The Greatest?

 Mark 9:30-37

September 19, 2021

 

            Somewhere, sometime in the neighborhood where I grew up, someone dug a big hole. And from that big hole came an even bigger pile of dirt. It was more like a hill of dirt really, and when the neighborhood kids – me included – saw that great big hill of dirt there was only one thing we could do. We played king of the hill. If you’ve never played king of the hill, I’ll quickly explain the rules to you. There are no rules. It’s just about trying to climb to the top of hill, stay on top of the hill, and keep the other kids from reaching the top of the hill. And you accomplish those three goals any way you can.

            In my neighborhood, the girls generally ran with the girls and the boys stuck with the boys, but on that day, we all played together. We climbed and scrambled and pushed and slid. We’d get close to the top and then go sliding back down, only to make our way back toward the top once more. I suspect that sometimes king of the hill can get pretty vicious, but I don’t remember anyone getting hurt that day. I don’t remember any of us leaving angry or upset. I don’t even remember how it ended really. I suspect it concluded when our parents started to call us in, or someone remembered somewhere she had to be, or we realized that certain members of our families would not be thrilled at how dirty we had gotten. No matter how the game ended, we played king of the hill until we couldn’t anymore. And if anyone achieved lasting king of the hill status, I don’t remember it. All of us worked hard to get to the top, but none of us stayed there very long. However, it began and however it ended, there were no lasting hard feelings when we finally went our separate ways. That didn’t always happen, I can assure you.

            I’d like to say that was the last time I ever played king of the hill. But adults play this game all the time. We just call it “life.” Who can get to the top? Who can stay on the top? How do we keep others from getting there before or instead of us?

            The disciples were not engaged in a literal game of king of the hill that day, but they were bickering with one another about who among them was the greatest. We cannot know from the text the details of their argument, but it may have sounded something like this.

“I’m the greatest because I have served others better than you.”

“I’m the greatest because I have actually healed someone without any help from Jesus.”

“I’m the greatest because Jesus relies on me.”

Obviously, Jesus noticed that they were quarreling and squabbling amongst themselves. He probably couldn’t help but notice. And when they came to Capernaum and were settled in a house, Jesus asked them,

            “What were you arguing about on the way?”

            For all their big talk and bickering and quarreling while they were traveling, now the disciples are silent. They have been caught and called out. They know what they were arguing about and so does Jesus. But instead of reprimanding or chastising them, he does something even more astonishing and unexpected. He takes a seat, calls the disciples, and says,

            “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

            Then to illustrate his words, he takes a little child into his arms, and says to the disciples,

            “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

            Wait one minute there Jesus. What do you mean that in order to be first you must be last? Who’s really the greatest, the one on top or the on the bottom?

            Greatness means not being served, but serving? And then if we truly want to welcome you, to welcome the one who sent you, we must welcome a little child in your name? I suspect more than one disciple was thinking that this had to be a joke. This could not be true. Because then, as now, status was not achieved by serving others. Status was achieved by making sure others served you.

            And what about this welcoming of a child? A child? Don’t get me wrong, people loved children then as they do now. Parents loved their little ones. Having children, having families was considered a blessing. Barrenness was considered a punishment for sin. It’s not that people did not love children or loved them less than we love our own children, it’s that a child – no matter how loved or wanted – had no status in that society and culture. A child had no legal rights or protection under the law. Until that child grew old enough to be productive in the family and in the society, that child had no status.

            But Jesus picked up this little status-less child and said that if you want to welcome the Father and the Son, then you must welcome the child – this little powerless, helpless, status-less child.

            I have this picture in my mind of the child in Jesus’ arms babbling in baby talk while Jesus spoke. I can imagine the little one turning to look at Jesus, maybe stroking his face or examining his whiskers. Maybe that baby even gave him one of those open-mouthed baby kisses that my kids used to give me. And I can see Jesus finishing his words to the disciples and looking back down at that baby and smiling, maybe giving him or her one last squeeze before turning the toddler back over to Mama.

            Perhaps this image of mine is too rosy a picture, but Jesus taking that baby in his arms would have driven the point home to the disciples – or at least attempted to.  Because the disciples, especially in Mark, just did not get it. Did. Not. Get. It. One commentator wrote that the disciples are so dense light bends around them.

Consider how this passage began. Jesus and the disciples were traveling incognito in Galilee. Jesus did not want anyone to know they were there; I suspect so they would not be interrupted. Jesus was once again teaching them about the reality and truth of Messiahship. He was going to be betrayed into human hands. He was going to be killed. He was going to rise again after three days. And Mark tells us that the disciples, even though they had heard this already, even though Jesus was telling them pointedly what would happen, they did not understand. And they were too afraid to ask Jesus to explain what he meant.

            They were too afraid. Do you wonder if the argument about who was the greatest sprang from that fear? Do you wonder if it was their fear that kept the disciples from understanding what Jesus was telling them, what it meant, not only for Jesus, for them as well? Maybe their desire to be the greatest was a way of dealing with that fear? They could not let go of their worldly understanding of power and status to see or accept the upside-down kingdom that Jesus described. They were fearful of that upside-down kingdom, and I suspect fearful of what it would require of them to achieve it.

            Fear creates obstacles we cannot see or even recognize. Fear keeps us stuck. It keeps us stuck in a worldview that is the opposite of what Jesus preached and taught and lived. Jesus not only talked the talk, he also walked the walk. But what he had to undergo, what he had to sacrifice, that was terrible and frightening. If we are called to follow in his footsteps and be willing to undergo what he did, then our fear is understandable. But what Jesus tried to teach the disciples and what we struggle to learn everyday is that we have to let go of our fear. Because first and foremost our fear stymies our trust. The more we trust God, the less power our fear has over us. The more we trust that God is with us, the less we fear losing what we have.

            The disciples were afraid, and that fear will be their constant companion throughout the gospel. And I think we are afraid too. I mean I know I am. I am afraid of not having enough. I am afraid of being left alone. I am afraid that I will never measure up to others’ standards and my own standards. I would like to be king of the hill just once, for a little while, but I am afraid that may never happen, or worse, that it does.

            The disciples were afraid. Life was hard. And Jesus was telling them that the way to deal with life’s hardness was not to push others down on the way to the top. They shouldn’t even bother with trying to get to the top, because the top was really the bottom. No, if they wanted to follow him, and to live a life that was truly great, then they needed to serve. They needed to willingly, even joyfully, be last. They needed to love others and serve others and welcome those with no status as graciously and profusely as they would welcome those with it. They needed to welcome a little child in Jesus’ name, and when they could do that and mean it, then they would be welcoming Jesus and the One who sent him.

            When they could do this, then they would understand what Jesus was trying to teach them, then they would overcome their fears and their doubts and their misgivings. When they could live this upside-down life, this great reversal, then they would finally understand what makes greatness. They would finally see that the greatest one of all was the one who gave his life for the love of the world. Jesus embodied greatness, not because he pushed down others to reach the top of the hill, but because he chose the bottom.

            What would the world look like if we chose the bottom as well?

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.