How to Make a Martyr a Minister

Preached at Kenwood Presbyterian Church.

Creative Commons 3.0, Andreas F. Borchert

Sermon

I want to preface our second Scripture lesson a little bit.

One of the authors who has shaped my faith is Henri Nouwen. Henri said this: “I am gradually learning that the call to gratitude asks us to say, ‘everything is grace.’”

When I first read this, I immediately said “well that’s a load of nonsense.” But the longer I sit with it, the more I realize it is deeply true.

Today, Moses shows his warts. He is angry with God, and tells God as much. Not only does he show his anger—which I think is somewhat justified—but he shows his limitations and weaknesses. We meet Moses at the end of his rope, ready to call it quits, and ready to walk away from everything. The man who tried to be a superhero, has come to realize that he’s not a superhero. And in trying to be a superhero for God, he’s accidentally made himself a martyr by his own hand — trying to be so faithful, so righteous, so perfect, that he has wounded himself and his neighbors.

But it turns out, “everything is grace,” even the warts. Let’s jump in.

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From the book of Numbers, chapter 11, verses 4-6, 10-16, and 24-25:

The camp followers with them had a strong craving, and the Israelites also wept again and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic, but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.”

Moses heard the people weeping throughout their families, all at the entrances of their tents. Then the Lord became very angry, and Moses was displeased. So Moses said to the Lord, “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight, that you lay the burden of all this people on me? Did I conceive all this people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom as a wet nurse carries a nursing child, to the land that you promised on oath to their ancestors’? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people? For they come weeping to me, saying, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me. If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—if I have found favor in your sight—and do not let me see my misery.”

So the Lord said to Moses, “Gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be the elders of the people and officers over them; bring them to the tent of meeting and have them take their place there with you.

So Moses went out and told the people the words of the Lord, and he gathered seventy of the elders of the people and placed them all around the tent. Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke to him and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders, and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied.

The Word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.

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If we trace the events leading up to today’s passage, we start to understand why Moses gets into this argument with God.

When we first meet Moses in the biblical text, we meet a man who unwittingly stumbles across God’s call to him. When Moses encounters God at the burning bush, God says, “Now go… bring my people out of Egypt.” (Ex. 3:10). And what does Moses say? “Who am I that I should go?” (Ex. 3:11). This was a monumental undertaking, one that was not for the faint of heart. Given Moses’ response, it’s hard to believe that it was met with joy. Moses wasn’t looking for this adventure.

As we move along, Moses spars with Pharaoh on behalf of God, bringing condemnations, plagues, and commands from God, all of which were met by Pharaoh’s obstinance and hostility. But Moses follows God, obediently, again and again and again, leading to a final message of condemnation: if Pharaoh didn’t obey, it meant death throughout all of Egypt. Moses—in a role he never sought, taking actions he never imagined—warns of horrific tumult.

After that’s said and done, Moses finds his responsibilities growing once again: this time, to include military command. As if his current responsibilities weren’t enough, now he is guiding the Hebrew people as they flee the warriors of Egypt. There are tactical decisions, practical considerations, and of course, a Red Sea between the Hebrew people and safety. On and on again, Moses carries his burden without rest, without respite or support. He never asks God for help, but trods along trying to do it all by himself. No one will see the cracks in Moses’ armor.

Then, in the three verses preceding today’s text, the people complain about their situation after embarking from Mount Sinai. God becomes angry, and yet again, Moses throws himself between God and the people, asking God to relent. But does anyone thank Moses for averting God’s wrath? Of course not!

“The man who tried to be a superhero has come to realize that he’s not a superhero. And in trying to be a superhero for God, he’s accidentally made himself a martyr by his own hand — trying to be so faithful, so righteous, so perfect, that he inadvertently wounded himself and his neighbors.”

This journey is what drives Moses to the frustrated complaints of today’s text. Moses has gone the extra mile—time and time and time and time again—only to feel as if he’s back to square one. He’s done everything for the Hebrew people, going to Sinai time and time again, going to God time and time again. He’s taking on the responsibility of more than himself, but of all of the Hebrew people. 

He’s been spinning a dozen plates in the air, doing everything he can to keep them spinning, even though he’s being split apart at the seams. What does he say? “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Put me to death at once.” This is a hard place. We know that Moses is doing everything he can to follow God and do what’s right. He’s giving it his all, doing his best, risking life and limb repeatedly because of his love for God and his people. And what does he get in return?!

No thanks. No rest. No acknowledgment. Just pain and resentment.

Moses reaches the breaking point. His limitations caught up. It was death by a thousand cuts. In doing so much for so long, all without asking for help, Moses had accrued a debt to his humanity. And that debt was overdue.

So many of us have been at this place with Moses. So many of us have had a dozen plates spinning in the air, and feeling like they might all come crashing down. So many of us say “yes” when no one else will, only to feel left out to dry. So many of us have made sacrifices, whether they be of our money or our time or our compassion, only to feel let down by God or the church or our family. Only to feel tired and exhausted and like it’s better to walk away. Like we’ve busted open at the seams, and nobody will be able to stitch us back together.

When our limitations catch up, and our humanity cries out, that’s when we meet a crossroads. On one side of this crossroads is Moses. Will we be a martyr like him? Refusing help, pushing ourselves beyond our limitations, and trying to do the superhuman?

Let’s explore this path for a minute. What is a martyr? When I say “martyr,” I’m not meaning it in the traditional sense. It’s a looser sense that collides with our text. Most of us, at some point on our Christian journey, try to follow God further and further, doing more and more, and take on everything we can for our church, our neighbors, or our community. The most generous inclinations of our hearts propel us to host fellowship hour, serve on the property committee, bake bread for Communion, and serve as a Deacon all at once. But that generosity of heart—and the dedication we share—starts to hurt. And in trying to follow God, we end up neglecting ourselves. We stop taking breaks, we stop getting rest, we stop asking for help. And our limitations, our humanity, starts demanding a price. Our ferocious dedication to God and others starts hurting us, and hurting those we think we’re helping. That’s when we’ve moved into martyrdom.

To Moses’ credit—and maybe our own—there are a lot of good reasons that we end up in today’s argument with God. It’s not hard to believe that Moses felt pressure–perhaps inordinate pressure–to be the responsible one, the faithful one, or the grown up in the room.

But eventually, the train Moses built starts running away. So often, we start crucifying ourselves for God when no one—not even God—asked us to.

It’s not hard to see where this path on our crossroads leads. A year ago, in fall 2023, a research institute surveyed clergy. They asked clergy if in the prior three years, they had seriously contemplated leaving their ministry. The tally? More than 4 in 10 said yes [1]. Like Moses, many leaders found themselves navigating unfamiliar terrain while lacking in support. During COVID, pastors were expected to navigate technology and ministry and public health and politics in unmanagable ways. And like Moses, they did their best to be faithful, but didn’t realize that they were becoming martyrs of their own making. And 4 out of 10 seriously contemplated leaving ministry because of it.

In August of this year, the Surgeon General issued an advisory regarding parental stress. Along with that advisory, the American Psychological Association identified that nearly half of all parents feel that “most days, their stress is overwhelming,” and 41% of parents say “most days they are so stressed they cannot function.” [2] [3] [4]. Parents and grandparents are trying to navigate social media and technology and artificial intelligence and politics and cultural changes, and it turns out, it’s almost impossible to manage.

The reality is that we’re not strong enough to cross the Red Sea alone, and we’re not strong enough to protect our kids or parents or grandkids alone. If we try to push past our humanity and push past our limitations, we’re going to find ourselves wounded, hurt, or burnt out. If we try to do it all alone, we’re certainly going to fail.

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But fortunately, there’s another path at this crossroads. One that doesn’t involve martyrdom.

Moses lets his cries out to God. He shows God that he’s been bluffing - he’s not superhuman and he’s actually exhausted beyond belief. Moses acknowledges that he can’t be everything to all people. Moses acknowledges that he’s finite, constrained by his abilities and skills and understanding. He’s finally letting go of his martyrdom, and finding wholeness in acceptance of his limitations.

That’s when God gathers these seventy elders of the people and pours out the Spirit upon them. These elders prophesy and carry out the same acts that Moses does. No longer is Moses choosing between his own wellbeing and following God; instead, to follow God means to care for his own wellbeing.

This instant is when God rejects Moses’ martyrdom, and becomes alive through the very limitations and humanity that has ensnared Moses. God intimately sees Moses’ weakness and frailty, and rather than condemning it, ignoring it, or romanticizing it, God fashions Moses’ weakness into good for the whole community. In this instant, Moses is shown that perfection and supernatural perseverance isn’t what makes someone faithful. Faithfulness isn’t measured by one’s sacrifices or how much it hurts to follow God. Faithfulness isn’t measured at all, actually. It’s experienced. A journey into the wholeness and grace that God has set before us. This second path of our crossroads. And that’s the one Moses ultimately chooses to take.

“God intimately sees Moses’ weakness and frailty, and rather than condemning it, ignoring it, or romanticizing it, God fashions Moses’ weakness into good for the whole community. ”

In lifting up all of himself to God—even his warts—Moses changes from martyr to minister, accompanied by seventy elders who share his burdens.

The problem wasn’t Moses’ weakness or humanity. The problem was that Moses kept God from his weakness and humanity, keeping it buried deep down, like some sort of secret that couldn’t be let into the light of day.

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What’s a minister? The Greek word for minister is leitourgos (λειτουργός). In its most secular meaning, a leitourgos was someone who performed a service for the public. In the ancient context, a leitourgos, a minister, was a civil servant who performed particular functions or acts. They were not a governing aristocrat or a political leader. They were a servant from the people; not a ruler over the people.

When these seventy elders are raised, Moses steps down from his lofty office as an intermediary of God, and he moves into this role of a minister, a servant among the people.

That’s what God calls Moses to at this moment. That’s what God uses these seventy elders to bring about. Not self-flagellation or service that hurts; compassionate, faithful, loving service. A minister, not a martyr.

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“Faithfulness isn’t measured by one’s sacrifices or how much it hurts to follow God. Faithfulness isn’t measured at all, actually. It’s experienced. It’s a journey into the wholeness and grace that God has set before us.”

God has enough martyrs. But like Moses in today’s passage, God needs ministers - you and I, and everyone else who is baptized into Christ.

Kenwood Presbyterian Church might not have a pastor right now, but as of 2022, it has eighty-six ministers on its rolls. You’re each ministers of this church - servants called to the good news of Christ Jesus.

And the temptation, as you live in this transition, might be to do as much as you can until it hurts. To work as hard as possible, for as long as possible, and do everything you can to escape this season. But God has enough martyrs. God needs ministers who care for one another, who accept their weaknesses, and who serve one another. God needs us to be human, to be honest about our limitations and sore backs and tired feet.

When we feel like there are a dozen plates spinning in the air, and they’re starting to wobble, that might be the sign to let God and others in on the secret: we need our church family to help us. When the stress of parenting or grandparenting boils over, and we can’t function anymore, that might be a sign to take a weekend away. When we’re serving as a Deacon, and a liturgist, and a committee member, and an usher all at once, it might be time to let someone else share the responsibility.

That’s what it means to be a minister. To serve others with the full range of our humanity rather than aiming for supernatural, miraculous faithfulness that ignores our needs. To be one of seventy servants rather than a single superhero.

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It feels awful, sometimes, to show others our vulnerability and weakness. It stinks to be vulnerable and weak. And yet, our Bibles are mostly about people who are weak and scared and struggling. Even the people we consider superheroes—like Moses—are frail. And if our Bibles and today’s passage are any indication, that’s where God shows up.

So today and this week, show your humanity a little bit. Pay attention to your limitations and weaknesses, and acknowledge them as gifts where God can show up. Ask for help. Accept the service of others. Be honest about your abilities. And never let go of the hope of the Gospel: everything is grace, even the weaknesses, even the limitations, even your humanity. And even the warts.

Sources

[1] Peter Smith, “US pastors struggle with post-pandemic burnout. Survey shows half considered quitting since 2020,” The Associated Press, January 11, 2024. https://apnews.com/article/christian-clergy-burnout-pandemic-survey-24ee46327438ff46b074d234ffe2f58c

[2] Jamie Gumbrecht, “Parental stress is a significant public health issue, surgeon general says in new advisory”, CNN, August 28, 2024. https://www.cnn.com/2024/08/28/health/surgeon-general-parent-stress-wellness/index.html

[3] “Parents Under Pressure: The U.S. Surgeon General Advisory on the Mental Health and Well-Being of Parents,” US Department of Health and Human Services, https://www.hhs.gov/surgeongeneral/priorities/parents/index.html

[4] American Psychological Association (2023, November). Infographic: Stress of parents compared to other adults. https://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/stress/2023/infographics/infographicparents-other-adults