After Googling Hyrax and Ibis

Job 38:1-7, Psalm 104; Mark 10:35-45
October 15, 2006

This passage from Mark 10 makes me think that if these disciples weren’t actually very young, they were at least locked in adolescence. According to Mark, Jesus has just finished telling them that when he gets to Jerusalem, he’s going to be lynched. He’s just finished telling them that the powers are going to do their best to squash him and his movement. They’re going to kill him, but he’s going to rise from the dead. Now, that’s a pretty amazing prediction, wouldn’t you say? If someone told you that about themselves, wouldn’t it get your attention?

How do James and John Zebedeeson respond? “Hey Jesus, do us a favor, would you?”

Think about it. “I’m going to be killed.”

Response: “Hey, okay, that’s nice . . . uh, we want you to do us a favor.” Let alone the fact that Jesus’ very presence with them was God doing all of humanity a favor – a giant undeserved extravagant luscious overwhelming favor, but then, when you think that the axis of the planet goes through your space, what do you care for perspective?

I wonder if Jesus’ back was turned to them at that point and he gritted his teeth in a tight grin, shook his head from side to side and let out a little sigh before he turned around – like a parent who knows what it means when a kid breaks silence to ask a favor. No way Jesus is going to offer them some sort of carte blanch.

“What do you want, boys?”

“When you take over, we want to be on your board of directors.”

Fred Craddock spoke one time about a student he had who worked in a school for children with severe hearing disorders. The church member was tremendously compassionate and dedicated to helping these kids, but sometimes it got to him. One Sunday, the guy looked uncharacteristically downcast and Craddock stopped him after worship and asked him how he was doing.

The student told Craddock that he’d had an especially disappointing week at work. He’d been working with a young girl closely for several weeks and after the Thanksgiving break, he stopped her in the playground, took her by both shoulders so she could see his lips and asked her, “Heather, what did you have for Thanksgiving dinner?”

She responded, “I’ve got red shoes.” The man had been working with these children for years and knew such responses were very common. It’s the nature of the syndrome, but he thought he’d made more progress with Heather. What disappointment – but the guy did go back to work.

This was one of those moments for Jesus. He’d outlined for his disciples how they were about to witness a Cosmic intersection, how they were about to be at the nexus of the eternal and the temporal, how death itself would be defeated, how humanity’s most basic anxiety was about to be nullified and how did they respond? “We’ve got red shoes.” It’s like they hadn’t heard a word!

Now, don’t read Jesus’ response to James and John with a churchy tone. I can only imagine that his shoulders sagged as if a barrel of ice-cold despair had been dumped over his head. I imagine he grimaced and growled. “You don’t know what you’re asking! Can you drink the cup I’m going to drink or be baptized with what I’m going to be baptized with?” He was referring to the lynching he’d just described, but these two disciples seem totally unplugged from it. “Sure!”

Was there a moment of silence as he looked at them and they looked back, eyes wide, minds fixed on their plans, waiting to see if Jesus would just simply do what they wanted. (“Mom, all I want to know is whether or not you could give me the twenty dollars. Jeeeesse! You don’t need to make a federal case out of it. Chill out!”)

“Well, guys, I’m glad you want to be a part of what God’s got in mind for me and you. I’m really glad, but guys, I don’t have appointive powers. That’s between you and God. But if you really want to be on my team, then you will play my game.”

And then the rest of the disciples hear about James and John’s power play. They become, the scriptures say, “indignant.” They were jealous of the red shoes. And I wonder if this inspired yet another sigh from the Master.

“You’re missing the point,” Jesus says, and perhaps he added in his mind, “As usual.”

“Look, among the powers that be, they have a custom of power politics, of taking command, of taking control. The institutions of this world think that’s the way to do things. But I’m here to tell you that God NEVER intended for his Creation to operate on that basis. I came here to reestablish God’s ways, and you aren’t to operate the way the rest of the world operates. Top-down command structures resulted when our first father and mother listened to the snake. I’m here to tell you that the only way this world is going to function properly is when people start serving one another rather than trying to control one another. My followers will not practice command and control. They will practice service among equals. Even I did not come to command and control, but to serve you.”

It’s a tremendous irony that these disciples were so committed to something they didn’t understand. Perhaps if they understood that what they were signing on to would eventually kill them, they wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about associating so closely with Jesus.

This story gives me great pause. I have a bunch of questions for God. I don’t understand a whole passel of things that happen in this world and I want an explanation. From my sister’s premature death, to people killed by drunken drivers, to the death of innocent children in war zones like Iraq, to the suffering of millions in places like Darfur, let alone the genocides in Rwanda, Bosnia, Armenia, and the Holocaust. My soul cries out, “If you’re good God, if you’re in control, then why do these things happen?!”

Well, I’m not the first to ask such questions. If you’ve asked that kind of question, you, too, are not alone, and I’m not the only one you have as a companion. The dynamic of demanding something from God is as old as humanity. And from most of our perspectives, we don’t ask anything unreasonable, and certainly nothing that the eternal power that under girds the entire universe couldn’t handle.

Take Job for example. In the chapters leading up to our passage for today, Job and some friends have been debating the issue of bad things happening to good people and nothing that any of the friends have said has satisfied Job. As hard as they try, and as sophisticated as their reasoning gets, all of it still only amounts to human speculation. Job wants to hear from God, directly.

And so Job, in effect, says, “Hey YOU! God!! I’ve got a complaint and if you have a case against me, then spell it out. Explain yourself!”

And how does God answer? “Job, you’re a good guy, but Job, you’re just one guy. You want understanding? You want me to explain myself? Well, Job, where were you when the planets came into being? Where were you when the supernovas exploded across the cosmos and ejected the basic stellar material at just the right speed and temperature so that it coalesced into carbon atoms, formed into nucleotides, adhered into the double helix that composes DNA, and then began multiplying into you? Do you have even an inkling of the genius behind that process?”

The actual issue is that these guys, James, John, Job, all of us, make demands of God the consequences of which, if they were granted, we cannot possibly understand. When we pray for certain alterations in the nature of things, we cannot possibly understand the way the fabric of the universe would be affected were our plans endorsed.

When the psalmist contemplated this dynamic, among others, Psalm 104 resulted. Amazement and praise gush out of this psalm. The psalmist, no doubt, had set himself aside and in contemplation of the complexity and enormity of the creation around him, reflects that God’s power is awesome and beyond the poet’s ability to comprehend. All he can do is sing a song of praise and gratitude – and attempt to offer dedication and obedience to this Creator who simply overwhelms any human attempt at understanding. As the poet said in another psalm, “Were I to try and understand your thoughts, I’d discover that they outnumber the grains of sand.” Indeed, how could I ever have the temerity to question God when I consider the complexity of this universe? When I read the psalm and came across the term “hyrax,” I had to look it up. I also wasn’t sure what an ibis is. What’s a hyrax? It’s a rabbit-like rodent that lives in rocky, mountainous areas. And an ibis is a bird much like a heron that lives and feeds in marshy areas. They’re often the last animals to vacate the vicinity when flood comes.

These two terms point out that the cosmos is an amazingly complex reality upon which God has extravagantly showered his creative energy. The interrelatedness of all life escapes the analysis of even the most advanced earth scientist, so all I can do is step back in respectful awe and praise God from whom all blessings flow. That’s what the psalmist concludes: “I will sing praises to the Lord all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live. May my meditation be pleasing to him, as I rejoice in the Lord.”

So, really, James and John Zebedeeson get the same answer that Job did – except that Jesus makes it clear what the best and proper response is to the complexities of the universe and the apparent lack of justice and fairness that infects it. You don’t do that by taking control – you do that by being like Jesus, that is, by being a servant.

Marci and Bill McClamb live on a farm in Southeast Virginia . Marci and Bill have two sons, Will, who graduated from college, and Stephen, who is a senior in high school. One Spring afternoon, two years ago while they were waiting on Will to come home for a visit, Marci was getting ready to go visit a family whose youngest daughter, a girl 17 years old, was ill with terminal leukemia. Bill had just come in and cleaned up from breaking up some ground on part of their 700 acres. He had sat down in the den with a glass of tea and was talking with Marci about the family she was going to visit when they heard the school bus accelerate up their road. The front door slammed and Stephen's heavy footsteps thudded on the floor as he came tramping in through the living room toward the family room.

He came into the family room with set jaw and dark, cloudy eyes, an expression that they knew meant, "Leave me alone, the whole world is stupid and I'm sick of it."

Bill looked up from his tea glass and Marci said, "Hi, honey."

Stephen kind of grunted and dropped his book bag on the floor beside the TV and began fiddling with the switches on the control panel. "When's Will getting home?"

Marci answered, "He'll be getting here any minute."

Bill said, "Stephen, your mother said hello to you."

Stephen said, "She didn't say hello, she said 'hi' and what's wrong with this stupid TV?"

Bill said, "You know it doesn't work and what kind of attitude is that?"

Stephen glared at his dad then threw himself down on the couch and just slouched there, hands stuffed in his pockets, lips pursed, and muttering under his breath.

Marci ignored the look and said, "Honey, what's the matter?"

"Mom, I'm tired of old televisions, of not having anything, of riding the bus. I'm sick of this nowhere school. It's boring. It feels like a prison. There's so much going on out there in the world, and I feel left out and left behind. I can't wait 'till Will gets here. Man does he live a cool life. And why can't I drive your car to school every now and then? You're not using it all the time. Couldn't I take it to school?"

Bill was sitting there remembering what the school psychologist had said in a presentation once: "Listen to your adolescent patiently when he or she complains. Weigh all the various strands of his conversation, feeling with him, and feeding back what you've heard and felt in what he expresses."

So Bill said, "What in the world are you talking about!?"

Marci saw Stephen turn a glare at his dad, so she quickly said, "I'll make a deal with you."

Stephen looked hopefully at Marci and said, "Okay, what?"

"If you cut your hair and you can use my car."

Stephen's shoulders and face sort of sagged. "O, mom! Can't you leave my hair out of this?"

She said, "But honey, it looks so, so, long, and unkempt -- and messy."

"But mom," Stephen said with a sly grin, "Jesus had long hair -- and all his disciples, too."

Marci nodded, "Yes, and they walked everywhere they went."

"Mom!" Then he grimaced and said, "You and dad never take me seriously."

Bill was just about ready to say something else to Stephen as they were sitting in that family room when they all heard the sound of Will's car pull up in the driveway outside. Stephen's scowl quickly melted into a look of bright excitement as he exclaimed, "Will's here!" and he leapt up from the couch and strode out the back door letting the screen slam behind him. Pretty soon, Will and Stephen walked back in, arms around each other's shoulders, Stephen carrying Will's one bag. There were greetings all around, hugs and kisses for mom, a back slapping bear hug from dad. ("I love you man!")

Stephen said, "Will, let's go out for pizza, just us brothers, what do you say?"

"Sounds good, if the parents have no plans." Then Will looked at Marci and said, "Where you going all dressed up, mom?"

"I'm going to visit the Johnsons. You knew that Diane has leukemia. Sarah has come home from Norfolk to stay with her until the end."

Will got a real longing look in his eyes at that point, a look that Stephen even noticed. Will said, "Mom, you mind if I come with you?"

Stephen said, "But what about pizza?"

"We can go get pizza afterwards. I went to school with Sarah, and don't you know Diane?"

Stephen nodded. "I don't know. I think I know who she is, but what good could I be to her?"

Will laughed. "Probably none, but the visit might do you some good."

They all piled into Will's car, which Will offered for Stephen to drive, and which Stephen readily accepted. As they drove toward the Johnson's house and Will and Marci talked up a storm about Will's job in Richmond , Stephen decided that he'd stand against a wall somewhere in the house while they did all the talking, or comforting, or whatever you did at the house of someone who was dying. Then they'd leave, drop mom off at the house, and go out and get a pizza.

Stephen had all this in mind as they arrived at the Johnson's house and were greeted at the door by Mrs. Johnson. She was real glad to see Will and Marci, but when she saw Stephen, she seemed especially glad. Stephen couldn't figure out why. They went into the living room which seemed a little too warm and then Stephen saw the hospital bed against the far wall and immediately caught the gleam of light reflecting off of an oxygen tube. Since the light was dim there, he couldn't make out any details of Diane's form except for a slender, elongated mound underneath a white sheet. Sarah rose from a chair beside the bed and hugged Will. Will then leaned over the bed and said hello to Diane. Stephen heard a thin voice answer. Then Will said, "Diane, I think you know my brother, Stephen. He's come to say hello, too."

Stephen hadn't expected this, and felt extremely uncomfortable, but since everyone was looking at him, he walked up close to the bed about the time his eyes adjusted to the light. The face looking back at him was extremely white and painfully thin, but he recognized her. She was a rather attractive girl who never really stood out at school because she was always so quiet. He remembered her reading a story once out loud in his English class. Now, she lifted her head, smiled broadly, and in spite of the dim light, Stephen could see a twinkle in her large brown eyes that lent them a warm beauty despite the dark circles underneath. "Hi, Stephen. It's really nice of you to come and see me. Thanks for coming."

Stephen shuffled a little, felt guilty for his initial attitude and said, "Sure, Diane. Uh, how are ya?" Immediately he felt so stupid as he thought, "Asking a dying person how she feels. Boy, how dumb can ya get?"

But Diane smiled more broadly and said, "I feel much better since you came."

About that time, the others started walking out of the room. Diane said, "Mother, could you prop me up so I could talk with Stephen better?"

Mrs. Johnson hesitated a moment, then rushed to comply. She then slid a chair up to Stephen and asked him to sit down. Stephen noticed that there were tears in Mrs. Johnson's eyes as she briefly clasped his shoulder. Then Stephen said, "I still remember that story you read in English class. It was real good. Do you write many stories?"

That seemed to open the flood gates for Diane and she began talking about her ambitions to be a writer and how now she was afraid it wouldn't happen. Stephen sat and listened, and to his surprise, found that he was both enjoying himself and wishing that he'd talked with her more, and sooner. He found himself liking Diane.

When Marci, Will, and Stephen said good bye, Diane squeezed Stephen's hand and thanked him again for coming. At the door, Mrs. Johnson still had tears in her eyes. She took Stephen's hand in both of hers and said, "That's the first time she's spoken that much in weeks. She thought no one at the high school cared about her. I can't tell you what your visit has meant."

In the car, after they had dropped Marci off at the house, Will asked Stephen which pizza shop he wanted to go to. Stephen was staring out the window, unable to get Diane's face out of his mind. He said, "Will, let's go by the mall to that art supply shop."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Well, yeah, but I want to buy one of those hard bound books filled with blank pages."

"What's that for, Steve," Will asked. "You gonna keep a diary?"

"No. Diane wants to be a writer, and I thought it might inspire her."

"Well Stephen, that's great, but they've only given her two weeks to live."

"I know, but at least it might make her two weeks a little less dry." They skipped the pizza, bought the book, and paid Diane another visit that night. And since someone else's dry valley had become more important to him than his own, Stephen's own life didn't seem dry any more at all. You know why? It wasn't.

When Diane died, eighteen months later, Mrs. Johnson told Stephen that his gift, and his repeated visits thereafter, brought a tremendous boost in Diane's life -- and gave her the kind of motivation that she believed lengthened and lightened Diane's days far beyond what the medical community had expected. "The connection you two made gave her extra life when everyone else had lost hope." And Stephen knew that Will had been right: his visiting Diane that first night had done him more good than it had Diane.

Because he let the spirit of service fill him, which is the heart of Jesus Christ, he brought new life into Diane's valley of the shadow of death. But Stephen also gained the kind of perspective that put almost all of his complaints, if not to rest, then into perspective. Controlling the world was no longer his aim. Being like Jesus was his aim. And when we’re living like Jesus, we discover the hyrax and the ibis. We see the beauty of the cosmos stretched out before us – and when we strive to make our meditations pleasing to God, the eternity of the universe becomes our abode. How much better is that than the answer to a couple of questions?