the readings
A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. But he said to them, “The kings of the gentiles lord it over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather, the greatest among you must become like the youngest and the leader like one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.
Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. We have renounced the shameful, underhanded ways; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing clearly the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’s sake. For it is the God who said, “Light will shine out of darkness,” who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.
the sermon
Note: The video stream started late. Therefore, I’ll start with the text that precedes where the video starts, and then the video shows below where it picks up. So read the beginning, and then watch the rest from there so that it all makes sense.
Our Gospel reading starts off in an interesting way. It says,
“A dispute also arose among them…”
Okay, so there’s a disagreement. That happens.
But it says, also. A dispute also arose among them.
So I want to look back for a second to see what else is going on here.
Let me set the scene. It’s the last night before Jesus’s crucifixion. He and His disciples are having dinner together, and He institutes the Lord’s Supper.
Taking the bread and wine, He tells them, This is my body… this is my blood… given for you… do this in remembrance of me. We still celebrate this today as one of our most sacred sacraments of the Christian faith.
Then… Jesus immediately tells them that one of them is about to betray Him, saying,
“the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table”
And that’s when the talk starts happening.
They start asking one another which of them it could be who would do such a thing.
Certainly not me! Is it you? Maybe it’s Matthew… look at him over there with that smug look on his face. I mean, can you ever really trust a tax collector?
Then, in the same breath, they turn around and lean into this dispute about which of them is the greatest!
They literally go from, who could do such a thing, to well, I know it’s not me because I’ve done the most to help this team. I think I might be Jesus’s favorite.
We’d never do that, would we? Except that we do it all the time.
The Scoreboard at the Table
Check this out. The word that Luke uses for dispute here isn’t about a simple disagreement. It has this sense of quarreling associated with a love of winning. Make no mistake. This is a straight up competition.
And notice that it doesn’t say that they’re arguing over which of them is the greatest, but which is regarded as the greatest. This whole thing is about who is seen as being the best.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time they’ve had this same argument. In Luke 9:46 we see them doing the same thing, and Jesus sets a child beside him. They still haven’t gotten it!
And honestly, neither have we.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his book Life Together, talks about this argument over greatness…
He basically says that this argument starts the moment Christians gather together. It’s just something that’s built into community life, and it has to be faced.
So Jesus says to them,
“The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them;”
Jesus says it plainly: the world’s way of being great is power over people. And He continues,
“Those in authority over them are called benefactors.”
This is an official title of status, usually given to wealthy patrons. It’s a status of being the one whose name is going to be on the building. And at the table, it’s the one who gets the seat of honor.
The problem isn’t helping people. It’s helping people to rank above them.
Today, we keep scorecards too. We may say things like, after all I’ve done for you. Statements like that turn kindness into receipts.
We keep score on social media too, always quietly checking follower counts and the likes on everything we post.
Some of us may just have an inner scoreboard, quietly comparing in our heads. Who’s doing better, who’s further along, who God probably likes more. This is where status anxiety lives, and it tears us up from the inside.
But what if our worth isn’t something we win at this Table, but something we’re given at it?
Listen to what Jesus says, because it’s four words that change everything.
“Not so with you.”
The Host Who Serves
I’m going to say that again. Not so with you.
When Jesus says this, He’s not trying to teach them a better way to win than the kings. He shifts it completely. We’re not even playing that game at all!
He leans into this more by saying,
“Rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest.”
In their world, age meant honor. And it was always the youngest who got the jobs nobody wanted. The heavy lifting. The dirty work.
Jesus continues,
“And the leader like the one who serves.”
Listen, Jesus doesn’t abolish leadership. But He does redefine what leading looks like.
Then He asks them a question:
“For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table?”
Well, of course it is. Everybody knows that.
This is where Jesus flips everything over on its head and says,
“But I am among you as one who serves.”
Remember, Jesus is the host of this meal. He has every right to the place of honor. And instead, He takes the servant’s place. When John tells the story of this same night, he describes Jesus wrapping a towel around His waist, getting down on the floor, and washing His disciples’ feet.
In Jesus’ statement, the Greek here is ho diakonōn, the one who serves. This is where we get our English word “deacon.” And Jesus uses it to describe Himself.
And notice how He says it: I am among you (as one who serves). In your midst. Not from some heavenly place above or at a safe distance. Jesus serves from right in the middle of the community, as the one sent by the Father into it.
Jesus, by His life and example, is the first and true Deacon.
The early church understood this. Ignatius of Antioch, one of the earliest bishops whose letters we still have, told the churches to honor their deacons the way they’d honor Jesus Himself. Not because deacons are important people, but because when a deacon serves, the church gets to see what Jesus looks like when He serves.
Deacons like Dennis and me and so many others, like Jesus, are sent into our communities to serve on behalf of the One who sent us.
And the beautiful thing about being sent is that we never stand alone. We always have the One who sent us.
Now, if you think this fight over greatness was just a problem for twelve men two thousand years ago, Paul would like to have a word.
Same Contest, Different Costume
Picture a place that’s wealthy, ambitious, and very concerned with image. People pick their favorite speakers and follow them. The most polished ones draw crowds and charge for their wisdom. New teachers show up with glowing endorsements.
And one minister keeps getting bad reviews. People say his letters are impressive, but in person he’s weak, and his speaking? Not much to listen to.
That place is the city of Corinth.
And that minister is Paul.
In our reading from 2 Corinthians, Paul is answering the question hanging over that whole city: what makes a minister trustworthy?
His answer starts with:
“It is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry.”
That word “ministry” is diakonia. Yep, it’s from the same family of diakon- words we just heard Jesus use in the Gospel.
Paul doesn’t come with endorsements. His only credential is that he’s been shown mercy. He didn’t earn this ministry. He received it.
And unlike the polished speakers, he doesn’t use cunning or twist God’s word. No show. No sales pitch. Just, in his words, “the open statement of the truth.”
For Paul, how the gospel is shared is part of the gospel.
And then he says:
“For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake.”
Paul is differentiating himself from the hot, popular preachers out for self gain by saying that it’s not about him, but about pointing to the One who sent him.
So, if the minister isn’t the point, what is he?
Windows, Not the Light
Paul answers when he says:
“For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”
The light Paul speaks of isn’t generated by the minister. It’s given. The minister is like a window. A window doesn’t make light. It lets light shine through.
In the 17th century, the Anglican priest and poet George Herbert wrote a poem called “The Windows.” It begins:
Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word?
He is a brittle crazy glass:
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford
This glorious and transcendent place,
To be a window, through thy grace.
In Herbert’s day, “crazy” meant cracked or flawed. And Herbert goes on later in this poem to imagine God firing His own story into that glass, like stained glass, so that the light shines through the minister’s life. And he says it’s when our words and our lives come together that people are truly moved. Words alone just ring in the ear.
What an amazing picture. Cracked, imperfect glass, colored by our own lives, with the Light shining through it. That preaches more than words alone could ever do.
And here’s the beautiful thing. Every baptized Christian carries this light. When Paul said God, “has shone in our hearts,” he’s not talking only about the apostles. Each one of us has received the light of Christ.
You don’t have to be impressive to be a window. You only have to let the light through.
And a window has two sides: one facing in, and one facing out.
From the Table into the World
That’s what a deacon is. We’ve got one foot in the church and one foot in the world. We’re a bridge. The deacon brings the world into the church (think of the Prayers of the People), and leads the church out into the world.
In a bit, after Dennis sets this Table and we receive Communion, he’ll do one of my favorite things to do as a deacon: the dismissal.
It might sound like an odd favorite, but it means so much more than “it’s time to go.” It’s an invitation to follow. It’s as if the deacon is saying:
You’ve just heard the Word of God. You’ve been reconciled to Him and to each other. You’ve received Holy Communion with Him through the body and blood of Christ. Now, come on. Follow me, and let’s take this out there into the world!
As we celebrate Dennis’s new ministry, let us remember something. He isn’t here to do your serving for you. He’s here to lead you into it.
The ministry we’re celebrating today really belongs to all of us.
And that brings me to my friend.
Closing: A Word to the New Deacon
Dennis, at your ordination, the bishop charged you, “to make Christ and his redemptive love known, by your word and example, to those among whom you live, and work, and worship.”
I’ve watched you over the last few years serve Him well. I’ve seen you pursue a stronger, deeper understanding of God. I’ve watched you wrestle with calling and purpose. And you’ve done it all faithfully.
So hear this, my friend.
You’re not in the contest anymore.
You’re sent.
You don’t have to be the light.
You get to be the window.
And you’ll never stand alone.
You’ll always have the One who sent you.
And for the rest of us, in a little while, Dennis is going to stand up and say, “Let us go forth in the name of Christ!” When he does, let’s follow his lead. Amen.
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