Mark 9:30-37

Have you ever said to someone, “I don’t think we’re on the same page”? It’s a description of a frustrating conversation. There seem to be similar words and concepts but also a clear disconnect. Finally, you pause, and you realize you are talking about two completely different things. It happens in our passage from Mark’s gospel today. 

Simon Peter had a moment of brilliance earlier. Jesus asked his disciples “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter answered, “You are the Messiah.” He was on the same page as Jesus. And Peter’s conclusion was logical. Peter had been up on the Mountain of Transfiguration and been blinded by a radiant Jesus. Jesus had healed countless people. Jesus seemed like a savior, the Messiah. So, topping off these great moments was Peter’s confession.

On the other hand, there have been disturbing moments. Jesus speaks several times about his future suffering and death. Peter rebukes him for these unpleasant predictions. And Jesus scolds Peter for this rebuke. They are still talking about Jesus, the Messiah, but Peter’s idea of what a Messiah is, how he acts, is not in sync with Jesus. Jesus says, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands and be killed.” Jesus and the disciples are not on the same page.

Then, as they enter the town of Capernaum, Jesus turns and asks the disciples what they were arguing about. They must have been embarrassed. Their awkward silence is palpable. One writer [Eugene Peterson] calls the silence “deafening.” We have all been in that position.  

Imagine—some kids make a raucous in the basement. A parent calls down the stairs, “What’s going on down there?” The response is “Nothing, nothing!” The disciples have been discussing who among them is the greatest. Jesus has been talking about his death and they are talking about who is the greatest. Who would not be embarrassed? Of course, Jesus, like a parent, already knew what was going on.

We should not think ourselves superior to the disciples. We would probably feel similarly uncomfortable in their place. This is not an exercise in attacking their flawed ideas about discipleship. We could easily become distracted by judging ourselves greater than the disciples—more faithful, more aware, more on the same page as Jesus. Today’s stories are about how we, so many years later and with the full narrative of Jesus in mind, might follow Jesus.

After interrupting the argument about who is the greatest, Jesus sits down like a teacher. We know this is not casual conversation. He is going to say something crucial. Jesus often uses more than words to teach his lessons. This case is not different. This time his illustration is a little child. We have several stumbling blocks to go over before we can truly understand this illustration.  

A child in our culture is deeply valued and put first in our priorities. At least we would like to think so, in spite of the number of children in poverty. We coo over babies. We cheer on kids when they sing and play. And youthfulness is glorified just about everywhere.

And artists through the ages have not helped us. Can you pull up in your memory a painting over an altar or in a church narthex portraying children? They were often, at least in the last century portrayed as pure and angelic. More importantly, there seem to be lacking in nothing. It is easy for us to sentimentalize Jesus’ action of picking up a small child and telling his followers to do likewise. It is a sweet scene—Jesus tenderly cuddles a child and appeals to the soft hearts under the tough exterior of these big rough disciples.

But that is not what is going on here. Instead of a sweet moment, the disciples are experiencing a radical up-ending of the way they think things should be.  In the time of Jesus, a child was lowest on the priority list. Children had no status. They were subject to the authority of their father. Often, they were expendable. And so Jesus gesture here is potent. 

The child that Jesus reaches out to is similar to many of the children in Charles Dickens’ novels, except for Tiny Tim, the star of the famous story “A Christmas Carol.” When I hear Jesus tell his disciples, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me,” I imagine characters like Jo from the great novel “Bleak House.” 

Dickens writes that “Jo lives in a ruinous place, known to the like of him by the name of Tom-all-Alone’s. It is a black, dilapidated street avoided by all decent people, where the crazy houses were seized upon when their decay was far advanced by some bold vagrants who, after establishing their own possession, took to letting them out in lodgings.”  

Jo and other child characters in Dickens’ works are often referred to as urchins, small raggedly children who do their best to survive in an adult world. The root of the word comes from the Latin for hedgehog, a rather prickly unkempt-looking animal. The good news is that in the novel there are people who not only look out for Jo but who bring him into their home.

Jesus’ disciples are not there yet. This is a radical up-ending of the way they think things should be. This is not what they hope life will be like when Jesus comes into their idea of glory. They want to find their way to the top. They want to claim greatness. And he tells them to lay claim to the last and lowest place and people. When they welcome a child, they welcome him. They even welcome the one who sent him. Picture the urchin child Jo again.  

Jesus’ command makes no sense to the disciples. Welcome someone who does not have the power or ability or place to welcome them in turn? No expectation of reciprocity? No return on our investment. First, our teacher keeps talking about suffering and dying instead of victory and glory. Now we must welcome and even value small, insignificant, powerless people, the least among us?

Every generation of Christians in every geographic context gets to translate “the least among us” for our time and place. What does that look like in 2024 in Chelan, WA. The truth is that I have followed your congregation since becoming a pastor in the synod in 2010 and I know that you have been quite attentive to the least—be they veterans, people from all walks of life who might have died alone without this congregation, other congregations struggling for whom you have prayed faithfully. 

But the world keeps turning and there are always new people on the margins of the notebooks of our lives. Who are you being beckoned to welcome today? What are the hurdles? 

Remember that the original argument in this morning’s gospel text is all about greatness. The promise for you and me today is that Jesus’ becoming human, the incarnation, overturned the world’s understanding of greatness. Because God becoming human decided that greatness is not about separation, it’s about solidarity. Greatness is not about being better; it’s about relationship. Greatness for God is about being with—Immanuel—which means God with us.

Strength comes in weakness. Glory is found in the death on a rugged cross. Welcoming children is like welcoming Jesus. And thanks be to God, you do not have to fully understand in order to follow Jesus. You can be a bit like those early disciples who couldn’t always put the pieces together, were not always on the same page as Jesus, but kept stumbling after him anyways. 

Faith is about trusting the promise of God’s love and all the promises encompassed by that love. Full comprehension is not required for you to hear the words of forgiveness and love. Full comprehension is not event required for you to participate in the Lord’s Supper. You simply have to put out your hand and receive. We follow Jesus as the disciples did, because we know that Jesus is the only place worth being. In him there is love and abundant life for the world.