Greatness in the Eyes of God
Sermon by Pr. Michelle Sevig on the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost + September 22, 2024
Have you seen the bumper sticker, “Start Seeing Motorcycles!” I didn’t know I wasn’t seeing motorcycles, but I guess that’s the point. How do you begin to see something that you didn’t know was missing?
“Start seeing the resurrection!” could be the bumper sticker Jesus would use in today's gospel text. Jesus is teaching them about what is to come, that he will die and rise again in three days. But the disciples are confused and afraid. No one is willing to raise their hand and say: “I don’t understand,” because that might lead to being seen as the dumbest disciple instead of the greatest one.
Instead of asking questions and getting clarity on what lies ahead they argue with one another about which one of them is the greatest. Which one is the best disciple? Who will be chosen to represent Jesus after his death? Who is the greatest?
It’s easy to criticize them for missing the point, but their argument about greatness mirrors our own human tendencies. We, too, are drawn into comparisons, competition, and the desire to be better than others. We seek validation, status, and recognition, often at the expense of others. We know all too well this human tendency to compare, to one up our neighbor, to grapple our way to the top. High school students compare their acceptance letters to elite colleges. Parents compare the accomplishments or giftedness of their children. Co-workers compare who is better, most efficient, or most deserving of the promotion or raise. Political candidates compare who is the greatest, the kindest, the best; the one who cares the most about you, the voter. Even countries lay their claim to be the greatest nation.
The world is full of messages about greatness. We’re told greatness is about success, power, prestige, wealth, and influence. Yet, in the passage we read today from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus turns this definition of greatness on its head. When they arrive in Capernaum, Jesus asks them: “What were you arguing about on the way?” They remain silent, knowing their conversation was misguided. So, Jesus sits them down and teaches them something radically different about what it means to be great in the kingdom of God. He says, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”
To drive the point home, Jesus places a child in their midst 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.” In this act of welcoming a child, Jesus is not simply teaching us to be kind to children. He is making a much deeper point about what true greatness looks like in the eyes of God.
Unlike today where children are adored and revered, in the ancient world, children had no status, no rights, and no power. They were, physically and culturally, the lowest of all people, with nothing to offer anyone in terms of honor and status. For Jesus to tell his disciples that welcoming a lowly child was the way to welcome him—and through him, to welcome God—was to turn all their notions of greatness upside-down. In a society where power and status were everything, Jesus is telling his disciples that they must embrace and welcome those who are powerless, those who have nothing to offer in return, because the path to greatness in God’s kingdom is through humility and service to the least and the most vulnerable.
This teaching is just as radical today as it was for the disciples. We live in a world that is obsessed with power and privilege, and with being right. We see it in our politics, where partisanship and posturing often take precedence over real solutions for those who suffer. How often do we let our fear and our desire to be right get in the way of truly listening to others? How often do we demonize those with whom we disagree, instead of taking the time to understand their perspective? When we are caught in this cycle of needing to be right or superior, we are trapped by our egos.
But Jesus calls us to something different. He calls us to humble ourselves, to set aside our egos, and to approach one another with the openness and curiosity of a child. The path to greatness requires humility. It requires us to ask questions, even when doing so reveals that we don’t have everything figured out.
Pastor Amy Redwine says it beautifully in her sermon encouraging us to be more curious with questions, than certain with our answers; she says, “The vital crucible of difficult conversations depends on our willingness to push past our fear and insecurity and be willing to keep asking questions. Because questions are what keep the conversation going.”
Asking questions doesn’t come easily in a world where we are often rewarded for having the right answers, for being the expert, or for winning the debate. But questions are how we open ourselves up to another person. They are how we begin to understand the experiences, struggles, and perspectives of someone who may be very different from us. This openness to others, this willingness to learn and grow, is also a way of welcoming Christ into our lives. Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” When we humble ourselves, when we open our hearts to others, we are welcoming Jesus into our midst.
This humility is not just about asking questions; it’s also about admitting that we might be wrong. Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber offers a powerful reflection on this year’s presidential election and finding her own way in the midst of the posturing about who is the greatest candidate. She writes, “Don’t mistake me. I haven’t budged on women’s rights and gun control and a number of other issues that make me other people’s ‘enemy.’ I just want to have a modicum of humility—just barely enough to say that maybe God’s mercy is as much for me as it is for them.”
This is an important point. Being humble doesn’t mean abandoning our convictions or staying silent in the face of injustice. It means recognizing that even in our deepest beliefs, there is room for God’s grace. Pastor Nadia continues: “Because as impossible as this is for me to believe most days, I may be wrong about some things. And if I am, I’m going to need a God who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, not a God who sides with me and smites my enemies.”
This is the kind of humility that Jesus calls us to embody. It’s the humility to admit that we don’t have all the answers. It’s the humility to recognize that we are in need of God’s grace, just as much as those with whom we disagree are in need of God’s grace too.
Ultimately, the greatness that Jesus speaks of is found in service. He tells his disciples that whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all. What does it look like for us to serve others in our lives today? It might mean listening to someone with whom we disagree, with an open heart and mind. It might mean taking time to care for the most vulnerable in our communities—whether that’s through direct service or through advocating for justice. It might mean welcoming the stranger, the outcast, or the child, just as Jesus did.
The clearest image of God’s welcome for us all is at the Eucharistic table, especially when children come forward —hands open and ready to receive the bread and the wine. In this we get a glimpse of the coming kingdom of God. Their participation in the sacrament of the Eucharist teaches the rest of the church something very important about God and our relationship with God. The sacrament is a gift of grace, not one reserved for the greatest among us, but one that is offered to the least of these. When children boldly receive God’s grace without any conditions attached, the church can learn again the meaning of trust and faith.
And so we come, all of us—in every age and of every age—hungry. Because we’re not so different from those first disciples. We are both faithful and faithless—silent and afraid more often than we care to admit. And we come guilty of judging ourselves and others by grades, trophies or salaries, quick to say when we’ve won the contest “I’m better than she is,” or worse yet, when we’ve lost, “ I’m absolutely no good at all.”
Jesus re-interprets greatness by calling everyone to the table. In this place and at this table the invisible is made visible, in bread and wine, in word and in witness. We celebrate grace freely given, received by unworthy, but grateful people. Maybe it will be a child welcomed at the table, who will teach us a thing or two about celebrating, leading us in our joyful participation in this victory feast.
