Kids — munchkins — rug rats — ragamuffins — you have to love them. Jesus obviously did. Youngsters appear regularly in the gospel narratives. There must have been something not only winsome but downright fun about Jesus for children to want to be around him. And Jesus obviously appreciated the perspective of children — he went so far as to make that startling statement that unless we have the kind of faith that children have, we will miss out on the kingdom. What is that perspective? Is it trust? Some. Is it dependence? A bit. Is it humility? A little, maybe. All of those are true to an extent (albeit, in my humble opinion as a father, only a small extent). Actually, I think the childlike quality Jesus means most is the sense of wonder about life, the curiosity that is evident everywhere, the obvious joy in being alive, happily ready for whatever new adventure might come along.
For all the warm, fuzzy things we say about children, the other side of that coin is that children are often a big nuisance. They start out by causing incredible pain to Mom in childbirth (not to mention the equally incredible pain to the bank account). They interrupt sleep schedules. They offer strange-smelling discharges from various bodily orifices and often deposit them all over you. They cost thousands of dollars to feed and clothe and repay your generosity with a thumb of the nose. They aggravate, irritate, and infuriate. Finally, they get married and want a huge reception replete with ice sculptures for $22,000 or more. They are trouble.
What about their behavior? Jesus asked the twelve, "What were you arguing about on the road?" (v. 33). There was silence — embarrassed silence. Because "they had argued about who was the greatest" (v. 34). This is like the old Smothers Brothers routine: "Mom always liked you best!" It is laughable, and of course, childish.
Actually, there is only one we know as "the greatest." Muhammad Ali. (And you thought I was going to say Jesus.) Ali is a fascinating character (despite his current battle with Parkinson's), and he has been since his brash days in Louisville when we knew him as Cassius Clay and heard his boastful claim, made over and again through the years, "I am the greatest."
A sportswriter once asked him, "When you say, ‘I am the greatest,' do you mean the greatest fighter or the greatest human being?"
Ali replied quickly, "I mean that I am the greatest boxer. I will go down as the greatest boxer of all time."
The writer pressed him further. "But do you think that fifty years from now people will say that you were the greatest?"
Ali responded, "Fifty years from now everybody in this room will be dead. Nobody will remember what a great boxer I was. The only way I will not be forgotten is if I can do something to help and aid my people."[1] Smart man.
I wish, after almost 2,000 years of hearing our text, the world (not to mention the church) was that smart. Jesus says, "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all" (v. 35). We get an inkling of that truth occasionally in special lives such as the late Mother Teresa, but we notice them precisely because they are so rare. Then after Jesus picks up a little one who happens to be handy (and this child probably more resembles one of those filthy ragamuffins in a "Save the Children" commercial than one of those in our nursery), he says, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me" (v. 37).
The implications of that are more than a bit unsettling. Jesus does not say, "tolerate" the child or even, "provide" for the child. The Greek word literally means "accept," but the translation, "welcome," is appropriate. To welcome someone implies that we gladly extend our hospitality, and, in this case, the implication is that we are greeting an ambassador, an official representative. Who is this we welcome? Those who have no status (children in that day were not thought of as much more than property), those who may well be dirty, even filthy, possibly diseased, and most assuredly those at the bottom of the social ladder.
I would love to be able to report that the condition of children in this world is significantly improved since Jesus' time. After all, one of the few things that churches do not debate is that "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world."
A young rabbinical student asked the rabbi, "Rabbi, why don't people see God today as they did in the olden days?" The wise old man put his hands on the student's shoulders and said, "The answer, my son, is because no one is willing to stoop so low."[2]
An interesting thought: What would our answer be if Jesus came to us and asked, "What were you arguing about on the road?" Well, Lord, we were arguing about whether women should be equal to men in performing church functions. We were arguing about language for God — should we use masculine, feminine, both, neither? We were arguing about sexuality — if folks are homosexual, should they be included in the church? We were arguing about whether to support the World Council of Churches and the National Council of Churches. We were arguing about buying a new hymnal. We were arguing about how much money to pay to support the mission of the church around the world when we have so many needs here at home. Or, with the disciples, we might just admit that our arguments are over who is going to be top dog around here, the decision-maker, the one to whom everyone else will have to listen.
The one thing I want you to notice is Jesus' response. He does not put that ambition down, does not say how awful it is to want to be great ... or even the greatest. Instead, he says, "Here is the way to do it ... be a servant." Be a servant.
Then there is that reference about the first being last. We find that several places in the gospels — this utter reversal of the world's norms, this new way of keeping score. It is mind boggling ... until we realize that for the first to be last and the last to be first means that everyone has to cross the finish line together. Is that possible? Sure. If ... and this is a big if ... if we decide that is the way we will play life's game.
Sometime back, there was a story that came out of the Special Olympics. It seems that a contestant tripped and fell while running a race. Instead of just charging down the track oblivious to another competitor's distress, the other contestants stopped, went back, picked up their fallen comrade, then all of them ran together to the finish. First, last, who cared? Everyone made it across. That was all that mattered.
That is gospel. What matters is that we all make it across, even the least among us. That was Jesus' message that day in Capernaum. That is Jesus' message today. And remember, "Whoever welcomes one such ... in my name welcomes me...."
1. William Schwein, "Preaching on the Lessons," Clergy Journal, July 1997, p. 43.
2. Brian Stoffregen, via Ecunet, "Gospel Notes for Next Sunday," #8593.