Sermon, by Pastor Joel
Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost
September 29, 2024
Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29
Psalm 19:7-14
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
The context of this sermon is
100% written by a human
My wife’s grandfather liked to tell this story: in the early 1930s, he worked for Nova Scotia Power, and one day, while driving along a dirt road, he came across a handmade sign. It read: “Pick your rut carefully; you’ll be in it for the next 20 miles.” He would tell this line with a laugh, usually while playing a game of “knock-for-nickels” while he cooked fudge in the kitchen. No doubt a person with a good sense of humour put up that sign, but like all good jokes, it also reflected a truth about human nature: we often get trapped in our own ruts. By definition, a rut is not a place you want to be. On a road with deep ruts, your car gets stuck. In life, a rut, the dictionary says, is a habit or behavior that has become dull and unproductive but hard to change. Ruts can get us stuck in life as well.
The Bible is full of examples of people who choose the wrong rut. In fact, the gospel is a rut-escaping kind of teaching. In this case this morning, we hear a lot about one very common kind of rut – the rut of complaining. Take, for example, the Israelites who followed Moses into the desert. They had been saved from slavery under the brutal reign of Pharoah, then led to freedom by Moses to build a better life. But that life wasn’t getting better fast enough. They complained about their food. The manna in Egypt, they said, was much better than the manna God provided in the wilderness. We know plenty of people like this – if we are honest, we are these people more often than we’d like ourselves to be.
The complaining rut prevents us from seeing the good in life. It gets us so focused on one small thing that we miss the big picture. Think of something you recently complained about – a bad driver, a cranky kid, an ache or pain. Sure, it might have been irritating in the moment, but when you step back and consider the day it happened on, did it merit complaint? In the complaining rut we spend more time grousing than complimenting, more time grumpy than engaging. We are in good company. Even Moses complained that he felt as if he were carrying the whole world on his shoulders when he led God’s people in the wilderness. Responsibility can also feel like a rut, if we lose sight of the meaning and purpose behind it. What God said to Moses applies to all of us. “If life is that bad for you,” God says, “do something about it.”
In our gospel, the disciples are also complaining. Some unnamed person was having more success at casting out demons than they were. They’d found a way not to admire the healing ability of this individual but to question his authority to do so. But, of course, the disciples were only human. They were threatened by this stranger, and jealous. And isn’t that often the heart of the complaining rut? We think our lives could be better; we are jealous of someone else’s success. The rut of complaining must surely begin with the bad habit of comparison, which social media has only made easier. Indeed, one of the main reasons that experts say social media is bad for mental health is that we chronically compare the truth of our lives with the fiction of someone else’s. Jesus quickly tries to nip this in the bud, with a lesson for all of us: it doesn’t matter who is doing the good work, he tells the disciples, but that the good work is being done. We are not in competition to “perform” the gospel better than anyone else; we are meant to live it truthfully as well as we can, for ourselves and for God.
Like so many people in our sacred text, all of us can, at one time or another, get stuck in the rut of complaining. This robs us of the very life we desire. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, it makes us over-glorify the past, rather than appreciate the present and work toward the future. No wonder, after expressing their lament, the Israelites said, “Now our strength is dried up.” Complaining is exhausting because we have to carry around the burden of it.
But more seriously, the rut of complaining puts our relationship with God out of joint. Because ultimately, our lament is really against God: why doesn’t God put order to the affairs of our life so that everything comes up roses? One compliant tends to lead to another, and suddenly, we are grumbling so loud that we cannot hear God at all.
So how do we get out of the rut of complaining? I suppose today, the experts would recommend a gratitude journal to remind ourselves of our blessings. We might call that prayer. Jesus, in our gospel, has another prescription. Instead of casting out our salty words to sting others, Jesus says, “Have salt within yourself.” Jesus was relentless in saying that change and renewal always begin at home. Before we take the sliver out of our neighbour's eye, Jesus says, take the 6X6 out of your own. Have “salt within yourself.” Use it to soften the hard edges, to preserve what is good. Let the salt sting in the wounds caused by our envy and greed, our broken ego and complaining words. Take an honest look inside. Let judgment begin within, Jesus says. And then let the salt do its healing work within you.
What does that look like? Sometimes, it is acceptance: some days it rains, and you bring an umbrella. If, like Moses, the job is too big, seek help and delegate some authority. If, like the disciples, you find yourself envying another’s good works, give thanks for the good work being done. (Even better, welcome it.) If you see wrongdoing, don’t gripe and point fingers; seek a resolution. Do not dry up your strength with complaining. Put it to better work. We will be better and happier people. The world will be a better and happier place. “Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.” Amen.
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