There’s just enough distance between Jesus and his followers as they walk along that, though their words aren’t distinct to him, Jesus can tell they’re arguing.  The church continues to argue, mostly, it seems, based upon our sociopolitical convictions and commitments.  Party rather than piety; party as piety; party as purity.  If only we’d focus on keeping up with Jesus, we wouldn’t find we had the time or interest in arguing among ourselves.  If only Christians would focus on keeping up with Jesus, we’d have much better things to do and to be thinking about.  But so it is.  They were arguing, and it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Jesus asks them not because he has no idea what’s going on but because he wants his followers to be candid and open with him: confession.  I know you know I know what you were arguing about, so get it out in the open; now bring me into the matter, and let’s take a look, that way.  “But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest” (9:34).  Now, obviously, of course, Jesus was greatest, yes yes.  Once that’s out of the way, though, the real question remains: who is the Number One Disciple, The Super Apostle?  People who have been part of any church long enough have come to a pretty clear sense of who is involved and who is, um . . . less involved.  Every church has a ponderous list of MIAs.  No one ever has the full picture; there’s no occasion for passing sentence or taking pride in such observations, and people notice.

Maybe the point of their arguing wasn’t to establish the apostolic pecking order so much as to exhort everyone to do more, keep striving, pull their weight.  Just look at what she’s doing for the Lord!  Can’t we also try to be more like that??  If you’ve ever had to lug around someone else’s unmotivated weight—at school, work, or at home—you know the resentment and frustration that can come with that.  No—no one ever has the full picture; there’s no occasion for passing sentence or taking pride in such observations, and people notice.

We hear often about Peter, and James and John, but not much about Simon, or Thaddeus, or James son of Alphaeus.  It wouldn’t be hard to conclude that those last three just didn’t rise to the same heights as the first three.  Are we supposed to rise to the level of someone else?  Are we to rise to our own best level, whatever that might be?  Are we to rise to Christ?  Paul wrote to the believers in Rome, encouraging them to, “Love each other with genuine affection, and outdo one another in showing honor” (Rom 12:10).  Honoring one another—having true regard for one another: treating one another with respect, consideration, and kindness—truly valuing one another, just as Christ values each of us.

It’s a little strange to think of Christ honoring us: surely, we are the ones who ought to be honoring Christ.  John the Baptist saw this right away.  God deserves all our attention, all our labor, all our wealth, all our devotion, all our love, and all our honor, and He comes to us in Jesus Christ to give us His attention, labor, wealth, devotion, love, and honor.  Just consider all this the next time someone wants to tell you that the God of the Bible is cold, distant, hard, cruel, uncaring, and judgmental.  As if the last one who ought to do any judging were God.

How does Christ demonstrate how he values us?  He shows us in everything he does.  In what we heard from Mark today, Jesus shows us how he values us by reminding us that the way of God’s greatness comes not in demanding privilege or deference but in voluntarily serving: putting others before oneself, valuing their welfare, too; finding our welfare in caring about theirs.

A few years back, Mel Gibson made a film about Desmond Doss, an army medic in the Pacific during World War Two.  As American and Japanese forces butchered each other on Okinawa in the spring of 1945, Doss singlehandedly saved seventy-five soldiers during a particular battle at a place they called Hacksaw Ridge.  The film takes time to build up to that battle in order to help us see that Doss wasn’t just doing his duty there.  A committed Christian, Doss understood what his faith required in the killing fields of Okinawa.  To follow Christ, there, and anywhere, meant being “the servant of all” (9:35)—finding your welfare in caring about theirs.

Caring about others . . . in many Bible commentaries, much is made of the low social status of children.  A few years ago, when Nicholas was much younger, he was outside with me; I was out at the end of the driveway.  A neighbor rolled up in a golf cart and began talking to me.  Nicholas knew the neighbor and came over and said hello.  The neighbor continued talking to me as if Nicholas hadn’t been there and hadn’t said a thing.  I was a little surprised; I didn’t say anything about it, but it made an impression.  This child didn’t matter to this adult.  This adult was too busy with Very Important Adult Things to bother acknowledging any children who might come over to say hello.

It’s a very French thought, so I take it with the necessary shakes of salt, but a French author, thinking about Francis of Assisi, observed, “God is what children know, not adults.”[1]

Well, children, you know, always gabbing their nonsense, demanding our time and attention and interest and all, as if we ought to have all the time in the world for them, just because they have all the time in the world for us, if we’d let them.  Need, need, need—endless need.  Well, I have my own needs to think about, thank you, and my own needs happen to occupy me greatly, not to say exclusively.  Tie their shoes, brush their teeth, wipe their noses, get them a snack, a drink—good Lord!  Just get the kid a bike, throw some money at him, and tell him to buzz off until dinner.

Well, they do grow up, don’t they?  And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little Boy Blue and the man in the moon.  And, in the meantime, yes, children do require our time, our attention, our care and concern.  Is this a burden or a blessing, manacles on our freedom or our particular ministry?  Children need things done for them, for a while, anyway.  Children, by definition, are those who are unable to do things, many things, for themselves.  They need help; more, they need love.  We can’t always help them, even when we want to, God knows, but we can always love them.  If only we would.

Jesus came for those who need help, who can’t help themselves, who know they can’t, who know they need someone to help.  “Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me” (9:37).  When we make time for those who need the help we can provide, we welcome them as Jesus welcomes us, if we would welcome him.  “Behold I stand at the door and knock.”  Not everyone opens the door.  Too busy.  Too tired.  Not at home, again.  On the road somewhere to do—what was it, today?  Jesus reminds us that “whoever welcomes” him “does not welcome [Jesus] but the one who sent” him (9:37).  When we open our hearts and arms to those in need of help around us where God has placed us, wherever God places us and takes us—sends us—we’re doing just what God asks of us; we’re welcoming and sharing the power and presence of God in and through our lives.

Yes, in one sense, it’s what we make time for in our lives.  We’re never going to find it; we’re always losing time, but we can make time—that’s a choice, and yes, it involves certain sacrifices.  Sacrifice—Jesus knows something about that, and those who would follow him will need to learn some things about it, too.  It’s not really what we make time for, though—it’s who: who we make time for.  We’re good at finding the way to make time for ourselves, even if we don’t think so.  Christ invites us to learn the blessedness of making time for others.  As we make time for others, Jesus assures us, we will also be discovering that we are making time, making room, for God.

God is what children know.  Children know they need help, and they come, seeking, asking, hoping.  They want to be noticed, included, loved—this shapes their outlook on life tremendously.  They want to be encouraged, built up, nurtured: our Father knows, and He gives.  Like the cross ever before us and the baptismal font always near, this table is a constant, potent, active reminder that God gives.  Today, especially, we are reminded, with this bread and this juice: ready to be offered, ready to be received, ready to do the work in us that God is pleased to accomplish in us, and through us, by the Spirit.  Do you need God’s help?  Do you want God’s help?  Do you believe that God can help and is the only real help there is?  Whether you do with full conviction, growing conviction, or even with many questions, I assure you, God is here; He wants to help, He delights in helping, and is offering you, here, the best help of all, Christ Jesus, who came for you, died for you, and lives for you to help, to bless, to love.

[1] Christian Bobin.  The Very Lowly: A Meditation on Francis of Assisi.  Trans. Michael H. Kohn.  Boston: New Seeds, 1997.  94.