Before I became a teacher I had a completely different concept of field trips.  Participating in a field trip as a student meant “fun day.”  Mom would pack my lunch - make sure I had a pack of gum, a couple Capri Suns, a bag of chips, an apple, and a  yummy sandwich.

I’d get to sit with my friends on the bus – no assigned seating.  And for the thirty or forty minute commute, we’d engage in child-like conversations. 

Stuff like,

“My dad’s stronger than yours…” or

“Case tractors are better than John Deere any day…” or

“Dekalb corn seed outyields Pioneer corn seed by far.”

All and all, field trips were glorious days of oblivious freedom and pre-pubescent competition…no tests, no homework…just a day spent in the grand ol’ metropolis of Kearney, NE.

It wasn’t after I became a teacher that I understood what a pain in the “you know what” field trips truly are. 

First, I had to attend to the details.  No student, parent or administrator was going to work these details out for me. 

Second, I had to make sure the trip was carefully orchestrated toward one end:  The learning of the students entrusted to me.  I carefully crafted the outcomes and appropriate pedagogical experiences that would meet these outcomes.  

Without fail, there were students on the trip whose sole purpose it was to derail these outcomes.  Dejuan’s only reason for going on the trip was to brag in the back seat of the bus about his various teenage exploits.

And then there was Shamika.  She had designs of her own: Her field trip represented a “fun day” - an opportunity to spread some gossip, paying absolutely no attention to the learning objectives I stayed up nights planning step-by-step.  I became convinced that students like the prototypical Dejuan and Shamika were somehow in cahoots to put me in therapy.

Make no mistake, field trips are completely different experiences for teacher and student.  Which is why I have some empathy for Jesus as he takes his disciples on a field trip through Galilee. 

His students have no idea where they’re ultimately headed.  They’re completely oblivious of Jesus’ ultimate outcome.  Obviously, Jesus’ poignant lesson at Caesarea Philippi didn’t sink in.

 But, like a good and patient teacher, Jesus uses this alone time through the lush Galileen country-side to re-teach.

“I’m going to be betrayed into human hands and they…will…kill…me. But - After three days, I will rise again.”

In Jesus’ non-conceiving disciples’ defense:

Maybe their fear of asking for clarification is due to Jesus earlier “poignancy” with Peter. 

Or perhaps hearing their teacher talk about his own death freaks them out to the point of bewilderment.

Whatever the case, one thing is clear:  Jesus and his disciples are on two different journeys.  You’d think a stroll through Galilee would jog their memory and get them on track.  Almost the entire ministry of Jesus happens there:

• He heals a paralytic, a man’s withered hand, and a Gerasene deomonic. 
• He restores life to a girl and stops a womans bleeding. 
• He feeds five thousand, walks on water, cures a deaf man, feeds four thousand more. 

Directly preceding the Galilean-trip- down-memory-lane, Jesus is transfigured.  In, with and under it all, Jesus refuses fame, tells folks to keep things hush-hush, and doggedly clings to the status of a lowly servant.  Everywhere you turn, he’s getting his service on.  You’d think at this point in Mark’s Gospel these disciples would realize just what kind of Messiah they have on their hands, but they don’t.

Instead, the disciples ensuing debate reveals just how far out in left-field they are on this trip with Jesus.  They got status on the brain.  And not just any kind of status – each one is convinced he is the greatest. 

How on earth does it come to this? 

How can they, after spending day-in and day-out with the Son of Man, possibly be resistant to the humility and service Jesus embodies? 

Confounding though these disciples may be, methinks there’s a world beyond these walls similarly confounded with the Church today. 

Competition for greatness infects us.  We can find this competition in opulent church buildings, theological obstinacy, programmatic proliferation, and even biblical interpretation: all of which are driven by our voracious appetite for power. 

The words of author and priest, Brennan Manning, come to mind,

“The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips and walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable." 

Brothers and sisters, it becomes a bit difficult to adopt a lifestyle of doing God’s work, when our hands are constantly grasping for greatness.

Fortunately for us we have a Jesus who doesn’t pull over to the side of the Galileen road and ask us to go home. 

Instead we have a Jesus who stays on the path with us, always out front, leading us to a place where he can sit us down, bring us to a point of recognizing our sin, and then address us with a word,

“Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”  Wanna be great?  Then serve.

But he doesn’t stop there.  Our Jesus also intends to break us loose from the root cause of our voracious appetite for power. 

In remarkable Markan brevity, he hugs the epitome of powerlessness – a little child.  “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me,  welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” 

It’s an object lesson entirely resistant from the saccharine scene in which Jesus cuddles sweet little children and welcomes them to Sunday school.   This Messiah of ours turns hospitality upside-down such that we cannot help but view our life together with new eyes:

A life of welcoming the vulnerable, embracing the powerless, and standing alongside the lowly.

Our God offers fellowship and communion to the church that serves and welcomes, my friends.  Our worship of the suffering Messiah requires a shift in status: from self-service to selfless servitude, from personal prejudice to hospitality for the least, the last, and the lost.

It’s the kind of message that grabs us by the nape of the neck.  Both the disciples are confronted by a powerful and even shocking depiction of the counter-cultural values of Gods will and reign.  A will and reign that calls us to loose our grip on things, on power and even on those treasures of life, love and trust to which we foolishly cling.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short time as a dad, it’s that there’s no practical way I can scoop up Holden when I’ve got something else in my hands. 

In order to receive this child God has put in my midst, I must loosen my tight grip on things.  How true this is, too, when we are being called to a life of service and welcome – a life of unbounded joy and enduring hope.

Our journey of life together doing God’s work requires both self emptying service and radical welcome.  This kind of counter-cultural life doesn’t come naturally.

This disciple’s life of ours requires a continual formation and transformation only God can provide, and even then there will be times we misunderstand, lose our way, or find ourselves bickering or out-greatnessing each other. 

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the good news is we’ve got a God who travels with us, who gathers us in this place, sits us down, forgives all our sins, and addresses us with a Word.  Our God even packs a lunch for us – a meal we’re and invited to - empty-handed - that we would be sent out with Jesus in our throats, humbled, and ready to serve.

Thanks be to God!

AMEN.