On Tuesday, there was a short service of commendation at Nagel’s Funeral Home on 87th street for our beloved Lillian Bunth. It was very small, just her family and a friend or two; just a few prayers as her body was sent to be cremated. There will be a larger memorial service later in November when more of her family will have a chance to gather and we can all join them. And then we’ll lay Lillian to rest in our columbarium, next to the man who was the first resident of Holy Trinity’s columbarium, Lillian’s husband.
Though I’ve only been among you a short time, I did know Lillian. She was with us at the 8:00 am service on my first Sunday here as preacher. She joined in breakfast as many of the worshippers at that service do, as they insisted that I do. And in the course of our walk to the diner for breakfast, Lillian posed a question or two or three of me. And she made sure I knew who she was. I will be eternally grateful for her forwardness, because it was almost the last chance I would have had to know her before she died.
There was a similar service last week for Elizabeth Eberhart, a long time member of this parish, and this past Thursday was her memorial service, here in this church where she was married and her children were baptized, and educated in the faith, and married. There was beautiful music, poignant memories, and solemn prayers for Elizabeth, as there will be for Lillian in a few weeks, as there always are for those of us who are called into the nearer presence of God.
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In today’s gospel reading from Mark’s gospel, two brothers, James and John, take center stage. It’s not the first time we have met James and John, the sons of Zebedee, nor will it be the last. James and John seem to be part of an inner circle within the larger group of the Twelve. In chapter 5, Jesus allows James and John, along with Peter, to witness the raising of Jairus’ daughter. In chapter 3, it is James and John, again with Peter who witness the Transfiguration, when upon a mountaintop Jesus is transformed into a brilliant being clothed in dazzling white conversing with Moses and Elijah, when a voice from heaven declares that Jesus is, in fact, the son of God.
James and John even have a special nickname given them by Jesus. He refers to them as Boanerges, which means Sons of Thunder. From that at least, and from their forwardness in today’s gospel, we can see how that James and John are a bit special, or might be forgiven for thinking that they are the greatest among equals at the least. And why shouldn’t they be? They are willing to take the hard knocks -- or so they say. They are willing to drink of the cup that Jesus will drink of, and to accept the baptism that Jesus will endure. And when it’s all said and done, they’d like their reward, they’d like a confirmation of the special status they feel they have, an acknowledgement of all they have given -- they feel they deserve it.
In today’s gospel, James and John have cooked up a pretty good plan, and they run it up the Judean flagpole to see who they can get to salute it. They tell Jesus that they’ve got some seating arrangements to discuss with him, involving specifically the seat on his right hand and the seat on his left. Jesus defers on the issue of seating, but he tells them that everything that is coming his way will also come their way. We who know how the story ends, know just how bitter will be the cup that Jesus will drink and just how brutal the martyr’s baptism in blood will be.
John disappears from the post-gospel narrative, but James, we know from the Acts of the Apostles, did indeed join Jesus in a martyr’s sacrifice, the only one of the Twelve who’s martyrdom is recorded in Scripture.
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The commendation for Lillian and the memorial for Elizabeth this past week put me in mind of another funeral and another time this text, the passage from Mark about James and John, has been preached on. It was on Sunday, February 4th, 1968, and the preacher was the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The place was Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia. Dr. King spoke of James and John’s request of Jesus, and he spoke of the psychoanalyst Alfred Adler. Dr. King agreed with Adler that the quest for recognition, the desire for special attention, this desire for distinction is the basic impulse, the basic drive of human life. Dr. King named it “The Drum Major Instinct.” That impulse we all have to jump out in front of the crowd, to lead the great parade with the blaring band at our backs, under our direction.
In that great Baptist style, Dr. King listed the many examples of the Drum Major Instinct run amok: living beyond one’s means, seeking out titles and honorifics, self-aggrandizement, narcissism.
Then towards the end of the sermon, Dr. King spoke of his own personal fame and glory. He said,
“Every now and then I guess we all think realistically … (about) that something that we call death. We all think about it. And every now and then I think about my own death and I think about my own funeral. And I don't think of it in a morbid sense. And every now and then I ask myself, "What is it that I would want said?"
If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long… Tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize—that isn’t important. Tell them not to mention that I have three or four hundred other awards—that’s not important.
I'd like somebody to mention that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others… I want you to be able to say that day that I did try to feed the hungry. And I want you to be able to say that day that I did try in my life to clothe those who were naked. I want you to say on that day that I did try in my life to visit those who were in prison. I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity.
Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter. I won't have any money to leave behind. I won't have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind. And that's all I want to say.”
Two months later to the day, Martin Luther King, Jr. was felled by an assassin’s bullet at 6:01 pm on a Thursday evening in Memphis, Tennessee; just about 5 miles from where my family was sitting down to dinner. A recording of his sermon on James and John and the Drum Major Instinct was played at his funeral -- Dr. King proved to be his own eulogist.
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The words of Isaiah in our first reading today were written long ago, some 800 years before the time of Jesus, but the ancient words of the Hebrew prophet seem to predict exactly what befell Jesus, and what befell his disciple James. But then again, they can be said to fit the circumstances of someone like Dr. King, who was himself wounded for our transgressions of segregation and racism, and who was by a perversion of justice taken away. (cf. Isaiah 54:4-12)
There have been, and I fear will be again, those who lives too closely resemble the sacrifice made for us by Jesus. But the simple fact of the matter is that most of us will not have to make the sacrifices that Jesus made at 33 years old or that James made or that Martin Luther King, Jr. made at 39 years old.
Some of us might even be so lucky as Elizabeth Eberhart and Lillian Bunth have been. Elizabeth was 92 years old at the time of her death; and though she hadn’t copped to her real age in some time, I don’t think she’ll mind if I now acknowledge that Lillian was in fact 97 years old when she died in the last days. She first came to the Church of the Holy Trinity at the age of 5, and was a parishioner here for 92 years. 92 years of pledging and prayer and praise, and 92 years of service, volunteering at the thrift store and as part of the altar guild.
Chances are that the cup that you and I are called to drink will not be as bitter as the cup that Jesus and James and Martin Luther King drank from. Truth be told, we’re likely as not to live long lives, some of us maybe, like Elizabeth and Lillian, even into our nineties. But whether our lives are long or short, whether our deaths are violent and untimely or peaceful and quiet, we can answer the call of Christ to serve one another. We can give of our time and talent and treasure -- whatever amounts of those precious commodities that we can afford -- in service to God’s church, and to our ministries for the hungry, the homeless and the elderly. We may not be asked to suffer a martyr’s death, but we can suffer through a committee meeting or two, or give up an evening to volunteer at our shelter. We may not be asked to lead a march on Washington, but with some advice, we can probably manage to lead a Sunday School class or two. We may not be asked to give our very lives, but we can give of the bounty God has blessed us with.
So when we are called to be of service to others, when we’re asked to pledge or volunteer or serve in whatever capacity – whether we are asked to give of our time, our patience, our other cheek, our money, our expertise, whatever the call may be, let us offer what we have to give unbegrudgingly, willingly and with a thankful heart.
Chances are that you and I will be asked to make what are in fact small sacrifices; we will be called to engage in what are in fact simple, fairly straightforward services to others. Such is likely to be the cup that we will be called to drink from, such is the baptism of sacrifice that we will undergo. Maybe not enough to be counted among the great, except in the opinions of our neighbors and friends whom we have loved, and who have loved us… If we’re lucky, maybe those whom we have worshipped and prayed with all these years might think well of us.
But let us respond to those smaller calls to service with joy and with willingness, remembering the great sacrifices that others have made, and the great blessing that those sacrifices have granted unto all of us: the blessing of salvation, the blessing of a faith that endures, the blessing of a more just society. And may our smaller sacrifices be blessings also, to those in need, and to those we love, to those who we are blessed to call our brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus. +Amen
© The Rev. Mark R. Collins
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