(This homily was delivered at the devotional service which opened the April 7-8, 2015 stated meeting of the Presbytery of the Dakotas, OPC.)
It was, of all things, the television show Lost that brought me back to Thomas. In the fifth season, the darkly villainous (yet thoroughly and debilitatingly human) Ben observes that Thomas the Apostle is remembered for his doubt rather than his great bravery. By “bravery,” Ben refers to John 11, when Jesus announces he will go to Judea despite the fact his enemies there may kill him. Thomas “said to his fellow disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with Him’” (John 11:16).
This is why I’ve decided on a new name for my imaginary Church plant. Just as young girls will choose names for their hypothetical children, many pastors keep a stock of Church names on hand should the occasion arise. While I am still partial to “Big Happy Rainbow Church (OPC),” I’ve now settled on the more likely “Thomas the Disciple Presbyterian Church.” Not “the Apostle,” for that might put one in mind of his post-Pentecost mission to the east, reputedly as far away as India. No, “the Disciple” because in John 11:16 Thomas summarizes the essence of Christian discipleship. What does it mean to go with Jesus, to follow him? It means to die with him.
Clearly, Thomas has taken to heart Jesus’ words in Mark 8:34: “Whoever desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.” The commentaries observe that the Synoptic Gospels fall into two basic sections: before the Transfiguration, and thereafter when Jesus goes to Jerusalem and the Cross. True enough, but really, all our Savior’s life was lived along a road to Calvary. He came in order to die, and by his death to set us free from the sins which enslave us. But if we are set free, then we must die as well, die to the life we once lived and still do, captive to our lusts and vain ambitions. “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Mark 8:36-37)
As you know, two views on the number of ordained offices are in the OPC: the three-office view, and the Biblical view. The January and February 2014 issues of Ordained Servant ran a two-part polemic against the two-office position, a version of which later appeared in New Horizons. I didn’t quite understand its purpose: if it was to persuade, I suspect the persuaded were those who already held the three-office position. If it persuaded those of us who hold to the classic two-office, two-order position of anything, it was that the positions of power and influence on the Committee on Christian Education are held by three-office men, and that when our turn comes to hold those positions (as it inevitably will; these things tend to be cyclical), we should more modestly push our agendas. On whichever side of the question one finds oneself, I think we can all agree that this polemic’s most laughable assertion was that the two-office view tends to lead to dictatorial pastors.
“Laughable” because one’s view of office does not lead one to dictatorial impulses; instead, one’s vanity and pride lead to dictatorial impulses. Vanity leads pastors to confuse their personal preferences with Biblical principle, pride tempts them to say “my Church” without even the mental reservation that it is in fact the Lord’s Church, and vainglory makes them think their name on the sign out front will entice more visitors through the door. For all these reasons and more, pastors like running sessions (yes, I said “running,” and not “moderating”), and for most of us in the profession the cross we are called to take up is the crucifixion of our agendas and grand plans for our congregations. To minister, to serve through Word and sacrament, one must first be a disciple of Jesus. The minister must die with Christ so he will remember he is merely a minister: not only all power, but all wisdom itself, resides with him who came not to be served, but to serve.
And it is at precisely this point, just when they are beginning to feel a little holier-than-the-teaching-elders, that the ruling elders in our midst must be called to account. Pastors are not uniquely tempted by vanity; I exaggerate only slightly when I say to be male is to be vain. Why are pastors allowed to succumb to that sin? Because their elders, who are closest to them in their exercise of office and who, other than the pastor’s wife, are best situated to note the emergence of sinful tendencies, find it difficult to care for their pastors’ souls and so do not try. “The pastor is different from me, by temperament or background; I’m not automatically comfortable around him so I won’t try to befriend him.” “The pastor is quick-witted and always ready with a response; there’s no point in my trying to raise a concern with him.” “He’ll only be here for a few years anyway, and we can always force him out if he gets too big for his britches.” Jesus told his disciples they were his friends; immediately thereafter, they betrayed him. Caring for people, caring about people, sacrificially loving people, gives those people (whether they be pastors or Church members) the power to hurt and wound you. That, brothers, is your calling: to go with Jesus into the midst of sheep who act more like wolves, and there to die with him.
I do not know where your particular vanity lies, brother. I only know it is there. As Nathan the prophet said, you are the man: seek it out, repent of it, kill it, and die to self.
The Church officer who protects himself seems rather different from the one who lords it over others, but both have the same sinful problem: the man himself is at the center of his own thinking and ambition. The self must be removed, and the self can be removed only if he dies with Jesus. "For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will save it” (Mark 8:35). Pastors must submit to the rule of their elders, and elders must love their pastors and congregants more than themselves. When we do so, we find Christ, for when we do so, we are following him. He died, and so we died; he rose, and in him and only in him do we live. We live with him so we may minister in his name and in the power of his Spirit.
Thomas’s invitation has never been more timely. As I write, the news this last week has been consumed with Indiana’s and Arkansas’s Religious Freedom Restoration Acts, which our mass media have persistently mischaracterized as intended to promote discrimination against individuals in private commerce. If such a mild assertion of First Amendment rights is met with such vehement distortion and disapprobation, the future looks rather dim for those of us inclined to stand on conscience whether or not we have constitutional protection. In the days to come, the temptation will be to fight those attacking us with the same mean-spiritedness with which they willfully distort our intentions and desires. Better, in fact necessary, to love those who hate us and to pray for those who spitefully use us, even if that means losing rights, privileges, buildings and pensions. The seed of the Gospel is watered by the blood of martyrs who are willing to go with Jesus and die with him.
That, brothers, is the witness of Thomas the disciple. Let us go with him so we may go with Jesus, and let us die with him. The crying need of the hour is not for pastors and elders who will fight; the fighting, too often, is just another symptom of the vanity. It is not time to stand and fight, but to stand and die.
Or better, to follow Jesus and die. Let us take up our cross and follow him. Let us find his death is sufficient even for our sins, and his resurrection and Spirit enough to accomplish in and through us his purposes for his Church, to his everlasting glory.
Amen.
One of my favorite moments from Marilynne Robinson's Gilead comes when John Ames wonders why the bestowal of blessings isn't dealt with more prominently in pastor's manuals. As human beings and Christians, I think we have an intuitive sense that moments of great import should be commemorated and even consecrated before the God with whom we are in relationship. Weddings are a perfect example of this: the Bible is casually indifferent to marriage ceremonies, yet Christians across time and space have felt the need for a religious ceremony when a new marriage is formed. Prayer is good, yet we crave something a bit more liturgical.