Mark 9. 30 – 37
The disciples “had argued with each other who was the greatest.” I’ve always wondered how they measured. Perhaps it was who was closest to Jesus, or the best preacher, or the one who raised more people from the dead, or the best fisherman, or the one who would ‘go far’. In our day they might have measured greatness by their literal track record. You can’t argue with gold medals, or a world best time. There are other ways: I’m told that the difference between the British and the Americans is that Americans put their qualifications on the wall and the British put their invitations there. Greatness can be what you know and whom you know.
It doesn’t take much thought to realise how foolish this is, and I’m sure that’s why the disciples lapse into an embarrassed silence when Jesus asks the question. After all, sporting greatness has also been achieved by those who simply finished the Great North Run (like Bishop Rob did a fortnight ago), and raised awareness and money for charity. Greatness is achieved not just by those who get top marks but by those who get to the lowest rung of the academic ladder, when no one thought they could do even that. Greatness is achieved by the faithful friend, the unheralded servant, the unsung hero. Somehow true greatness goes beyond what is easily measured.
There is a wonderful simple movement in the Gospel of Mark. For around 8 ½ chapters the theme is the proclamation of the Kingdom – the rule and reign of God. Jesus demonstrates this with miracles and healings. He speaks of it in parables, and he sends the twelve out with the authority of the Kingdom. They find that they can resist and conquer evil, and bring healing to people for whom they pray. It’s powerful and remarkable. They see Jesus do miraculous things, and pick up all the bread left over after thousands of people are staggeringly fed. They get part of the point. You are the Christ, says Peter. It is confirmed on the mount of transfiguration.
No wonder that the disciples were feeling pretty pleased with themselves. And no wonder that they then started to look for the best seats at the table. There is some rethinking to be done. It’s a painful process as the second movement of Mark begins. They hadn’t twigged that they’d got messiahship wrong. This Messiah would not be taking the exalted place, but would be waiting upon it. They needed to rethink their idea kingship and greatness. Jesus the King comes to demonstrate absolute love, absolute devotion to his subjects, and the only way to do this is to share their sufferings. They needed to rethink their idea of authority, power and service. This is the second time Jesus tells them that he must be betrayed, must suffer, and will be killed. When he heard this first Peter opened his big mouth, and was told he was Satan. He is in no mood to be told off again, so this time they all remain quiet – they truly do not understand.
Their talk of greatness is shown for the selfish pride that it is by Jesus saying that the first should be last, and the servant (diakonos) of all. I’ve just spent some time with Ayla and the other deacons of the Diocese of London at a residential. All clergy are ordained deacon, but it’s all too easy to see this as a prelude to being a priest. It’s all to easy to rather luxuriate in the ‘The Reverend’. ‘Reverend Canon’ is even better, as is ‘Venerable’, or ‘Very’, ‘Right’ or ‘Most’ Reverend. The clothing is quite cool too. Thirty years on I’m still learning what it is to be a deacon. It’s all about serving, of ensuring the safety and honour and flourishing and necessities of others. The responsibility of authority is to serve. It’s as simple as that. Those who serve you are only there to help you serve better. Too often we see the glory and not the service, and one does not make sense without the other.
They needed to rethink their idea of who they should look out for. To be a disciple is to serve the lowly, not the great. Jesus’s illustration is about children. This is not the one about receiving the kingdom like a child – that comes later. Here it is about serving those who look most humble and insignificant. When we do we demonstrate that the Kingdom of God turns the values of the world upside down. Honestly now, whom would you rather was put out of sight? How a church treats its children is a good test. I have served a church that by and large preferred to get the children out of the way, perhaps because their noise got in eth way of the adults’ concentration. In that place those doing the children’s work felt like they had been given a life sentence. It’s not just children: it can be the powerless, the homeless, the elderly, those unable to move freely. What does it say of our church that we put quite a lot of steps in the way of those with restricted mobility, for example?
Every church should measure the quality of its greatness by how it looks after the humble. We will gain a hearing not through the quality of our presentation but by the message we offer, and that will be by demonstrating that we are not wedded to glory. And where does the greatness of the church lie? Not in perceptions of past glories. Not in a fabulous building, brilliant website, national profile, quality music. It lies in the humility of King Jesus, and in the reaching out of a rescued people who come with empty hands to receive the bread of life, and are sent out with a gospel word to serve the little ones in whom we will see Christ.
Perhaps you could think of the ones on the edge here, the humble and lowly ones in Hampstead Parish Church, and see how we could serve them and receive service from them. Perhaps you could think of the least important person you will bump into this week, and think of something that might really please them but that no one else will know about. And do it for them. Perhaps you could find a way of them offering that to you too. And then we will find that they, and you, have welcomed Christ.
That would be great.