Sean exposes three temptations that war against putting people first: wanting a king, turning people into numbers and turning people into tools.
Transcript
This document is a direct transcript of an audio recording, and may contain transcription errors and other minor edits for the sake of clarity.
 [Recording begins after Sean has already begun speaking.]
SEAN: . . . . So, a lot of you may know that in my job as the communications director for the People of Praise, I’ve got to keep an eye on the news, and, you know, we’ve had a lot of scrutiny in the news—there’ve been some serious stories recently—so I feel like I need to tell you a couple things just off the bat here.
So, I just want to read you a headline:
“Other Disciples Give Peter a Rooster-Crowing Alarm Clock.” [Crowd laughter intermittently throughout this story.]
In an absolutely savage prank, the disciples bought the apostle Peter an alarm clock that goes off in the morning by blaring the crow of a rooster three times. “This is going to be epic,” said Philip, rubbing his hands with glee as they wrapped the presents [sic].
I don’t think Peter was very amused.
One more for you here:
According to sources close to the ancient Jewish sect known as the Pharisees, the group of legalistic religious zealots was delighted to learn about this new thing going around— this new political thing—as it gives them the power to judge others, one-up each other in virtue signaling and feigned morality, and make everyone else feel guilty about not living up to their manmade standards.
Pharisee—it’s a good time to be a Pharisee right now. [Quiet laughter.]
Finally, here’s a headline: “Roman Soldier Assigned to Guard Tomb of Some Jewish Carpenter Looking Forward to Uneventful Weekend.” [Burst of laughter from crowd.]
In all serious—a little reminder about the notebooks: this is so that you can write down the good jokes, so you can repeat them to everyone at home. [Laughter.] Or maybe you want to write down the jokes to remind yourself never to repeat them! [Laughter.]
But in either case, the notebook is there because, once again, we really want this to be open and available to everyone in the community, and we’re counting on you to be the messengers for this.
So, recently I was praying about Jesus’ appearance to Thomas. And it had never occurred to me before that the reason for the appearance wasn’t just to prove a point for all of history, or to demonstrate some key biological facts about Jesus’ resurrected body. It was something else. It was personal. Jesus comes in glory for the sake of a single person: Thomas. A man he knew and loved, who had perhaps simply gone out for a walk, and missed the big moment.
I was talking about this with my 10-year-old son recently, and he made an interesting analogy. He said what happened to Thomas must be a little bit like what happens when the whole family is around the TV watching a football game. In our house, that would be a Notre Dame football game. But then, at the very moment when you step out to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water, someone makes an interception and runs it back for a touchdown. And you hear all the cheering and yelling, but you can’t quite understand why! And even watching it on replay doesn’t do the moment justice. You missed it, and you just can’t get it back.
So, I think that’s what happened to Thomas, except times a thousand. He’s distraught, he’s wrecked, he’s mad at himself for missing out. Wanting to believe but lacking belief. I picture him standing in a circle with the disciples, like we would be at a prayer meeting. Maybe he has his eyes closed. And then, when he opens them, he sees a man next to him that he doesn’t quite recognize. And that man also has his hands out, praying. And then that man offers his hand to Thomas, and Thomas puts his hand in that hand, and he feels the wound. And then that man says, “Here, put your finger into my side!”
It doesn’t get much more personal than that!
But this is how our Lord does! As Charlie says, his first miracle is to help his mom. He raises his friend Lazarus from the dead. He tells the Samaritan woman everything that she ever did. He meets Nicodemus at the time that is most convenient for him. All of this because people are what matters most.
I want to talk today about three temptations that war against this extravagance of personal love and concern that mark Jesus and his followers. The first temptation is dominating people. The second is turning people into numbers. And the third is turning people into tools.
But I can give you a quick shortcut to this whole talk. All three of these temptations are a form of abortion. They crush and destroy the most important and the most beautiful thing.
So, the first temptation. This is the temptation to dominate other people. We want to be in charge, so our own wills reign supreme, so we can set the agenda and dominate others in ways large and small: for example, through the brilliance of our own ideas.
Many community members, I think—and this is a good thing—we instinctively recoil from this temptation. We value service, and we train all our members to serve as Jesus served. And those are the kind of leaders we want. We admire Jesus, who rejects the temptation to seize power and dominate others, choosing instead the way of humility.
And yet, there is another temptation that can plague us, far more subtle, and for us, even more dangerous for community.
This is the temptation that the Israelites face in 1 Samuel, chapter 8, when they say to the dying prophet Samuel: “You are old. Now appoint a king to lead us, such as all the other nations have.”
This is the temptation to want to be dominated, or, you could say, to be servile.
And it surfaces in a community when members say, in effect, that they prefer strong leaders, anointed leaders, charismatic leaders. Men and women who know God’s will for everyone, who can figure it all out, solve all the problems, and fill the rest of us in later so we know what to do.
A demonic voice whispers to us, saying, “Because we have a wise board of governors, because we have a fantastic PBC [principal branch coordinator] I don’t have to think, I don’t have to discern. I don’t want to be responsible. It’s too hard. Give me a king.”
This form of government wars against the Holy Spirit, who disperses his gifts to each person, asking each to play a responsible part in the building of God’s kingdom. As our Spirit and Purpose says:
Each person receives, along with the God-given gifts for the common good, the responsibility to exercise them and the authority to exercise them in good order. . . . Authority rests in the person who has responsibility.
Authority rests in the person!
So, I think we give in to this temptation when, as a leader, you might say, “Hey, there’s a meeting coming up Sunday, and I just know everyone is too busy to work on it. But fortunately, I’ve got an idea!”
And then, without consulting with anyone, I roll with my idea, and my brothers and sisters don’t correct me. But in fact, they praise me for my idea, telling me what a fantastic job I did. And so I do it again. And again. And slowly, over time, we become an Old Testament monarchy, rather than a Christian community.
My wife Gretchen tells a story. One time she had the responsibility for choosing the paint colors for one of the new houses that we built in Allendale. And she really wanted to get lots of people’s opinions. But when she would go to ask people, they would say, “Whatever color you choose will be fine.”
This is a kind of servile response. And of course, it’s false, because anyone who has ever picked paint colors knows that as soon as you put them on the wall [laughter] everyone will let you know exactly what they think about them. So there’s no shortage of opinions.
One brother, though—it happened to be David Zimmel—when she asked the question, said, “Yes, Gretchen, I have lots of opinions, and I will tell them to you. [Scattered laughter in audience.] But in the end, whatever color you pick I will love.” And that’s community.
As pastors, as leaders, we have a responsibility to help those in our care not fall into the temptation to be dominated, or servile. No matter how inspired our idea for someone else’s life may seem, we cannot impose from without . . . that which must come forth from within, from the place in each one of us where God dwells.
And likewise, we must not impose our own false and worldly ideas of comfort, of safety, of protection, of success, on the very Christian inspirations of brothers and sisters who desire to be holy, and who may be hearing God’s voice within, summoning them to pick up their crosses and give everything out of love for Jesus. We must not protect people from the cross. Instead, we go with them!
Ultimately, there’s a twisted truth in the temptation to prefer a king. Because, of course, Jesus is our king. And yet, where is Jesus to be found? In our brothers and sisters. And we serve our king by laying down our lives for him wherever he is found, by letting him lead as we follow.
This brings me to the second temptation: turning people into numbers.
You know, the very richest experience of community life that I ever had took place in the smallest branch I ever lived in: Shreveport. This was back in the early days, before the mission in Allendale was really firmly established, when it was just J-T and me and a few others.
And one thing I noticed in the branch was that there was no barrier between people. You didn’t have to text so that you could call, or call so that you could go knock on the door. You just went over, maybe even walked right into the garage and borrowed a tool. And if the tool wasn’t in that garage, you went down the street to the next garage—’cause everyone lived in the same neighborhood—and found what you needed there. No barrier at all. It was just wonderful.
And if ever I walked into the home of Cliff and Debbie Vaughan—Cliff was the leader of the branch at the time—well, Debbie would drop whatever she was doing; pull out some leftover gumbo from the fridge; sit me down at the kitchen table; feed me; and then argue with me, as only she could, about some new idea that I presented [laughter]. I miss Debbie very much. I really got to know her, too, in spite of a lot of differences that we had.
The People of Praise started with 29 people, and that was about the size—maybe a little more—of the Shreveport branch when I first arrived. When you think about it, 30 or 40 people is an ideal-sized group for a community.
“Sometimes you want to go where everyone knows your name,” to quote the prophet Ted [prolonged laughter].
Thirty or 40 is a size where you truly can make decisions together, where other adults are “auntie” or “uncle,” like they say in the Caribbean. [Someone in the group adds, “Oahu.”] And Oahu.
It’s interesting to note—and I was looking at our demographics recently—that most people in the community actually live in groups of this size. We actually have something in common in that way that we may not have realized. Sometimes it’s an area that’s that size, or sometimes it’s a branch. But there’s actually only a couple of groups, even a couple of areas, that have 80 or 90 people in them. Most groups: 30, 40, 50, 20—kind of small numbers.
And I think there’s a connection here to the first temptation. The larger the social group, the more room there is for domination and for servility. Smaller groups can’t afford servility. Someone’s got to set up the chairs.
Anna of Rotterdam is [sic] a Mennonite; and she was, I believe, about to be killed for her faith when she wrote this letter to her small child. She said:
Therefore, my child, do not regard the great number, nor walk in their ways. But where you hear of a poor, simple, cast-off little flock which is despised and rejected by the world [Sean adds: “maybe even written up in the Washington Post”], join them. For where you hear of the cross, there is Christ. And from there do not depart.
We value large numbers over people when we decide we want to be big in the world; when we envy the bigger branch with its wonderful music ministry; when we dream of setting up brilliant and replicable programs that will bring in loads of people and solve all our demographic challenges, rather than doing what’s needed for the few people in front of us, and being obedient to God.
For more than 20 years, Eugene Peterson, who’s the pastor/translator of The Message Bible—he used to meet every week with a group of pastors who were in the Baltimore area. They were a men’s group, dedicated to discovering what it meant to be pastors. And mostly they led small and medium-sized congregations. They called themselves the Company of Pastors.
Well, one Tuesday, when their meeting was getting ready to break up, one of the pastors, Philip, announced that he was going to be leaving his congregation for a church with a thousand members, three times the size of where he was. He said that this new church was “more promising.” And later that week, when he went to lunch with Eugene, he explained that he thought his gifts were being wasted in the smaller setting. And he said that he saw the new church as a chance to multiply his effectiveness. Well, after that lunch, Eugene Peterson wrote him a letter. He said:
Dear Philip,
I’ve been thinking about our conversation last week, and I want to respond to what you anticipate in your new congregation. You mentioned its prominence in the town, how it was at the center, a kind of cathedral church that would be able to provide influence for the Christian message far beyond its walls.
Did I hear you right?
I certainly understand the appeal, and I feel it myself frequently. But I am also suspicious of the appeal, and believe that gratifying it is destructive to the gospel, and the pastoral vocation. It’s the kind of thing America specializes in. And one of the consequences is that American religion and the pastoral vocation are in a shabby state.
The only way the Christian life is brought to maturity is through intimacy, renunciation, and personal deepening. And the pastor is in a key position to nurture such maturity. It’s true that these things take place in the context of large congregations, but only by strenuously going against the grain. Largeness is an impediment, not a help. My apprehension is that your anticipated move will diminish your vocation, not enhance it.
Can we talk more about this? I would welcome a continuing conversation.
The peace of Christ,
Eugene
It took a lot of courage to write that. And, sadly, the pastor wasn’t persuaded. You could say he turned people into numbers, and took the job.
[Long pause.]
Here’s the third temptation. The third temptation is functionalism: preferring efficiency and real-world outcomes over people. Turning people into tools. Human resources, as Charlie mentioned.
Functionalism replaces God’s gifts with our goals. And I can offer up a personal example.
A couple of years ago, I was talking to an older man who came to fertilize my lawn. And this guy was a real lawn-care expert, been in the field many years. And so I asked him about some of the bare patches on my lawn that my kids had just rubbed to dirt and the whole neighborhood has trampled on. I just said, “Is there anything I can do about this?”
And he said, “Well, yeah! I could sell you some of the really expensive turf that we put on athletic fields.” He told me about this big athletic field they were doing.
“Or,” he said, “you could wait 15 years [laughter begins to ripple in crowd], and you could have as nice a lawn as you want!” [More laughter throughout story.]
I think he was telling me in his own way that my priorities were wrong. I was preferring green grass to my kids! [Laughter swells.] And he was also warning me that I would regret it later on, when I had lots of time to cut the grass and no kids at home.
One Saturday morning a couple of years ago, I was cleaning the bathroom in the upstairs of our house. I was about 95% done—maybe even 97% done [soft laughter in audience]—when I heard the door open. It was the door from the garage, downstairs on the opposite side of the house. And I knew that that was Gretchen, my wife, coming in the house.
“I’ll just finish up here,” I thought, “and then I’ll go say hello.” And then it hit me: “Really, Mr. Martha?” [extended laughter]. “If Jesus walked into your house right now, wouldn’t you drop everything and go down to greet him?” So in that moment, I dropped my rag.
Fighting functionalism means dropping our rags. [Laughter.] It also means dropping our smartphones—sometimes maybe throwing them in the lake [Sean draws an audible breath]—so we can greet brothers and sisters. It means valuing touch, reinvigorating the abrazo hug that we’ve been so deprived of these last couple of years. How many of us [have] experienced talking to a single person who said, “I haven’t touched anyone,” or, “No one has touched me for months”?
Fighting functionalism means getting down on the floor with our kids and grandkids, wasting time with them without watching the clock. In the community, we speak of both “being” and “doing.” And yet we always say that “being” is our highest priority, and if our “doing” eclipses it, our priorities are out of whack.
Now I think this is something that older members of the community grasp instinctively, and can teach to younger members. And it’s one more reason we need to connect the young with the old.
I experienced this a couple of years ago, when I decided to cook our Thanksgiving turkey. This was something I had never done before, but I wanted to give it a try. And for whatever reason, I just didn’t want to do what I would normally do, which is just go onto the Internet; get some nice, overwhelming, depersonalized advice; wade through a thousand recipes; and maybe select one.
And it hit me: I don’t have to do that. I can call Bud Rose! [Laughter.] And so I did! And I got . . . not only a turkey recipe, but a chicken recipe, a steak recipe, a note about cooking temperatures, and a personal offer: “If anything goes wrong—even if it’s on Thanksgiving morning—give me a call.”
Beat that, Internet! [Sean and all laugh.]
Last story. Recently I was at a physical therapy appointment, and my PT assigned me a new exercise to do, and she wanted to watch me do this. And as I began to do it, she looked at me, and she said, as if she had pierced right into my poor little functionalist soul: “Do you always go through your life in such a hurry?” [Groans and chuckles from audience.]
So, in summary. Let’s lay down our lives so that others can shine. Let’s put people first, ahead of any idolatrous goals and ambitions we might have. Let’s give up any pretensions to power and domination, and surrender ourselves to Christ, especially as he is found in our brothers and sisters.
Mother Teresa speaks powerfully about this kind of total surrender, and I want to close with her words, offering them as a kind of prayer for all of us. I wish I could transmit to you—I saw this on video. I wasn’t able to show the clip, but you have to picture the short, shriveled, Albanian woman saying this:
Jesus said that “I have chosen you. I have called you by name; you are mine.” Every day you have to say yes—total surrender—to be where he wants you to be. If he puts you in the street, if everything is taken from you and suddenly you find yourself in the street, to accept to be on the street in that moment. Not for you to put yourself in the street, but to accept to be put there.
And if God wants you to be in a palace, to accept to be in a palace, as long as you are not choosing to be in a palace. This is the difference. This is what makes the difference in total surrender: to accept whatever he gives, and to give whatever he takes, with a big smile. This is the surrender to God. And to accept to be cut to pieces, and yet every piece to belong only to him.
This is the surrender. To accept all the people that come, the work you happen to do. Today maybe you have a good meal. Tomorrow maybe you have nothing; there is no water in the pump. To accept and to give whatever it takes. It takes your good name, it takes your health. But that’s the surrender. And then, you are free.
Amen!
[Applause.]
Copyright © 2022 People of Praise, Inc.