"A Servant's Heart"

Preached July 15, 2012, at Rennie Memorial Presbyterian Church in Amelia, VA


Text: Philippians 2:1-11

"Make my joy complete," Paul tells the Philippians, "Be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord, and of one mind."

He says it twice, "Be of one mind." If you're anything like me, this statement is quite intimidating, seems like too much. There's an old rabbi's joke that says when two Jews are gathered in conversation, there are always at least three opinions present. I believe the same could be said of Christians, of Presbyterians, simply of people today. Even among those closest to us, often we can hardly agree on anything. When I was a child, my two younger brothers and I would fight so adamantly over whether to go to McDonalds, Wendy's, or Arby's for lunch after church on Sundays that my mom had to draw up a little paper wheel with each of our names to create a rotation for who got to pick where to go. Even then, I know fighting and grumbling continued. In my experience, it is difficult for us to come to a unanimous consensus, to be of "one mind," even when it's with those we love and over something as temporary and insignificant as where to go to lunch.

It's comforting, then, to know that full and total agreement is not what Paul is asking of us in this passage. Hey says be of one mind, yes. But then he explains what he means - the one mind that he urges us all to possess is "the same mind that was in Christ Jesus."

Paul asks us to live our lives sharing the "mind of Christ." But of course that begs the question, what does that mean?  What does it look like? Where is the specific set of rules, of instructions, for living as those who have the mind of Christ? And the church through the ages has tried to discern the mind of Christ, to come up with the instructions, the rules, for how to live as Christian disciples. We're still doing it today, when we gather together in worship, in prayer, in Sunday school, in fellowship - seeking a word from God, a set of clear-cut instructions for how we are to live.

Clear-cut instructions would be nice, but that's not what Paul gives us in this text. He lays out some guidelines, some very important guidelines for that matter - do nothing from selfish ambition, regard others as better than yourselves, look to the interests of others rather than your own interests. But then Paul launches into a story, a story I'd imagine all of us in this room know very well, about our Lord Jesus Christ, who was in the form of God, and yet emptied himself to become a human, a slave, obedient to God even to his death on a cross. And Paul tells us how because of this, God raised and exalted this Jesus Christ and gave him the name above all names, the name before which every knee shall bow as we confess that Jesus is Lord.

You see, Paul doesn't feel the need to tell us in great detail what it means to have the mind of Christ. Instead he points us to Jesus himself, he tells us this story and lets Jesus' own life speak to us about discipleship, about having the mind of Christ. He tells us the story of Jesus' humility - of how he did not exploit his power but emptied and humbled himself before others. He tells of Jesus' obedience to the will of God, an obedience that he was willing to follow through even to his cruel, humiliating death on a cross. He tells a story of Jesus' selflessness, about putting the needs of others and the will of God above his own needs and will.

Paul shows us that at the very core of the Gospel is our Lord Jesus Christ and his servant's heart.

A servant's heart. Someone who gives selflessly to others, and in doing so, embodies the mind and the person of Jesus Christ.

I imagine that most of us can call to mind a few examples of people with servant's hearts. My mind jumps quickly to famous examples, those whose servants' hearts have made the news, caught the attention of the world. I think of people like Mother Theresa, like Martin Luther King, Jr., like Oscar Romero, the Catholic priest from El Salvador who refused to stop serving communion and baptizing the babies of the poor and hungry, whose selflessness and obedience, like that of Jesus, led to his assassination.

These examples of a servant's heart, of the mind of Christ, are incredibly inspiring; they take our breath away, and they are cause to give praise to God. But it's not only those who make the news, those whose stories are recorded in our history books, who have learned to embrace the mind of Christ Jesus and to have a servant's heart. There are parents who wear their old shoes until the soles are worn thin so they can afford to buy their children new shoes for school. There are firefighters who risk their own lives when they enter a burning building to save someone trapped inside. There are those who invite the homeless into their homes, or sit down to a meal with someone who cannot afford to feed him or herself. These people, too, have servants' hearts. These people, too, live according to the mind of Christ.

A friend of mine shared a similar story with me this week about what it means to have a servant's heart. The story comes from a taxi driver in New York City who had been called to a house late one night, at the end of his shift. He arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes, he honked again. Since this was going to be his last ride of the night, he thought about just driving away, but instead put the car in park, walked up to the door, and knocked. "Just a minute!" answered a frail, elderly voice. He could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90s stood before him. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked. He took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took his arm, and they walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking him for his kindness. "It's nothing," he told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated." 

"Oh, you're such a good man, a kind soul," she told him. When they got in the cab, she gave him an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the fastest way..." he answered, puzzled.

"Oh I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice." He looked in the rearview mirror and saw that her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued in a soft voice. "The doctor says I don't have very long." The taxi driver quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" he asked.

For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She showed him the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. They drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had the driver pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. At times, she asked him to slow down in front of a particular building or corner and sat staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." They drove in silence to the address she had given him. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two nurses came out to the cab as soon as they pulled up. They asked the woman where she'd been, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her, the taxi driver thought to himself.

He opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," he said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," he responded.

And almost without thinking, this taxi driver tells us, he bent down and gave the woman a hug. She held onto him tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

He squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind him, he heard a door shut. He thought to himself that it was the sound of the closing of a life.

After telling the story, the taxi-driver continued to reflect on the meaning of that experience, saying, "I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

"We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unawares - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life."

I wonder if our humble, self-emptying, servant-hearted Lord Jesus ever thought something like that, after a hard day's work of healing, feeding, and teaching people.

I wonder if the heroes and saints of our time, like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., or Oscar Romero, or Mother Theresa, ever thought something like that.

I wonder if any of you, after a day of caring for a son or a sister, after cooking a meal for a neighbor you know has been ill, after bringing someone a big old bag of tomatoes, or corn, simply because you know it will bring them joy, has thought something like that.

I hope you have, and I hope you will. For in these moments, you have followed the Apostle Paul's admonition to be of one mind, have the same love, and be in full accord with one another. You have emptied and humbled yourselves, just as our Lord did when he came to dwell among us, when he followed his obedience to God to the point of death, even death on a cross. You have let your life be led by the mind of Christ and a servant's heart.

May you continue to do so. For it is because of this kind of life, the life of the servant, that God has highly exalted Jesus, and given him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. The servant is king. The central event of our lives and salvation, God's vindication of the world, is a humble act of service. Hallelujah! Amen.

[Story from Kent Nerburn, "And Where There is Sadness, Joy," in Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace. 1999.]