Back Door Theology
DATE: October 18, 2009
SCRIPTURE: Mark 10:35-45
I recently read Tracy Kidder's new book titled Strength in What Remains. It is a powerful true account of the struggles of a young man named Deo Gratias to reclaim his life after surviving the civil war and genocide that ripped apart the African nations of Burundi and Rwanda in the nineties.
It is a very hard book to read. Not because of the vocabulary or sentence structure—it is beautifully written—but rather because of some of the stories told about young Deo. His earliest years in Burundi, while harsh by western standards, were basically peaceful. But when the killing that marked that time began, his whole life was turned upside down. A bright young fellow, he had attended school and was preparing for a career in medicine, when it became clear he would have to leave the country. A large part of the book is devoted to telling the story of his escape from Burundi. It is filled with things too brutal to recount here and now. No human being should have to witness what he saw. Enough to say that after much running, hiding and several close calls, he does get to the United States.
As troubling though as the accounts of his trials in Burundi are, the stories of his early years here in America are almost as difficult. He speaks no English at first, and struggles to teach himself the language using a paperback pocket dictionary. He lives in one rat hole after another. Just fifty miles from here, in New York City. And he supports himself delivering groceries. He is grossly underpaid, needless to say off the books, like so many immigrants—and barely makes enough to eat. He is verbally abused by his boss. He is tormented by his co-workers. He is physically assaulted more than once.
Perhaps, like me, you have walked down Park Avenue, and been astounded by the beauty of so many of the buildings along that fabled street. What you may not have seen, in fact, what you probably did not see, were the service entrances. While walking under the canopied front entrance, being politely greeted by the doorman, might make one feel like a king or queen, those who enter the back service doors have a whole different experience. Kidder writes: "[I]t seemed as every entrance had a wrought iron gate fringed with barbed wire and a sign by the bell that read ‘Please wait five minutes for the superintendent' . . . . When . . .superintendents arrived they unlocked the gates, but only a few held the doors open . . . .Deo would lift the bags of groceries out of his . . . cart, hold the gate with his foot, and inch down narrow, clanging metal stairs . . . . He'd . . . make his way past the trash cans of an untidy gray basement, ride up on the service elevator, then lug the bags down carpeted hallways to apartment doors." (20)
Deo soon realized, as Kidder writes, "that a delivery boy belonged to a layer near the bottom of New York's hierarchy, and also that there was a bottom to the near bottom, which he occupied." (22)
I share Deo's story with you because his life at the time was a modern day equivalent of a slave's life in the days of Jesus. And understanding what it meant to be a slave, or a servant as our New Revised Standard translates it, is key to understanding today's passage.
James and John, and no doubt the other apostles as well, thought that Jesus was destined to be a king. After all, he was constantly talking about the kingdom of God; it was a logical assumption on their part. And if he was going to be king, than it made sense that his closest followers would have choice roles in his government. So James and John approach Jesus seeking some sort of confirmation of their positions. While they are expecting to be granted front door jobs, so to speak, Jesus surprises them when he tells them they'll be coming in the back. "Among you," he says to all his disciples, "whoever wishes to be great will be your servant, and among you whoever wishes to be first will be slave of all." Then, speaking of himself, he adds, "For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve . . . ." (Mark 10:43-45) Not to receive the groceries, but to deliver them.
These are striking words that Jesus chooses to use! In Greek, the word is doulos—while it is often translated as servant it really means "slave." While I don't think Jesus was suggesting that his followers needed or need to be mistreated as slaves and grocery delivery boys were and are, I think he is suggesting that we are to put the needs of others ahead of our own—and to do so without complaint. He is expecting us to be humble, to live life as those who serve God and neighbor.
Quaker author Richard Foster puts it well when he writes: "Service is not a list of things we do, though in it we discover things we do. It is not a code of ethics, but a way of living. . . . It is one thing to act like a servant, it is quite another to be a servant." (Celebration of Discipline, 134)
The true servant of God doesn't draw attention to him or herself. The true servant of God does not expect constant praise and words of thanks. The true servant of God simply serves.
The story of Deo Gratias does have a happy ending—and an instructive one in terms of understanding true servanthood.
A woman working with a local Catholic parish in New York befriends Deo, and put him in touch with friends of hers who provide him with a room—a real room, a safe room, a warm room. In time he learns English and is admitted to Columbia. He finishes his undergraduate studies and starts to prepare for medical school.
But then, after the civil war ends in Burundi, he decides to return for a visit. Over time he frequently goes back to Africa. And, eventually, he puts his own studies on hold, so that he can help raise funds for, and then build and establish, a medical clinic in the village of Kayanza where his parents settled after they escaped from their own village. It is the only medical facility for miles and miles, in an area where transportation is often limited to foot traffic. People come from all around—often the night before—sleeping on the ground to make sure they get a place in line in the morning. For each day, dozens and dozens and dozens are served. While construction was going on, Deo slept in a tent near the project, to protect the building supplies against looters. This in the country where sleeping alone and outdoors had always been extremely dangerous.
The civil war in Burundi and Rwanda was between the Tutsis and the Hutus. Deo is a Tutsi—what makes the clinic story so amazing is that it Kayanza is in a region that is 99% Hutu.
One villager reflected on the project, and on Deo's service to her community. "Many others went abroad, but most of them have not returned to show us how to improve our situation. We have never seen an educated man like [Deo] hiking around in the mountains, up and down, to talk with people in their households. When we are working, he does not cross his arms. He works with us, so that the work can be done quickly." (258-259)
Sisters and brothers, the front door may be tempting. There may be a red carpet leading up to it, and a canopy to protect one from the rain. But in the end, we are called to tend to the needs of those who linger about the back doors of life. We are called to roll up our sleeves, not cross our arms while looking on. We are called to be servants of God, and servants to our neighbors.
Deo Gratias. It means Thanks be to God.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
John H. Danner