Losing the Crutch
My friend Bill describes it as the worst day in his life…and the best day in his life. When he came home from work, his wife was standing in the doorway with a lost look on her face, looking at him as though at a stranger. Bill knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. He asked what had happened, but his wife merely shook her head. As he entered the kitchen, he saw on the table a stash of drugs. His drugs. Things he had never meant for anyone else to see.
That day was his “rock bottom.” It felt like the end, but in truth it was the beginning. He felt like he would lose everything, but in fact he would start living. The funny thing about addiction is that the addictive substance or behavior is used as a crutch to keep going, to hold everything together. It is a survival tactic. It is meant for self-preservation in the face of what seems otherwise unbearable. For Bill, his addictive behavior was what seemed to hold everything together. When it was discovered, it felt like everything would fall apart.
Addiction is a loaded word and means many things to many people. I use it in a spiritual sense. I think we are all “addicted” in a spiritual sense. Which is to say, we all have a habit of becoming excessively attached to things: relationships, jobs, political agendas, our appearance, the next shiny toy, and so on. We might not have a “rock bottom” in the sense that my friend Bill had one, but if we listen closely to our lives I would suspect we can find similar experiences.
For example, no one looks forward to losing their job or to losing a relationship, and yet I’ve heard countless stories of personal renewal in the loss of these very things. It seems to me that a job or a relationship—or any other attachment—can begin to feel like the thing that holds everything else together. A person can become fixated on maintaining it for the sake of self-preservation. It becomes the crutch they walk with. The irony is, in seeking to save the thing—a job, a relationship—a person actually begins to forfeit their life. The divine flame within is slowly extinguished as they compromise their calling, their joy, that thing that made them smile as a child, just to keep everything together. For Bill, this was certainly true. The drug that had become his crutch was the very thing taking him away from his wife, his daughter, the life-giving pursuits that had once been his calling and given him joy.
But then the thing is lost—whatever the crutch is—and everything falls apart. And the surprise is, the falling apart is a good thing. With no crutch, we are free. There is suddenly a world of possibility, an opportunity to be faithful again to who God called us to be. The end is actually a beginning. The loss is actually a gain. What seemed the worst day in our life may actually be the best day.
Jesus Rejected by His
Own
Today is the second Sunday in Lent, the season when we follow Jesus to the cross. This year, we are focusing on the various rejections that Jesus encounters on his way to the cross. As I hope will become clear, these rejections are not just a dramatic flourish in the story, something meant to heighten our sympathy for Jesus and inflame our dislike for his opponents. Rather, these rejections reflect an attitude or orientation that we all assume from time to time. These rejections reflect a way of living that is distrustful of God.
Last week, we read about the first rejection Jesus encounters, and it was from within. Alone in the wilderness, he heard the voice of Satan, a voice of rejection, a voice that said he was not enough, a voice that told him to prove himself.
There’s a curious pattern developing, because today Jesus encounters further rejection from within. Not within his heart, but within his religious tradition and his inner circle. In today’s scripture, we actually read about two rejections. First, Jesus anticipates his rejection at the hands of the religious leaders, in which he will suffer and ultimately be killed (Mark 8:31). Immediately after Jesus says this, Peter takes him aside and begins to “rebuke” him (Mark 8:32). Which is to say, Peter rejects Jesus. He rejects the script Jesus is following. Peter is expecting a conquering messiah, not a suffering one.
I wonder if these rejections from within are related to the self-preservation tactics of our addicted minds. In other words, I wonder if the Jewish leaders and Peter both are attached to the idea of power, to the idea of making Israel great again so that it can be freed from Roman occupation. They are inclined to reject Jesus because his way of living threatens their national interests and ultimately triumph over their enemies. “The first shall be last” (Matt 19:30)? “Whoever wishes to be great…must be your servant” (Mark 10:43)? “Unless you change and become like children…” (Matt 18:3)? “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you” (Luke 6:27-28)? What kind of agenda, what kind of battle plan is this?
Self-Denial, the
Cross, and Losing One’s Life
For the religious leaders and for Peter, power is the drug, the crutch, the thing that’s holding everything together. It’s their survival tactic. And I think it’s what Jesus has in mind when he delivers his contrary proclamation, “For those who want to save their life will lose it” (Mark 8:35). My friend Bill thought that his drug, his crutch, was the one thing keeping his life together, just as all of us commonly attach to one thing or another, thinking it will save our lives. But the truth is often the opposite: in our aim for self-preservation, for saving our lives, we slowly compromise them, and the divine flame within grows dimmer and dimmer. We see this all too commonly on the institutional level as well, where an original mission—whether it is hospitals meant to care for the sick or educational programs meant to inspire and edify all children—is slowly obscured by the “needs” of the institution. In order to preserve itself and to “grow,” it focuses less and less on the original mission, and more and more on money and membership, power and prestige.
Instead, Jesus calls his followers to “deny themselves” and to “take up their cross” and to “lose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel” (Mark 8:34-35). Now I’ll admit, that is some heavy language. Some people have interpreted it rather literally as self-hatred and worthlessness. Some people have used it to beat up on themselves and on others. But knowing Jesus, I don’t think this is at all his intention. I think these are strong words meant to kick out the crutch, to pry us loose from the attachments that slowly extinguish the divine flame within. To deny self is to let go of the crutch we think is holding everything together. To take up the cross is to hit the rock bottom of powerlessness, where we finally acknowledge that we are not in control. It is simultaneously the end and the beginning. Instead of trying to preserve ourselves, we open ourselves up to the good news—a kingdom of love and abundant life.
Our Old Testament scripture today is Abraham’s covenant with God. It reminds me that Abraham, in his own way, denies himself and takes up the cross. He leaves behind his family and all that he knows. His journey begins with a great loss. But this loss is in fact a great gain, for he becomes a blessing for all the families of the world (cf. Gen 12:3). His self-denial is ultimately not a rejection of himself but an opening up of himself, a turning toward others. The cross is not the end but the beginning.
To the Church
Jesus invites all of us to let go of the way things are, to let go of the crutch that seems to be holding everything together. It is a message worth hearing every day on a personal level.
Yet his invitation comes immediately in the wake of being rejected by his own—his own religious tradition and his own right-hand man, Peter. So I think it is at least worth pondering how Jesus’ words apply to his own today, which is to say, to the church. (And I speak here not of our church specifically, but of the church at large, what some would call the big-C “Church.”)
There’s been a lot of hand-wringing and hair-pulling over what seems an inevitable decline in the church. I wonder, however, if the decline might not also be a blessing in disguise. A rock bottom, of sorts. Could it be that church has become so fixated on self-preservation (“How do we save the church?” “How do we attract more members?”) that its own flame has been obscured and has grown dimmer and dimmer? Could the loss of the institution be, in fact, the recovery of the soul? Could the end be the beginning? Could the church let go of its attachment to power and prestige, and in its place rediscover the simple joy of sharing a life of faith together?
One historical tidbit that fascinates me, is that in the first four centuries of the church, during which countless theological treatises and essays were written, there is not a single discourse about church growth or methods of evangelism. The early church, even as it was persecuted, was not worried about preserving itself or growing. It was focused on being faithful, not successful, on being the body of Christ in its own small way, its participants living out their calls faithfully and in companionship with one another.
This is just off-the-cuff speculation, but I have a hunch that what right now seems to be the worst day in the life of the church, might in fact be the best. It profits the church not one bit to gain the whole world, to have filled sanctuaries and cultural domination, if its honest and simple witness is forfeited.
Worrying about church growth and strategizing how to win people back, may be a crutch by which the church is trying hold everything together. And losing the crutch and having everything fall apart…might not be so bad, if on the other side there is a return to what Therese of Lisieux called “the little way” of faith, the way of “where two or three are gathered,” the way of “unless you turn and become like little children,” the way of love.
Prayer
Whose love unsettles
Our attempts as self-preservation
…
Teach us the good news
Of “rock bottoms,”
Of losing control.
We trust that your love has the power
To turn endings into beginnings
And loss into new life.
Help us to let go
Where we need to let go,
And to trust
Where we need to trust.
Amen.
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