A Sermon on Luke 17:5-10

Preached October 7, 2001

First Christian Church, Corpus Christi, Texas

By Donald M. Tuttle

He’s back.

You may not have heard about it, given the other news this week. But His Airness, Michael Jordan, has announced that he’s coming out of retirement and returning to play in the NBA.

Of course, it is going to be different. He’s 38-years-old now—that’s something like 70 in basketball years. He will no longer wear the familiar uniform of the Chicago Bulls. He’s a Washington Wizard now. Gone are the players that surrounded him in the glory days. Scottie Pippen and John Paxson have been replaced by Popeye Jones and Kwame Brown. Even his old philosopher/coach, Phil Jackson, has moved on to LA. Doug Collins will be calling the shots along the Wizard sideline.

"And what are his chances of garnering another NBA Championship ring?"

Most say they are slim and none.

But he’s back, enduring two-a-day practices against at least one player literally half Jordan’s age.

So why is Jordan doing it?

It’s certainly not the money. He has plenty.

Love of the game? Maybe. It has certainly been his passion.

The challenge? Possibly. I read once where he was so competitive that he even cheated at a simple game of cards while playing against a teammates’ mother.

But maybe there is another reason, one several folks have suggested. Maybe it is Jordan’s need for recognition.

That’s the theory posed by one writer. He suggests that since Jordan retired, others have begun to claim the limelight he once dominated. Instead of kids aspiring to "be like Mike," they have come to say, "I am Tiger Woods." Instead of imagining themselves as Michael, on the playgrounds they become Vince or Allen, Kobe or Shaq. Instead of people being in awe of his earlier return—the one from baseball—to lead the Bulls to another championship, folks now marvel at the way Mario Lemuiex returned to the ice after cancer and back surgery to dominate the NHL. What Jordan may have discovered is that even the greatest quickly fade from the public’s mind when they retire. Maybe he is coming back because he still needs the recognition.

Of course, Jordan is not alone. A few years ago, Jack Nicholson won a Best Actor Oscar at the Academy Awards. Afterward he was being interviewed and he said he had been nervous. The competition was not only stiff, but included some of his pals. Beyond that, he was simply not sure his performance would be deemed best.

"You really cared [about winning]?" he was asked.

"Yeah," he said. "This is what it’s all about for us, really."

Notice that there is no pretense that it’s about the "art of filmmaking" or the message of the movie. It is about recognition—even for one of Hollywood’s greatest actors.

In fact, recognition has become a cultural value. As Leonard Sweet has noted, the calendar is now filled with occasions for recognizing people and every child who attends any event has to be recognized lest his self-concept be damaged.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not against recognition. If I were Jordan, they’d have to wheel me off the court on a stretcher. If I were Nicholson, I would be trying to win every Oscar. I like recognition as much as anyone—maybe more. But as followers of Christ, we have to be careful about recognition because, like all good things, it can be corrupted and it can corrupt.

Ruth Beal told me a story this week about Henri Nouwen. Nouwen was a writer, teacher, spiritual guide and Roman Catholic priest. In the 1960s, he became involved in the Civil Rights Movement, marching with Martin Luther King. He also taught at some of the best universities in the United States, including Notre Dame, Yale and Harvard. He did a lot of good for a lot of people, so much so that he was in demand. But in one of his books he admits to being corrupted by the need for recognition. He said that he would return from the mailbox with a handful of letters inviting him to speak. He would lay them out on the table, ordering them from most prestigious to least, and saying "yes" only to those that would bring him the greatest honor. His need to be recognized corrupted his service to God.

And it can do it to us. Sue was a diligent worker in the church. There were few positions she didn’t at one time or another hold. There were few committees on which she didn’t volunteer to serve. And if there was a special project that needed leadership, she was the first to volunteer. But in time it became clear that the motive for Sue’s service was recognition. She wanted the constant kudos that came from an appreciative church. She wanted people to marvel at her sacrifice. She wanted everyone to know—and thank her—for her faithfulness. She worked not for God’s glory but for her own.

That is not our Christian calling. In fact, the best word to describe our motive for serving God is not "recognition" but "duty."

I know that the word "duty" doesn’t excite us. In fact, it often has negative connotations. It is seen as what we have to do, whether we like it or not. It can be seen as an obligation that we may or may not want to fulfill. But "duty" means that which is owed to another. And it is done without the expectation of thanks or recognition. It is simply what we do in response to what has been done for us.

In response to God’s love and grace, in response to all that God has done for us, we have a duty to serve God and others. We owe God our ministry.

That is a point Jesus makes in this obscure parable from Luke. It is the story of a master with only one servant. That servant not only works the fields but each evening comes into the home and prepares the meal. Jesus asks the disciples, "Who among you, if you were the master, would tell the slave to sit down, prop up his feet and rest while you cook and serve dinner?" Of course, the answer is none of them. None of them would so recognize the servant because he was just doing his job, doing his duty, doing that which he owed to his master.

And that, Jesus says, is the nature of the Christian life. We are not to be motivated by recognition. We are not to expect God or anyone else to pat us on the back for our ministry to others. We simply do it because it is our duty to God. It is our response to what God has done for us.

Months ago, I was called to take Celia Margaret Bainbridge to the doctor. I went down to Mount Carmel, where a relatively young nun met me. We went back to CM’s room and the nun helped CM to a wheelchair, gave her her purse and rolled her down the hall and out to curb where I was parked. As we carefully helped CM into the car, I told Sister that I appreciated her care for CM and the compassion she clearly showed. She looked at me a bit embarrassed. "Isn’t it wonderful," she said, "that we can serve others?"

I imagined she appreciated the nice words, but she didn’t need them. She wasn’t tending to CM to impress me. She wasn’t trying to be recognized for her work. She was just doing her job. Because God gave her grace and love, compassion and care, she owed it to God to serve others. It was her duty.

Recently I was talking to a friend who is Roman Catholic. We were comparing notes on Christmas services. I mentioned that we would have two on Christmas eve--one at 6:30 and one at 11.

"What about Christmas day?" she asked.

I told her we don’t have a service Christmas day and that in fact many of our folks expect the church to celebrate the birth of Jesus on the last Sunday before Christmas.

"In the Catholic Church, you always go to mass on Christmas," she said. "I can’t imagine celebrating Christ’s birth anywhere else."

Do you hear what she’s saying? Her worship is not to impress God, meet the requirements of the church or to make her feel better about herself. It is a duty, something owed to God for the gift of his son.

Years ago, Edmund Steimle was leading a seminar on preaching at Columbia Theological Seminary. In the course of the lecture, he read this parable of Jesus. One student found it so shocking that he openly protested. He swore that Jesus would never suggest we think of ourselves as "worthless slaves, having done only what we ought to have done."

We can understand his protest. We would rather not hear these words. But here they are, reminding us that as followers of Christ we deserve no applause for worshipping God, loving our neighbors, feeding the hungry, tending the weak, praying for the sick, giving to the needy, listening to the hurting. We are simply doing our job, doing our duty, giving back to God for all that God has given to us. Amen.