Sermon for Sunday, September 22, 2024 || Proper 20B || Mark 9:30-37
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Imagine with me the memories of the Apostle Peter, near the end of his life, thinking back to that day in Capernaum that is described in our Gospel reading this morning.
We didn’t think Jesus could hear us on the road. He was lagging behind us, chatting with people who had come in from the countryside to see him. Only Philip, his self-appointed bodyguard, had hung back with Jesus. The rest of us were hungry and eager to get to my house, where they knew my mother-in-law would put out a fabulous spread. But for the moment, our hunger and exhaustion had gotten the better of us, and a stupid argument broke out. We argued about which one of us was the greatest of Jesus’ disciples. I thought I had a pretty good claim on the title, given that I was always by Jesus’ side, but so were the sons of Zebedee. Others thought it might be Thomas for his devotion or James the Zealot for his zeal. Bartholomew, ever the jokester, voted for Jesus’ shadow because it followed him everywhere.
When we arrived at my house, my sister-in-law’s family was visiting with their four children, the youngest of whom, my nephew Malachi, was barely toddling around. No matter the full house, my mother-in-law welcomed Jesus’ group with open arms, as she always did. Jesus and Philip arrived a few minutes later and called us outside, where the house overlooked the Sea of Galilee. Sitting down, he beckoned us to him. We came, wondering what he would have to teach us that day.
“What were you arguing about on the way?” he asked us.
Imagine a dozen grown men looking at each other like kids who have broken their mother’s favorite clay pot. After a few uncomfortable moments, John, ever the kiss-up, threw the rest of us under the boat. “They were arguing about which one of them was the greatest,” he said.
Jesus closed his eyes and took a deep, exasperated breath. It was his, “have you not retained anything I’ve taught you,” sigh. I knew it well.
“If you think you’re in some sort of contest for prizes, you’re sorely mistaken,” Jesus said. “Didn’t you hear me on the road? I’m not in this to win something. As the world judges things, I’m going to lose about as completely as someone can. I need you to understand that.”
I looked around again. Obviously, I was not alone in my lack of understanding. Jesus pinched his nose, which was Stage Two in his looks of exasperation. If his right eye started twitching, we’d have the trifecta. But before that could happen he said, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”
I still didn’t get it, but I didn’t want to show my ignorance. Besides, I knew Thomas would ask the question that was on my mind. Sure enough, he said, “But Jesus, how can you be first and last at the same time?”
Jesus smiled and leapt to his feet. “Line up, everyone. Line up by height.”
It took us a moment to organize ourselves, but with some bumping and dancing, we made a line of twelve.
“Philip is the best, right?” Jesus said.
“I’m not,” Philip protested.
“But you’re in the front of the line,” Jesus said. “That makes you the best.”
“I don’t want to be the best,” Philip said.
“Sure you do.” Jesus slapped the giant on the back. “Everyone wants to be the best. Okay, now line up by age.”
I was close to the front this time. Only James was older than me.
“Now James is the best,” Jesus said. “Line up now by how long you’ve been following me.”
This time I beat James by a few minutes. I was in front. It did feel good, really good, even though I knew Jesus was having a bit of fun at our expense.
Jesus ambled up and down the line as he spoke. “We could probably figure out a way to line up that puts each of you at the front and at the back. But let’s think now about the lines that you’re actually in. Are you in front when it comes to power?”
“No,” the Zealot said. “The Romans are.” He always said, “Romans” like it was a curse.
“All right,” Jesus said. “So the Roman occupiers have more power than you do. Who else?”
The Zealot jumped in again. “People who enrich themselves by collaborating with the Romans.”
“True,” Jesus said. “Who has less power?”
No one spoke for a moment, then Judas ventured, “Men who are too weak to work?”
“Who else?”
“Foreigners in our land. Those who are poor,” Judas continued.
“Women,” Mary Magdalene called from her perch on the wall. I hadn’t even noticed she was there.
My nieces and nephews ran into view, playing a spirited game of tag. “And children,” I said.
“See?” Jesus said. “It’s easy for us to place people along this line of power. We understand how the world works, how society values people’s worth. But it’s all wrong. The way the world has turned out is not how it was meant to be.”
Jesus called Mary over and we all watched the game of tag for a minute. My nephew Malachi was trying to keep up with his brother and sisters, but he was just too unstable on his feet. When he fell over and started crying, Jesus swooped down and picked him up. He quieted immediately and started tugging on Jesus’ beard.
“See this child?” Jesus said. “He has the least power imaginable, the least worth as the world judges it. He can’t even weed a garden. The goats are worth more than he is. Now, grab hands and circle up.”
I took Mary by the hand and she took Matthew’s at the end of the line. We formed a circle around Jesus and my nephew. Jesus reached out his pinky finger and Malachi grasped it with his pudgy little fist. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
Jesus spun slowly in place and looked at each of us in turn. “Welcome is the key. Through the power of welcoming, we see people we wouldn’t normally notice. We greet people we wouldn’t normally talk to. We value people more than our society teaches us to value them.” Jesus set Malachi back on the ground, and he toddled over to me. I had an even better beard for pulling.
Jesus reached his hands out to the circle. “Tell me, friends, who is first here? Who is last? The circle has no beginning and no end. That’s what I’m trying to teach you. Everyone has infinite value because everyone is born with infinite worth as a child of God. And we can change the world by acting out this fundamental truth in our lives. We need to forget the line and embrace the circle.”
I’ve thought about that day so often over the course of my life. It’s so easy to fall for the line, to fall into the trap of hierarchical thinking. But that only leads to worse and worse outcomes for those at the bottom of the ladder. When we live as a circle where the last are first and the first last, we embrace community. We come together to help everyone thrive. It’s a beautiful vision, and one that I don’t think will ever happen on this side of paradise. But I’ll keep striving anyway. I’ll keep striving, with God’s help, to tie the ends of the line together to make an unbroken circle.
Photo by lionel mermoz on Unsplash.
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