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SERMON
If you were first in line, would you give up your place to someone else?
This is our St. Andrew's Day, when we celebrate our Presbyterian
heritage in the Church of Scotland. So it seems fitting that we rehearse
the story of Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland. (And the Scots will
be the first to tell you that you don't have to be Roman Catholic to
have a patron saint.) According to the Gospel of John, Andrew was the
first person to hear Jesus' call and respond with his life. And though
he was first in line, he graciously gave it up for the sake of another.
We really don't know very much about Andrew, but what we do know is very
good. Andrew had already served an apprenticeship as a disciple of John
the Baptist. Of course he didn't realize it was only an apprenticeship
until one day he saw his master looking at Jesus and heard him say,
"Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This
is the one who comes after me, the thongs of whose sandals I am not
worthy to untie." The Baptist had clearly prepared Andrew well. I
say that because this immensely popular preacher, at the peak of his
career, had modeled the right kind of attitude when he said to his
disciples, concerning Jesus: "He must become greater; I must become
less."
And Andrew, the good student, following the example set by his teacher,
willingly gave up first place as well. Instead of basking in his
discovery of the Messiah, the first thing that Andrew did after meeting
Jesus was to go find his brother Simon and bring him to meet the Lord.
Jesus took one look at Simon and said, "I'm going to call you
Peter." And the rest, as they say, is history. Simon became Peter,
"the rock," the number-one disciple - while Andrew, the first
in line, assumed the background role as "Peter's brother."
Peter would assume the high-profile role of chief disciple, while the
gospels would record only three brief incidents involving Andrew. But in
all three cases we find him bringing people to Jesus. In the first
instance he introduced his brother, Simon, to the Lord. Later, while the
other disciples were complaining about the impossible task of feeding a
tired crowd of five thousand, it was Andrew who brought to Jesus a
little boy with a sack lunch of five loaves and two fish - saying, in
effect, "It isn't much, Lord; but see what you can do with
this."
The third incident occurred just days before Jesus was arrested and
crucified. A group of Greeks, inquisitive non-Jews, came asking if they
might meet with Jesus. They came to Philip first, because of his Greek
surname. But when Philip hesitated, it was Andrew who took these
Gentiles to meet the Lord. Because Andrew was willing to lay aside any
provincial pride or personal prerogative he might have felt to arrange
this meeting, those "outsiders" were there that day to hear
Jesus extend his great invitation: "I, when I am lifted up from the
earth, will draw all men to myself."
God bless Andrew! And evidently God did. The church historian Eusebius
tells us that, having been captured by that vision of embracing all
people for Christ, Andrew went to preach the gospel to the Gentiles in
the region around the Aegean Sea. So Andrew was one of the church's
earliest missionaries to the non-Jewish world. And while he was there,
his preaching led to the conversion of the Roman proconsul's wife. But
the proconsul was so enraged at this that he had Andrew scourged and
then crucified.
Now, the casual reader might think that that was the tragic end of a
life that was somewhat less than remarkable. But Eusebius tells us that
Andrew's crucifixion was remarkable in at least two ways. First, instead
of being nailed to a cross, he was tied there in order to prolong his
agony for a couple of days. During his protracted torture many people
gathered to witness his martyrdom. What do you suppose Andrew did while
hanging on that cross? (What would you do?) Well, according to the
record, for those last two torturous days of his life he talked about
Jesus to anyone who would listen. Throughout his life, to the moment of
his death, Andrew knew who came first.
Oh, there's one more thing about the cross on which Andrew died. It was
made of two timbers crossing each other in the middle, in the form of
the letter X. That X-shaped cross has since become known as the St.
Andrew's cross; the cherished symbol that adorns the flag of Scotland to
this day. So when you look on that flag, you're invited to remember not
only Scotland and its people, but to remember St. Andrew and the great
sacrifice his cross represents.
I can't help but wonder if Paul had the example of Andrew in mind when,
later, he wrote to the Philippians, "Your attitude should be the
same as that of Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not
consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself
nothing, taking the very nature of a servant." What touches my
heart about Andrew is that he was perhaps the most Christ-like of all
the disciples. It was Andrew of all the disciples who, instead of
attracting attention to himself, consistently led others to Christ. He
had no problem humbling himself while others got the recognition. He had
a passion for seeing others come into their own.
I suppose that's why Andrew reminds me of the true story of two good
friends. In the late fifteenth century Albrecht Dürer and Martin
Knigstein were studying to be artists. They were both very talented, but
also very poor. Consequently their art studies suffered because they had
to spend so much time simply working to stay alive. So the two friends
worked out an arrangement. Dürer would study art full time while
Knigstein spent all his time working to support the two of them. Then
when Dürer had finished his studies they would change roles, with
Dürer working while Knigstein studied art.
After several years Dürer finished his studies and, in the process,
became a much-celebrated artist. Then he returned to exchange places
with his friend. But only when they met again did Dürer discover the
great sacrifice that Knigstein had made for him. During those years his
friend had worked so hard at heavy manual labor that his sensitive
artist hands had grown rough and worn and permanently crippled. There
was no possible way he would ever realize his dream of becoming an
artist.
But here is perhaps the most remarkable thing about Knigstein. He showed
no bitterness in his heart. In fact, he told his good friend, Dürer,
"My happiness is that I made your career as an artist
possible." It's hard to imagine what that man went through to come
to that kind of peace in his heart. But he left one memorable clue - and
Dürer captured it. One day Dürer saw his friend kneeling in silent
prayer and he began to sketch those rough, gnarled hands that had
carried him through his studies. Those hands became Dürer's most famous
work, simply entitled "Praying Hands." You've doubtless seen
them. The next time you do, remember the man whose hands made that work
possible.
In the same way, Peter got the recognition - but it was his brother
Andrew who led him to Christ and encouraged him. I wouldn't be surprised
if there was a time when Peter took Andrew aside and told him how
thankful he was to have him as a brother. I say that because I've seen
it happen time and again among my brothers and sisters in Christ. As I
see it, people like Andrew are arguably the strongest, most secure and
most loving people of all. But even though they would never seek it for
themselves, every once in a while they ought to hear how special they
are. Jesus had his John the Baptist; and yet this is what Jesus said
about him: "Among those born of women there is no one greater than
John." Dürer became the great artist; and yet he paid his friend,
Knigstein, the highest tribute of his art by immortalizing his
faithfulness. And Peter had his Andrew.
Who is it that cares for you and supports you and does all sorts of
things in your life every day that may often go unnoticed? My guess is
that if you could get beneath the surface of most of our lives, you
would probably find someone there who holds us up, who prays for us, who
encourages us. Don't miss an opportunity to thank them.
I'm continually surprised and humbled by the people in this church who
quietly go about doing simple but immensely important things for the
good of God's kingdom. There are those who pray in private for the needs
of others. There are those faithful ones who spend unseen hours
preparing to teach Sunday school classes that most of you will probably
never see. There are those who care for the buildings and grounds, who
invest themselves in the lives of young people, who keep the books and
support the ministries and create the music. And there are those who
invite their neighbors and colleagues to come learn about Jesus, and who
greet the stranger with a handshake and a kind word of welcome.
You know who you are. You are Andrew; and God knows how special you are.
And even though you might maintain a low profile, God sees what you do.
I want you to know that nothing you do for God's kingdom is wasted, and
nothing you do will go unrewarded. There are others who also know how
special you are - and they count themselves blessed to call you a
friend. My dear brothers and sisters, God is using you well.
I think it was Leonard Bernstein who was once asked, "What is the
most difficult instrument of the orchestra to play?" Without
hesitation the conductor replied, "Second fiddle." Then he
went on to explain in words something like this: "First violins are
easy to come by. But when you find someone who doesn't have to be first,
who can play out of the heart and play well, in the background, that one
is invaluable."
My dear "second fiddles," I want you to know that you are
precious beyond measure. Like the old spiritual says: "If you can't
preach like Peter - if you can't pray like Paul - just tell the love of
Jesus, and say he died for all." There is no higher calling. So if
that's where your heart is, then I declare you to be a member of the
Order of St. Andrew. This is your day. God bless you.
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11/25/01
