St. Luke's Episcopal Church
Cleveland, Tennessee

6th Sunday after Pentecost
July 12, 2009
The Rev. Deacon Art Bass

The Cost of Discipleship 

The temperatures are in the 80's, it's the middle of July, and we are a long way from the 2 nd and 3 rd Sundays of Advent, and yet, today's gospel reading from the Sixth Chapter of Mark is telling us about John the Baptist. More specifically, today we heard in some detail the story of John's death at the hands of Herod Antipas.

In his telling of this story, Mark seems to really get caught up in the character of Salome and in the role which her infamous dance played in the Baptist's execution. But for me, what is most intriguing is Mark's description of Herod's attitude toward John. Herod had caused John to be arrested and to be thrown in prison, and yet, we are told that Herod feared John. He respected him. Herod knew John was a righteous and holy man, and so he protected him from his wife's wrath and vengeance. Moreover, even though John had insulted and preached against Herod, when John spoke, Herod liked to listen to him. It seems that on some level, John had managed to connect with Herod and to make himself heard.

But when circumstances, contrived as they were, forced Herod to choose between sparing John and disappointing his wife, his daughter, and his important guests, Herod chose to do what his friends wanted him to do. He did what was expected; he made the easy choice, even though in his heart of hearts, he knew it was not right. He ordered the execution of John the Baptist.

Now, what has this gospel story to do with us? I think Mark answers that question by where he places this story of John's death. It comes right after the story of Jesus sending the disciples out, in pairs, to all the towns of Galilee, and it comes just before the story of the disciples returning to Jesus and reporting what had happened while they were on their own.

The disciples had been sent out to proclaim the good news of the coming of God's kingdom. They had been sent out to give witness by both word and deed to the presence and power of God. They had been sent out as witnesses for Christ.

John had also been a witness for the coming of Christ and the Kingdom. That was his purpose. He had been called by God to be such a witness, and he gave his life for it. He died because people who were powerful in the world, people who were important by world standards, did not want to hear John's call to repentance. They did not want to change in order to prepare for King and Kingdom.

So I think today's gospel, placed where it is in Mark's narrative, is a message to those who would be disciples of Jesus. It is a message to us, and it is much like the more direct message from Jesus found in John's gospel. That is, to paraphrase, if the world hates and persecutes me (Jesus) for what I say and do, so will it hate and persecute you who are my disciples.

The bottom line then is this: it is not and never will be easy to faithfully answer the call to follow Christ. The world will not let it be easy. Yet, to those who are willing to make the sacrifice, to those who answer God's call, the rewards are great, but they are not the rewards of the world.

Let me tell you a story. As most of you know, I grew up in Franklin County, about 80 miles west of here on the other side of the Cumberland Plateau. In 1960, when I was ten years old, my church in Winchester, Trinity Church, called a new rector. He was a young man, married with two children about my age. He was from Kentucky and had attended seminary at Sewanee. He had just been ordained to the priesthood, and we were his first parish.

This priest's name was the Rev. Ben Binkley. He did a service that was neither high nor low; his preaching was good, but not exceptional; and he was pretty good about his pastoral responsibilities. In short, he was more or less what his congregation expected him to be, and they were generally pleased to have him as their rector.

Then in the summer of 1962, about two years after Fr. Binkley's arrival, came the Sunday I will never forget. It was no special occasion. The people were all fanning themselves as Fr. Binkley stepped to the pulpit.

He looked out over his congregation, some eighty people strong. We were a small church, but with a disproportionate number of business leaders, doctors, lawyers, and local politicians, and like all the congregations in the downtown churches, we were all white people.

Fr. Binkley got everyone's attention with his very first words. He said: “I have put this sermon off as long as conscience will allow, but God will not let me delay it any longer. My friends, segregation is wrong. Not only that, but it is contrary to the word of God and it is evil.”

For about six or seven minutes a shell-shocked congregation listened nervously in dead silence. Then the Senior Warden stood up, gathered his family into the aisle, and walked out the door. One by one, about three other families followed suit. Fr. Binkley never even paused. He just kept right on preaching.

I was only twelve at the time, but I knew enough to understand that I had just seen someone risk their income, their job, their whole future to speak out for what God and conscience told them was the right thing. On that Sunday, Ben Binkley became my hero, and he is one reason, perhaps the reason, why I am standing here today.

I would like to say this story had a happy ending for Fr. Binkley, but, in the conventional sense, I can't really say that it did. With much difficulty and amid much controversy, he remained at Trinity for another two years. Some “important” families left the church, which went from regular parish status to what was called an aided parish.

Fr. Binkley did get to see the first African-American family join the church, but he also saw them leave a few months later. Nevertheless, that first civil rights sermon in 1962 was not Fr. Binkley's last. It was a topic that he fearlessly revisited many times during his last two years at Trinity.

And his preaching was not in vain. There were people who heard him and who were changed by him. Not just young people, but adults also. I know this because one such person was my father, who a few years later became principal of the local high school, and as such, he oversaw the peaceful integration of that high school. And that's only one of many such stories of change that can be traced back directly to Fr. Binkley's preaching.

Fr. Binkley did not make the easy choice. Instead he willingly sacrificed self to become a faithful witness for Christ and to help change a community.

This is what it means to follow Christ. This is what it means to be his disciple.