The Child
Text: Mark 9:30-37
I was driving down the interstate one day and a bumper sticker caught my attention. It said, "Start seeing motorcycles." I laughed a little in a smug sort of way and thought, "I didn’t know I wasn’t seeing motorcycles." Then that little voice inside my head—the one I know I better listen to—said, "That’s the whole point, Little Miss Peacock!" Well, that sat me back on my heels, and I began to think, "How do you begin to ‘see’ something that you didn’t know you weren’t seeing?" That’s the puzzle.
"How do you begin to ‘see’ something that you do not know you aren’t seeing?" Then, a few weeks later, I read this text.
Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. He is on his way to his death on the cross. He is passing through Galilee with his disciples and he is teaching them about his death and resurrection. Jesus said to them a second time, The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.
In other words, Jesus is saying to his disciples, "Start seeing my death and resurrection." Because he knows they have no clue about what it means to be the Messiah.The disciples simply do not "see."
They do not understand what Jesus is saying, and they are afraid to ask him to explain. Perhaps, they are afraid of looking "stupid" like so many of us—you know, when we will not speak up when there is something said that we do not understand. But, whatever the reason for their fear, they remain unable and unwilling—and maybe that’s the best word—unwilling—to understand the journey they are taking with Jesus. They really are clueless.
So, instead, they embark on a discussion about personal "greatness." That is all Mark says in the text. We, the readers, are spared a rehearsal of the disciples’ self-praise. But I shall not spare them. If they were arguing about which of them was the "greatest," it is easy enough to imagine how the conversation went.
For, you see, they are like students comparing their SAT scores. They are like athletes tallying up the points they have scored. They are like ministers discussing how many they worship each week—"we worship about 653 in both our services." They are like the executive who writes measurable amounts on a memo.
James and John have just been on the mount of transfiguration with Jesus, and so, they are freshly persuaded of their elite status. They say, "We saw Elijah and Moses talking with Jesus. When Jesus is King, one of us who will sit at Jesus’ right hand and the other at his left."
But, Peter is the one who has recently confessed Jesus as the Messiah, the King-to-be, and he is convinced his knowledge surpasses them all. He boasts, "I was the first to recognize who Jesus is. It is I who will advise Jesus on his strategy. Therefore, I am the one most prominent."
Simon, the Zealot, is filled with revolutionary zeal, and he is quick to fire back, "You may have recognized the Messiah first. But I am the Zealot. I will be the one chosen to lead the charge against the Romans when we take Jerusalem, and in victory, I am the one who will be honored by the King."
Matthew, the tax collector, is not going to be outdone. He prides himself on his powerful connections. He boast, "I am the one who knows all the right people in high places. When the time comes, I will be given the seat of honor."
And Judas, well Judas he just smugly waits until all have had their say and then he simply says, "I am the one who carries the purse. What does that tell you?"
Which of the disciples is the star pupil? Who is the "greatest?"
After a time, Jesus and the Twelve come to Capernaum beside the Sea of Galilee. Arriving at Capernaum brings Jesus and his disciples back home. They will rest here for a bit before going on to Judea. They enter a familiar household, and Jesus asks them, What were you arguing about on the way? But they are silent. They do not answer him.
Jesus knows, however, that they have been embroiled in a debate about their individual claims to "greatness." So, aware of their ignorance of God’s way, he summons them to a formal teaching session. He sits down, and then offers them a one-liner about radical reversal. He says—anyone who aspires to be number one, should seek to be last and should assume the role of a servant.
Jesus is not content to make his point solely with words. He then enacts his meaning symbolically. He takes a little child of the household into his arms. Now, this gesture may seem insignificant to us who are accustomed to taking little children into our arms. But, in the day of Jesus, such a gesture is a reversal of the prevailing values of that time concerning children. Children did not enjoy the central valuation then as they receive in our culture today.
In the Greco-Roman world, children were the least-valued members of society; they were considered not yet fully human. According to ancient laws children had no legal rights, but a father had the right brutally to punish, sell, pawn, expose, and even kill his own child. Newborns could be exposed—abandoned in a public place—where they would die, or be picked up by strangers and raised for profit as slaves, or prostitutes, or beggars.
The status and treatment of children by the Israelites was more positive. To the Israelite, children were considered a blessing from God, and exposure and infanticide were prohibited. Nevertheless, listen to a rabbi’s valuation about associating with children. He says, "Morning sleep and noon wine and children’s talk and sitting in meeting houses with ignorant people put a man out of the world." In other words, according to rabbinic wisdom association with children is unprofitable for those who wish to advance religiously.
This language echoes the culture’s view of children. To almost all adults, and certainly to adult male disciples focused on their alpha male teacher and their own pursuit of "greatness" as his followers, children were of no consequence. Children were invisible.
A perfect example of this is the disciples’ rebuke of those who were bringing little children to Jesus. Their action in this case demonstrates how, even among the Israelites, children were lowered in value and esteem to a position of insignificance both socially and religiously.
The child in this text serves as an example of the least-important member of society—one who is otherwise invisible. And for Jesus to embrace the child, to make himself a loving servant to such a one, is to fly in the face of rabbinic wisdom.
By embracing the child, one who actually has the status of last and lowest, who of all is least able to reward such attention, Jesus is demonstrating what it means to be great by being servant to all. To become a servant to the least significant member of society, to devote one’s time and attention to those who are least able to reward one for such service-—that is true "greatness."
Anyone who aspires to be number one, should seek to be last and should assume the role of a servant.
After this remarkable action of taking a child in his arms to illustrate real "greatness," Jesus goes on to make an even more remarkable statement:
Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me, but him who sent me.
Jesus not only embraces the child, but by making this statement, he also identifies himself with the child. Jesus "sees" something the disciples do not even know they are not seeing. But, in what sense is Jesus identifying himself with the child?
I would like to suggest that Jesus identifies himself with the child in the context of his passion. Let us step back for a minute and I will try to explain what I mean.
Jesus is on his way and he is teaching his disciples: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise again. Here, Jesus is identifying himself as a suffering, rejected figure.
In this description, Jesus likens himself to the child. Remember—the devaluing of children in the ancient world was expressed not only by social rejection, but, even more drastically, by exposure or infanticide at the hands of one’s own family. The fate of the child parallels the fate of Jesus.
By receiving the child, you receive me, he says, —receive the child, receive me. Jesus takes the child totally to himself. In this way, Jesus identifies himself with the small, the least, the lowest, the powerless, the abandoned, the exposed, the killed. I will be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill me. The child represents Jesus.
Jesus assumed the status and the lot of the child in its cruelest form in order to fulfill the mission for which God sent him. In his passion, Jesus is like the child who is rejected and killed. But, the Twelve, who practice a different kind of "greatness" than his own, are ultimately unable to receive Jesus in his childlike role as the suffering, rejected Son of Man.
They do not "see" the child, and they do not even know that they are not "seeing." The consequence of their not seeing is that when Jesus enters his passion, they go away. One betrays him. Another denies him. They all scatter. In the end, they abandon him. They leave him exposed. And cruel men kill him.
Today, in our modern world with its distorted ideas of "greatness," God is still searching for a people who will stand in solidarity with the One who became as a child in order to do God’s work. Jesus made this kind of radical love central to his vision of what it means to attain "greatness" in the community of his disciples.
God is still searching for a people who will redefine "greatness" and status in terms of this vision of Jesus in order to do their work. Make no mistake, this is the vision that lies at the very heart of the church’s identity, and this is the test of the church’s claim to follow Jesus.
Disciples—start seeing Jesus.
I was driving down the interstate one day and a bumper sticker caught my attention. It said, "Start seeing motorcycles." I laughed a little in a smug sort of way and thought, "I didn’t know I wasn’t seeing motorcycles." Then that little voice inside my head—the one I know I better listen to—said, "That’s the whole point, Little Miss Peacock!" Well, that sat me back on my heels, and I began to think, "How do you begin to ‘see’ something that you didn’t know you weren’t seeing?" That’s the puzzle.
"How do you begin to ‘see’ something that you do not know you aren’t seeing?" Then, a few weeks later, I read this text.
Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. He is on his way to his death on the cross. He is passing through Galilee with his disciples and he is teaching them about his death and resurrection. Jesus said to them a second time, The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.
In other words, Jesus is saying to his disciples, "Start seeing my death and resurrection." Because he knows they have no clue about what it means to be the Messiah.The disciples simply do not "see."
They do not understand what Jesus is saying, and they are afraid to ask him to explain. Perhaps, they are afraid of looking "stupid" like so many of us—you know, when we will not speak up when there is something said that we do not understand. But, whatever the reason for their fear, they remain unable and unwilling—and maybe that’s the best word—unwilling—to understand the journey they are taking with Jesus. They really are clueless.
So, instead, they embark on a discussion about personal "greatness." That is all Mark says in the text. We, the readers, are spared a rehearsal of the disciples’ self-praise. But I shall not spare them. If they were arguing about which of them was the "greatest," it is easy enough to imagine how the conversation went.
For, you see, they are like students comparing their SAT scores. They are like athletes tallying up the points they have scored. They are like ministers discussing how many they worship each week—"we worship about 653 in both our services." They are like the executive who writes measurable amounts on a memo.
James and John have just been on the mount of transfiguration with Jesus, and so, they are freshly persuaded of their elite status. They say, "We saw Elijah and Moses talking with Jesus. When Jesus is King, one of us who will sit at Jesus’ right hand and the other at his left."
But, Peter is the one who has recently confessed Jesus as the Messiah, the King-to-be, and he is convinced his knowledge surpasses them all. He boasts, "I was the first to recognize who Jesus is. It is I who will advise Jesus on his strategy. Therefore, I am the one most prominent."
Simon, the Zealot, is filled with revolutionary zeal, and he is quick to fire back, "You may have recognized the Messiah first. But I am the Zealot. I will be the one chosen to lead the charge against the Romans when we take Jerusalem, and in victory, I am the one who will be honored by the King."
Matthew, the tax collector, is not going to be outdone. He prides himself on his powerful connections. He boast, "I am the one who knows all the right people in high places. When the time comes, I will be given the seat of honor."
And Judas, well Judas he just smugly waits until all have had their say and then he simply says, "I am the one who carries the purse. What does that tell you?"
Which of the disciples is the star pupil? Who is the "greatest?"
After a time, Jesus and the Twelve come to Capernaum beside the Sea of Galilee. Arriving at Capernaum brings Jesus and his disciples back home. They will rest here for a bit before going on to Judea. They enter a familiar household, and Jesus asks them, What were you arguing about on the way? But they are silent. They do not answer him.
Jesus knows, however, that they have been embroiled in a debate about their individual claims to "greatness." So, aware of their ignorance of God’s way, he summons them to a formal teaching session. He sits down, and then offers them a one-liner about radical reversal. He says—anyone who aspires to be number one, should seek to be last and should assume the role of a servant.
Jesus is not content to make his point solely with words. He then enacts his meaning symbolically. He takes a little child of the household into his arms. Now, this gesture may seem insignificant to us who are accustomed to taking little children into our arms. But, in the day of Jesus, such a gesture is a reversal of the prevailing values of that time concerning children. Children did not enjoy the central valuation then as they receive in our culture today.
In the Greco-Roman world, children were the least-valued members of society; they were considered not yet fully human. According to ancient laws children had no legal rights, but a father had the right brutally to punish, sell, pawn, expose, and even kill his own child. Newborns could be exposed—abandoned in a public place—where they would die, or be picked up by strangers and raised for profit as slaves, or prostitutes, or beggars.
The status and treatment of children by the Israelites was more positive. To the Israelite, children were considered a blessing from God, and exposure and infanticide were prohibited. Nevertheless, listen to a rabbi’s valuation about associating with children. He says, "Morning sleep and noon wine and children’s talk and sitting in meeting houses with ignorant people put a man out of the world." In other words, according to rabbinic wisdom association with children is unprofitable for those who wish to advance religiously.
This language echoes the culture’s view of children. To almost all adults, and certainly to adult male disciples focused on their alpha male teacher and their own pursuit of "greatness" as his followers, children were of no consequence. Children were invisible.
A perfect example of this is the disciples’ rebuke of those who were bringing little children to Jesus. Their action in this case demonstrates how, even among the Israelites, children were lowered in value and esteem to a position of insignificance both socially and religiously.
The child in this text serves as an example of the least-important member of society—one who is otherwise invisible. And for Jesus to embrace the child, to make himself a loving servant to such a one, is to fly in the face of rabbinic wisdom.
By embracing the child, one who actually has the status of last and lowest, who of all is least able to reward such attention, Jesus is demonstrating what it means to be great by being servant to all. To become a servant to the least significant member of society, to devote one’s time and attention to those who are least able to reward one for such service-—that is true "greatness."
Anyone who aspires to be number one, should seek to be last and should assume the role of a servant.
After this remarkable action of taking a child in his arms to illustrate real "greatness," Jesus goes on to make an even more remarkable statement:
Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me, but him who sent me.
Jesus not only embraces the child, but by making this statement, he also identifies himself with the child. Jesus "sees" something the disciples do not even know they are not seeing. But, in what sense is Jesus identifying himself with the child?
I would like to suggest that Jesus identifies himself with the child in the context of his passion. Let us step back for a minute and I will try to explain what I mean.
Jesus is on his way and he is teaching his disciples: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise again. Here, Jesus is identifying himself as a suffering, rejected figure.
In this description, Jesus likens himself to the child. Remember—the devaluing of children in the ancient world was expressed not only by social rejection, but, even more drastically, by exposure or infanticide at the hands of one’s own family. The fate of the child parallels the fate of Jesus.
By receiving the child, you receive me, he says, —receive the child, receive me. Jesus takes the child totally to himself. In this way, Jesus identifies himself with the small, the least, the lowest, the powerless, the abandoned, the exposed, the killed. I will be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill me. The child represents Jesus.
Jesus assumed the status and the lot of the child in its cruelest form in order to fulfill the mission for which God sent him. In his passion, Jesus is like the child who is rejected and killed. But, the Twelve, who practice a different kind of "greatness" than his own, are ultimately unable to receive Jesus in his childlike role as the suffering, rejected Son of Man.
They do not "see" the child, and they do not even know that they are not "seeing." The consequence of their not seeing is that when Jesus enters his passion, they go away. One betrays him. Another denies him. They all scatter. In the end, they abandon him. They leave him exposed. And cruel men kill him.
Today, in our modern world with its distorted ideas of "greatness," God is still searching for a people who will stand in solidarity with the One who became as a child in order to do God’s work. Jesus made this kind of radical love central to his vision of what it means to attain "greatness" in the community of his disciples.
God is still searching for a people who will redefine "greatness" and status in terms of this vision of Jesus in order to do their work. Make no mistake, this is the vision that lies at the very heart of the church’s identity, and this is the test of the church’s claim to follow Jesus.
Disciples—start seeing Jesus.
posted by Rev. Jo | 1:42 PM
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