Matthew 20:17-28 "The Cup He Drinks" Scott Hoezee

Once in the early 1950s, Senator Lyndon B. Johnson of Texas received a very great honor at a major university. The person who introduced the future President did what many people in such a position tend to do, and that is to lay on the accolades pretty thick. Following this grand introduction, LBJ stepped to the lectern and said, "I want to thank you for all those very fine things you just said about me. I wish my parents could have been here today. My father would have enjoyed hearing what you said, and my mother would have believed it!"

Most of us know instinctively what makes that remark witty. The bonds that can exist between mothers and their sons are unique and, in some instances, highly curious. It is a well-known fact that throughout his entire life, until his mother died some years before he did, Franklin D. Roosevelt was extremely close to the mother who controlled significant aspects of his life. For most of the years while he was the President of the United States, if FDR needed money, it was mummy he had to ask because she controlled his pocketbook. Following major speeches or other political triumphs by FDR, reporters sometimes asked Sara Delano Roosevelt if she was surprised at how well her son had done. Her typical reply was along the lines of, "Of course not! That's my Franklin, and I know he will always do well!" The mother-son dynamic was also seen when the King of England visited FDR at his family home in Hyde Park. To his mother's chagrin, FDR had prepared cocktails with which to welcome the King. When the King entered the library, Roosevelt said, "My mother does not approve of cocktails and thinks you should have a cup of tea instead." The King thought a moment and replied, "Neither does my mother!" and the two world leaders then raised their martinis and toasted this new unspoken bond between them.

In the New Testament, it is Jesus' own mother, Mary, who gets most of the maternal attention. Matthew 20, however, is one of the few instances where a mother other than Mary plays a major role in a key story. We're not sure just what prompted this incident, but maybe it was something like this. Mrs. Zebedee caught up with her two sons, James and John, as Jesus and his disciples were on their way to Jerusalem for the Passover. But when she asked her sons how things were going, she noticed they seemed slightly downcast, a bit sullen (a mother can always tell). "Boys, what's wrong?" "Well," James maybe mumbled, "a couple of days ago our master said that Simon was going to be his number one man." "Yes," John perhaps chimed in, "he even re-named him 'Rocky' and said that on that foundation he was going to build his church." Mrs. Zebedee heard this, lifted her head up, and said, "Nonsense! We'll just see about this," and she then marched straight over to Jesus.

Kneeling down, she clearly wanted something of Jesus and so he asks, "What can I do for you?" "Well," she replied, "you know my boys, you know what good, strong, brave, and intelligent men they are, right? Now then, when you've set up your kingdom, you will be sure to make them your top men, right? I would think that having one on your left and the other on your right would be a very fine start when you begin to appoint your cabinet."

But Jesus knows that although it's mother who is doing all the talking, it is the ambition of the two boys that is behind it. That's why in verse 22 Jesus says, "You don't know what you are asking," and in the Greek, it is the plural form of the pronoun "you," letting us know that Jesus is now addressing James and John directly. "Can you drink from the cup I am going to drink?" "Sure," they said (because they no doubt envisioned that this "cup" would be a bejeweled golden goblet filled with good wine at the feast of Jesus' inauguration as the replacement for the Caesar). "Yes, I suppose one day you will drink from it at that," Jesus sadly replies. "But it's not up to me to assign cabinet posts. That is my Father's job." In the end, the mother's request was trumped by the Father's providence!

The story doesn't end here, however. It didn't take long before Bartholomew or Matthew or someone said to the other disciples, "Did you hear what Mrs. Zebedee asked Jesus about!?" And the ten disciples started to cut their eyes sharply in the direction of James and John, grumbling about such brazen jockeying for position (and anyway, they were hoping for such honors themselves!). So Jesus huddles them together and says, "You just don't get it, do you? Do you think that my ministry is about nothing more than merely re-treading the business-as-usual power plays of the rest of the world? Have I ever seemed interested in Roman-like power and privilege? I am all about servanthood. I came to serve not be served, and so if it's greatness you're looking for in the kingdom that is coming, you'd all best start grasping for the bottom-most rung of the ladder!"

Of course, I have this morning not yet mentioned the one thing that makes this whole episode even more poignant and tragic. The pity of it all is that this attempt at power brokering came directly on the heels of yet another overt prediction by Jesus of his upcoming death. But it's as though the disciples didn't even hear what Jesus had said. There is no reaction of any kind recorded but instead the story slides directly to Mrs. Zebedee's request. "Then the mother of James and John came to Jesus" verse 20 says. "Then," as in immediately, right away, directly after Jesus said he'd soon suffer and die.

The contrast is so glaring that it is comparatively easy for us to read this and shake our heads in disbelief. What is not so easy, however, is to spy how we ourselves sometimes can be located within this same scenario. "Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" Jesus asked James and John. "We can" they replied confidently, and in some ways we reply with equal confidence. Something of that exact same cup of suffering and humility stands right before our very eyes this morning. In a little while many of us in this room will grasp a cube of bread, a small cup of juice, and then take these things to ourselves as a sign that we believe in Jesus. We believe in his program. We believe in his gospel. We believe in his self-proclaimed path to true spiritual greatness.

So this morning we do the paradoxical thing of celebrating the death of our leader. When we eat the bread and drink the cup, we proclaim our Lord's death all over again and we do that not because we're maudlin people, not because we love death but because we believe that Jesus knew what few others seem to recognize, and that is that servanthood and humility are the ways by which the world gets saved.

It's ugly even to realize, but the sad fact of the matter is that this coming Wednesday, while most of the world will mourn anew those nearly 3,000 people who died so suddenly on September 11, there will be, here and there in the world, pockets of people who will celebrate. They will celebrate the deaths of the Muslim martyrs who so heroically flew those planes into those buildings. We are horrified by such a deluded celebration of death. Typically when we encounter death, whether it is by visiting a loved one's grave at the cemetery or in a more grandscale way as we will do this Wednesday, we don't find reason to celebrate (and we are highly suspicious of the people who do).

But if you take the cup to yourself this morning, you do celebrate the death of your beloved Jesus. And you do so not because you are misguided or deluded (and not just because you can comfort yourself with the "happy ending" of Easter). No, we celebrate the death of Jesus because we see in it the very height of Jesus' humility (if one can speak of humility's having an apex, that is). On the cross, Jesus stooped to new heights; he sank low so that he could one day lift everyone up high. If you take the cup this morning, you are saying that you believe in God's way of defeating death and sin and the devil.

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" This morning's sacrament is our own latter-day way of replying, "Yes, we can." But if we do that, then we cannot turn right around, walk out of this building, and mindlessly go back to a society where image is everything, where money talks, where power rules, and where people don't bat an eye over advertisements for cars, clothing, and BBQ grills that promise that this is the product that will help you reach the next level. A current ad for the new Range Rover SUV simply says, "Higher Ground." That's all it needs to say because the presumption is that what life is all about is power, is climbing higher, reaching that next level of sophistication and elegance.

Most people, if they are honest, admit that they like power, they like influence, they like perks. According to Robert Caro, in the mid-twentieth century, the United States Senate was a haven for power-hungry men in love with prestige. Senator Carl Hayden of Arizona was known to enter the Senate cafeteria and lay his cane on whatever table he chose to sit at for lunch. Often that chosen table would already have a clutch of secretaries or Senate staffers sitting there eating, but everyone knew that if Hayden laid his cane on your table, you had all better be gone by the time he returned with his lunch a few minutes later.

Most Senators also insisted that when they wanted the elevator in the Senate Office Building, they wanted that elevator immediately! To let elevator operators know that it was a Senator waiting, the Senator would buzz the elevator's call button three times. When that signal was heard, the operator was to skip all other stops (even if others already in the elevator needed a certain floor) and pick up the waiting Senator without delay. Once when Senator McCarran of Nevada heard the car pass him by after he had rung three times, he turned on his heel, stomped back to his office, called the Sergeant-at-Arms, and ordered the hapless young elevator operator fired on the spot (which he was).

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" If in the sacrament today we want to reply, "Yes, we can," then it makes no sense for us to turn right around and devote our days to the kind of power-brokering and social wrangling that can often be seen in government, business, and elsewhere. Living that way after taking the cup today makes no more sense than when James, John, and ultimately all of the disciples, responded to Jesus' prediction of his death by squabbling over power and prestige.

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" We want to say, "Yes, we can." But it's not an easy cup to drink. There are, after all, many other cups that get proffered to us all the time. And many of those "cups" are prettier, more appealing, brimming with the intoxicating beverages of success, fame, money, glamour, the good life. Even in the church we are tempted to do a little cup-swapping now and again to give us a bit more glitz.

Even we want to be seen as culturally "with it," allowing folks to participate fully in the larger society and all its silliness and still also be believers in good standing. When I was in Arizona in June, a local seeker-sensitive church was advertising itself this way: "Come Worship with Us and Receive Two Free Tickets to the new Scooby Doo Movie Now in Theaters." It's Jesus and Shaggy, partnering to advance the gospel. It's Jerusalem and Hollywood, mixing together a heady cocktail whose taste smacks of both that old time religion and good Madison Avenue power-market savvy.

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink." Jesus invites you to do that again right now. But drinking from his cup means refusing many other cups. Drinking from his cup means seeing in weakness, in gentleness, in quietness, and in humble service the truest marks of the gospel and of discipleship. Drinking from his cup means suffering, making do with less, being less busy, less wealthy, less successful if that's what it takes still to have time to do ministry, to be there for family, or just simply to live a cross-shaped gospel life.

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" Our crucified God, our Servant Leader, Christ Jesus the Lord issues the invitation again this morning. So come, you who are thirsty. Come to Jesus' table to eat, drink, remember, and believe. But don't stop there. Go deeper into the gospel by responding to this cup with a life that displays the love and humility of that One who humbly gave his life as a ransom for many. Amen.