The Greatest Way

Mark 9:33-37
33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?" 34 But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. 35 He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." 36 Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37 "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

If only they knew then what we know now. I mean, if those disciples following Jesus on the way to Capernaum only knew then what you and I know now, maybe they wouldn’t have been so preoccupied with an argument among themselves, an argument about who is the greatest. After all, you and I know who’s the greatest: he told us so himself in the countless television interviews, the newspaper and magazine articles; he told us he was not only the greatest, but “the greatest of all times!” Cassius Clay, Muhammad Ali, he told us time after time that he was the prettiest, the fastest, that he could “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” and yes, that he was the greatest. So, if only the disciples had had the foresight to know that some two thousand years later “the greatest” would clearly be an African American boxer, then maybe they wouldn’t have had such an argument, or maybe they’d find something else to argue about, or maybe they’d actually pay attention to Jesus as they were on the way.
But of course, they’re not concerned with that kind of greatness. They’re not worried about heavyweight titles, arrogant intimidation, or prize fight money. So what is the source of their argument about greatness? Why do they have such a preoccupation with it? Why do we have such a preoccupation with greatness? Perhaps it’s a matter of precedent, of wanting to be better than the last. We always want the next thing to be better than the last, don’t we? We want this quarter’s numbers to be better than last quarter’s. We want this summer’s vacation to be nicer, longer, and more relaxing than last summer’s. We want a bigger raise this time than we had last time. We want to spend more time with our family this year than we did last year. We want things to be better this time than they were last time. We want to be better, greater, than whatever it was that came before. We have something within us that drives us to want to be greater than what came before, so why should those first disciples on the way be any different?
Surely they wanted things to be greater now than they were then. They wanted to get things right today where they may have failed yesterday. Perhaps Peter wanted to prove his greatness after having failed at Bethsaida (as we saw last week). Maybe they were arguing about greatness after having just failed to exorcise a demon from the son of a concerned father (Mark 9:18), and they just wanted to get it right the next time. Perhaps as they were on the way with Jesus, they just wanted the next leg of the journey to be greater than the last, today to be greater than yesterday, the next challenge to be met with successful greatness, rather than failing weakness. Maybe their argument about greatness revolved around issues of precedent, things being greater this time.
Maybe, or perhaps their argument about greatness involved something a bit more psychological. After all, it seems we all have some sort of need to be great, a desire to be placed on a pedestal above others, a drive to be better than somebody else. And to a point, it’s easy for us, because greatness for us is tangible. We can surely measure it, can’t we? It starts when we’re still kids: when the teacher says, “You get an A because you were better than those who got a B.” They get us on the hook for a desire for greatness from the first time they hand us that piece of paper outlining our greatness in relation to the rest of the kids in our class. But it doesn’t end with grades and report cards. As we get older our greatness is proven by the titles we acquire: Valedictorian, Cum Laude, Chairmen, C.E.O., President, Director, Boss, Manager, Captain, Senior, etc. There are plaques that bear our engraved names, the certificates with carefully crafted calligraphy, all proclaiming our achievements for the rest of the world to take notice. Our greatness is proven by our names on buildings, our likenesses bronzed and hanging in important hallways, our names and titles on the doors of our offices, the heft of our paychecks at the end of the week or month, or simply having the best seat in the living room or the dining room table. We can measure our greatness, hold it in our hands and hang it on our walls; folks can tell when we’re great.
For the disciples on the way to Capernaum, however, it wasn’t so easy to testify to their greatness. After all, there were no grades given for gospel comprehension; there were no ranks or titles handed out among the disciples, forming a clear hierarchy of greatness; Jesus conducted no ceremony of commencement where his followers were bestowed with material markers of their matriculation on the way. There was nothing—nothing tangible, nothing material for the disciples to pin on their cloaks distinguishing them from the rest of the rabble that followed Jesus on the way. There was just the simple call to come and “follow me.” So maybe their argument was a bit more psychological, stemming from that human desire to be noticed, to be labeled, to be called out from among the crowd and held up for all to see.
Or maybe their argument is a bit more pragmatic; maybe they were arguing over a matter of succession. Isn’t that the prime time to take notice of greatness, when one is stepping down and the next “greatest” in line must step up? When the long-term manager announces her resignation, is it not the duty of her company to find one who is great enough to replace her? When a child’s favorite toy finally gives up and breaks from the long hours of play, does he not want to replace it with a toy of equal “greatness”? When you’ve been following the same person your whole life, chasing after the same dream for years, looking forward to that great experience in your life, and suddenly life throws a wrench in the gears and everything seems to screech to a halt, don’t you want “greatness” to come along? Don’t you want greatness to pick up where things left off and carry you to the fulfillment of your own goals and aspirations?
Why should these disciples be any different? There they are, on the way in verses 30-32, when Jesus tells them for the second time that he is going to be betrayed, killed, and that he will eventually rise again. Maybe they took this second telling a little more seriously; perhaps they heard Jesus a bit more clearly than they had in Bethsaida, and now, now they realize they’re going to have to do something. Mark doesn’t tell us who was arguing (compared to other gospel accounts that say it was John and James); he just says it was “them”—the disciples. Maybe their argument went something like this: “Hey guys, maybe Jesus is actually going to go through with this whole ‘death’ thing. Maybe we should decide who’s going to take over when he’s gone.” Of course you can imagine what might have happened next. One disciple steps up and says, “Well, I’ll do it. I’m the obvious choice.” Then all Hades breaks loose as one tries to prove his greatness over another; another rattles off his resume of apostolic performance and how he is the obvious choice to be the next one in line to lead them on the way. They just want greatness to proceed after Jesus’ departure, and of course, each is convinced he is the one worthy of such greatness.
But it could have gone a different way. Maybe they did hear Jesus’ words this time, and maybe they did take them seriously. But perhaps instead of each one making the case that he was the greatest, maybe this time they were putting the “greatness” on anyone but themselves. You know what that’s like. When a responsibility is suddenly made evident and your church, job, or family needs you to step up and do it, the first thing you think to yourself is “Can’t somebody else do it—anybody, just not me?” Maybe that’s what they were arguing about. After all, Jesus would leave some pretty big sandals to fill. Maybe their conversation could have gone like this: “You know Jesus may be serious about dying, so we’re going to need somebody to take us the rest of the way. How about it Peter, will you step up?” And then Peter may have responded in an attempt at humility to say he wasn’t worthy and that maybe John would be a greater choice. Back and forth they could have argued, passing the buck of greatness down the line of disciples…until the way came to Capernaum.
It’s here at Capernaum when Jesus mentions their argument. It is here at Capernaum, where our own struggles with greatness are laid open before the Savior. It is here, when Jesus asks us, “What were you arguing about on the way?” that all we can do is respond with embarrassing silence, because we know whatever arguments we are having, they have been exposed. It’s here at Capernaum where Jesus settles our arguments, and he settles them with a child.
Now don’t jump to the end of this story and start making conclusion about child-like faith and naïve approaches to greatness. Oh no, Jesus doesn’t intend to give us an out with his living object lesson. He says in verse 35 “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Well that doesn’t make a lot of sense does it? And then he goes and places a child in the midst of them, even takes the child in his arms…where’s he going with this? What does this have to do with our arguments about greatness? Jesus’ actions would have been nothing short of confusing, if not shocking, in his day. In our own time, to hold a child, to point to a child as an example of innocence and humility is to play right into the hands of cliché and stereotype. But not in Jesus’ day, not when those first disciples were on the way. Romans saw children as under-grown adults, unworthy of recognition until they actually attained adulthood; they were little more than living property . Rabbis saw children as law-breaking sinners, “not yet ‘people of the covenant.’” Furthermore, the word “child” can also mean “servant” in Aramaic, the language Jesus likely spoke, so there’s likely some connection Jesus is attempting to make with his disciples—us.
He says in verse 37, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” I can imagine them all standing there in that house in Capernaum, thinking to themselves, “Here we are arguing about who is the greatest, trying to figure out how to be greater ourselves, trying to determine who is great enough to lead us on the way, and Jesus is going to put a kid in front of us?! And we have to welcome him, accept him, like Jesus?! But it’s just a kid, a worthless, sinful, good-for-nothing kid!”
I wonder if that sounds familiar at all. “Here I am working hard every day at a job I hate, and this guy’s going to have the nerve to stand on the corner and ask—no beg—for my spare change? Here I am going to church every Sunday, trying to live a good life, and here’s something else they want me to do? Here I am trying to save a little money, trying to reward myself for all of my greatness, trying to live by the rules, trying to tell others where they’ve gone wrong, and now, NOW Jesus is going to try to tell me that it’s not about me and my greatness but about showing others that they are great as he is?!?! You’ve got to be kidding me!!”
But that’s just what Jesus does. Just when you think your greatness is beyond measure, just when you think that greatness is something to be gathered, to be lorded over those who lack your level of greatness, Jesus places a child in the middle of the way. He puts that person whom you see as less worthy right in the middle of the way, and says, “Welcome this one as you would welcome me.” And suddenly, greatness has a new definition, a definition grounded in welcoming acceptance and service. And suddenly, on the way, Jesus shows us how to walk, how to live, THE GREATEST WAY: THE WAY OF THE LORD.
Let us pray…