“Who is the greatest?”

Mark 9:33-37

Tom Johnson, September 23, 2012

Jesus question in our Gospel reading is similar to the question asked in Genesis right after Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit. “Where are you?” the Lord asks. “Who told you that you’re are naked?” “Did you eat of the tree I told you not to?” He knows what happened. Yet Jesus asks the disciples, “What were you arguing about back there…as you trailing behind me…well out of earshot?” The disciples were silent because they were busted. It’s not easy keeping things from the Lord who knows the thoughts and intentions of the human heart. They didn’t say a word to Jesus—that they were having an argument about who was the greatest. It’s kind of embarrassing. It’s kind of silly, isn’t it? I don’t think I’d say anything either. What could they have said? “Jesus, I was just telling the guys that either John or James was the greatest because you nicknamed them “the Sons of Thunder—the Thunderous Ones.” “Jesus, I argued Peter is because you called him “the Rock.” They said nothing in response to Jesus—not even a description of their disagreement about which one of them was most important of all. Perhaps because when Jesus asked them to give an account of their actions, they realized how childish they were acting.

Did you have arguments in elementary school about whose dad had the biggest muscles, whose mom had the most expensive jewelry, or which family had the nicest car or house? What the disciples’ argument reveals is our human nature to measure one human being against another—to classify people according to our standards of importance—to rate people on scale of worldly significance. Greatness is often measured by what the word implies—great-ness—that more is always better—that outnumbering perceived opponents makes a person a winner. Greatness can also be measured by possessions, reputation, or performance.

This is the curse of comparison—to constantly live under the watchful eye of judgment. It may be self-imposed. We may find that we needlessly live under the burden of comparison because of our insecurities—because our security is not grounded in the unconditional love and worth that we have from God. When we look over the fence and see a newer car—or a beautiful lake view—or the proverbial greener grass—we actually aren’t being thankful for the things that God has provided for us. And maybe we have forgotten that we aren’t owners but stewards mere caretakers of the things we have.

What I love about Jesus in this text is how much he communicates without saying anything at all. Remember, the disciples never fess up to their argument about who is the greatest. They are silent. And for the moment Jesus is silent too. Our text says, “he sat down.” He diminished his standing among his companions. He lowers himself toward the ground and calls the twelve to him to hear a sermon with a visual illustration. He welcomes them around him with the words, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” He then takes a little child—an infant or a toddler I suppose who just happened to be nearby. He puts the child among them—he puts a tiny human being next to twelve full-grown ones. And I’m sure that they looked enormous next to such a little one. And then he gathers the little one in his arms and says, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me.” It is a brilliant illustration. And it is a beautiful message.

Greatness is not measured in the ridiculousness of comparing one person standing in the company of others—like a little person in the company of grown-ups towering over them. Greatness is measured by compassion, hospitality, and the unconditional love of receiving a person for who they are. Our greatness is not found by self-promotion, Jesus tells us, but the promotion of the worth of every human soul. Our security is not found in external comparison and praise but by acceptance and hearts that always have room for another friend.

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me,” Jesus says, “and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me.” In other words, we are living out the Gospel when we accept and love others as God has accepted and loved us. Later in Mark’s Gospel, in chapter 10 verse 45, Jesus will say, “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” It is by Jesus coming down from his heavenly throne—diminishing his standing among the angels and archangels that he lowers himself by taking on human flesh and giving himself to purchase forgiveness and eternal life for all humanity. Even though we are little in the eyes of an eternal and almighty God and cannot stand before him sinless or without blame—even though we have nothing to give to him—he reaches down and gathers us up into his arms and welcomes us. He came to proclaim and deliver—not the greatness of his incommunicable attributes—but to proclaim and deliver the greatness of his love and acceptance of every human being—giving his life on the cross to secure us as members of his eternal and loving family.