P.O. Box 53055    
Los Angeles, CA 90053   

A COLOSSAL FAUX PAS

A man was fuming in his fourth-floor apartment one night. The neighbors below him were making a huge racket. Thumping, clumping, bumping . . . and he was grumping. Why couldn’t he have some peace and quiet? Why couldn’t he get some rest? Why didn’t people show a little respect anymore?

He finally picked up the phone to call the police. And for a brief moment, he hesitated. Because the kids downstairs had actually tried to be nice to him a couple of times. Waving to him in the hallway; saying hi in the elevator. But now all this racket — it was too much. His face tightened and he dialed 911.

Well, about 20 minutes later the police knocked on his door. Yes, the men in blue said, they had investigated. Would he be willing to come downstairs as they went over the situation? Ouch! That would be awkward, and he protested, but the cops were persuasive, so he followed them down the stairs and across the hallway to apartment 3C. And when the police knocked, and the door swung open, our crabby friend found out that all the hubbub and the moving of furniture and the bumping around had been because the downstairs neighbors and about six of their friends had been planning a surprise birthday party . . . for . . . him.

That’s right. It was a celebration for him: there was cake and ice cream and streamers and presents. And he had just called the cops to break up his own birthday party.

I guess under the category of “Pregnant Pauses” and “Awkward Apologies,” this would have to be filed on the top shelf. But you know, we find a similarly distressing “oops” moment right here in the Bible, Luke chapter 9, where at the worst possible moment the 12 disciples of Jesus start arguing among themselves about who the best disciple is. On their playground, each of the 12 WANTED to be the Teacher’s pet . . . and openly said so. “He likes me most!” “No, me!” And on and on they went.

Now, friend, why do we showcase this sad little sideshow as a moment of shame? It was interesting to read through the Tyndale New Testament Commentary for Luke, so capably written by Dr. Leon Morris. And he goes right to the sharpest point of contrast. Notice:

“How far the disciples were from the spirit of Jesus comes out in their argument as to which of them was the greatest.” Now get this: “Jesus had JUST SPOKEN of His sacrificial death for men. THEY were speaking of their pride of place.” Then Morris adds: “This may be part of the reason for their inability to understand. They were thinking of themselves, He of others.”

And you know, go right into Luke 9, and you see this very conundrum. Along through verses 22 through 25, He explicitly describes to them how He’s going to suffer and be rejected and die. He’s going to be crucified. He’s going to lay aside His glory, lay aside His power, surrender any claims to fame. He’s going to go up on a cross, the ultimate instrument of shame. He’s going to make Himself nothing; this is going to be THE defining expression of HUMBLING that the universe has ever seen: God Himself on a cross, an instrument of execution.

So Jesus has JUST SAID: “Guys, the plan is one of humiliation. Of being in the dust. Of relinquishing all titles.” And now we go over exactly 24 verses — incredibly, we’re still in Luke 9 — and what are the disciples doing? They’re climbing all over each other to get to the head of the class. It’s like one of those three-legged races in kindergarten where you push your opponent over so you can win. It’s just as childish as that . . . and all the more obviously so considering that Jesus has just gone over the entire blueprint with them.

Well, friend, let’s not be too hard on the disciples; what do you say? Because how is it with me and with you? We have even less excuse than Peter, James, and John, don’t we . . . because we live on the “done deal” side of Calvary. The Cross was a future mystery to these 12 men of Galilee; they just didn’t believe that could ever happen. You and I know full well that it happened, and we’ve been reading about it and meditating on it for 2,000 years. And yet we spend a lot of time on the playground of life pushing both our enemies and our friends off the monkey bars so that we can get to the top first.

The way Mark tells this “who will be greatest” story, Jesus actually confronts the men over it. And there’s a scene reminiscent of that one in apartment 3C, where you realize with shame that you’ve been shallow around the very Person whose love for you runs so deep. Jesus asks the disciples: “What were you men arguing about on the road to Capernaum?” And they’re ashamed to answer and tell Him: “We were just discussing who would be your vice president when we win the election next November, Jesus.”

In the book, The Desire of Ages, E. G. White highlights the contrast in attitudes:

“When Christ and the disciples were alone in the house, while Peter was gone to the sea, Jesus called the others to Him, and asked, ‘What was it that ye disputed among yourselves by the way?’” Now try to FEEL what comes next. “The presence of Jesus, and His question, put the matter in an entirely different light from that in which it had appeared to them while they were contending by the way. Shame and self-condemnation kept them silent. Jesus had told them that He was to DIE for their sake, and their selfish ambition was in painful contrast to His unselfish love.”

Have you ever thought how much it would hurt to have Jesus suddenly be in the room while you and a friend are talking about something stupid, or selfish, or shallow, or lascivious, or low? And He gently asks: “What are you two discussing?” With Jesus right there, with the light of heaven making a cross-shaped shadow right there on your cubicle wall, He asks you: “What have you been talking about? Where has your mind been dwelling of late?” And you realize with a start how completely WRONG that conversation — and really, so many conversations — really are. That’s something to think about, isn’t it?

If you want to REALLY look at a killer application of this, go clear to the end of Luke, chapter 22, where Jesus and the 12 are in that Upper Room for their Thursday night Passover feast. In less than 24 hours Jesus is going to be crucified — and He knows it — so He’s really down to the last day of His earthly time with the disciples. And even here AT THE FINISH LINE, what are His 12 closest followers doing? Still jockeying for position. It says right there in verse 24:

“A dispute arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest.”

On the last night they’re together, these guys are still at it. And then only John includes the well-known detail about how Jesus Himself put on the garb of a servant and washed the dusty feet of these 12 proud, egomaniacal men. John regretfully reminisces in chapter 13, verse 3, that in the full knowledge He was divine, that He was God, Jesus quietly dons a towel, gets a basin of water, and does the humble thing. While all 12 of His best friends are speeding down the superhighway of self-exaltation, careening headlong toward the wrong kingdom, the kingdom that is never going to be, Jesus washes their feet. Friend, that kills me to read it, and it kills me to see myself in the limo with those poor, deluded disciples, trying to get the best seats at a non-existent presidential ball.

But how wonderful to find that Jesus still loves His wayward friends. Let’s read the entire transcript here in John 13:

“When He had finished washing their feet, He put on His clothes and returned to His place. ‘Do you understand what I have done for you?’ He asked them.” Can you imagine their blushing, the thick lumps in their throats. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.”

And now He gently sets them straight. Who will be greatest? Who will be #1? Well, it’s certainly not going to be any of the 12 of them. It’s going to be the Man with the towel and the wash basin. Listen:

“‘I tell you the truth,’” Jesus says, “‘no servant is greater than His master, nor is a messenger greater than the One who sent him.’”

Really, all we can say is this: get to the Upper Room and stay there. We need to feel the cool water splashing around our feet and sense that Jesus, the humble Servant of all, is right now, today and every day, reminding US that the kingdom is here. Serving. Humbling. Going last. Lifting up the kingdom instead of our own foolish ambitions. Friend, the Upper Room — and the Cross. We need to hang around those two places pretty much all the time.