities we carry around as we judge others as less than worthy than our own elevated selves. If we were to come into Jesus' presence, we ought to be silent.
It must have been difficult for the disciples when they became aware that even if they were silent Jesus would see through them. It must be difficult for us to become aware that our lives are an open book before God even as we are silent.
Now that he has our full attention and we are quiet, Jesus sits down and places a child in his lap. With his strong carpenter arms he wraps them around her in an embrace of both strength and gentleness and he begins to speak a word to his disciples and to us. He says, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." We listen to his words and the implications begin to settle in. We see in the child on his lap all children who have ever lived, past, present and future. We see the vulnerable ones. Maybe we see ourselves when we have been vulnerable and dependent. Maybe we see our own need to be humbled before the God who we hope will be gentle with us.
We hear him saying that in welcoming a child, in welcoming the weak and the helpless, we will be welcoming him. When we really grasp what he means then we stretch our imaginations a little more. We think of the little ones the Gospels speak about, yes children, but also outcasts, the beggars at the gate of every city, the ten million plus undocumented in America who pile into emergency rooms for their health care or go without. He means the Palestinians in Gaza behind those Israeli walls who live in open-air prisons, many who seethe with resentment begging for justice and a homeland. I believe he means the wretched of the earth which means if they sat next to you in your pew it would smell in here and test your tolerance and sense of Presbyterian propriety. I believe he means the abused, the forgotten, the discarded, those without lobbyists, those without connections, the poor, the hungry, the veterans who fought our dirty wars but lie discarded on our streets – all of these deserve our protection. These, Jesus says, are not to be turned away. If we do, we turn away God. We turn away Jesus, himself.
The disciples take it all in. We listen. The murmur of the Spirit stirs inside and Jesus asks each one of us to consider what he has said. In the silence, the Word becomes flesh inside of us. We hear and become convicted. We ask how we might become one of his servants. Pray God this day you will welcome him into your heart and into your life. May you receive him in the silence. May you speak his truth loudly through your deeds and through the witness of your words. May you be one of his own. In his powerful name, Amen.