Who's on First?

Mark 9:30-37
Pentecost 17
September 19, 2021

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.

 

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

 

No doubt some of you are old enough to remember the gag from comedians Abbott and Costello. Listing the roster of a baseball team, they recite, “Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third.” The catcher is Today, and Tomorrow’s pitching.

 

I thought about asking a local radio personality who is a baseball fan to help me to repeat the comedy bit but changed my mind. It would be a distraction from the actual question. Who’s on first?

 

Who's on first? Each one of the disciples of Jesus answers, "Me."

 

Mark tells us they were arguing about this. They were following Jesus, which means they were behind them. Jesus was up front, leading the way. The twelve of them had lined up behind. As they walked, they began to argue. Which one of us is best? Which one of us is greatest? Who’s on first?

Now you can imagine this is the sort of thing that disciples say behind Jesus’ back. They would never think to say it to his face. That would sound superficial, self-serving, and superior. So when he asks, “What were you arguing about along the way,” nobody speaks up or says it out loud. But you know he had to be listening. After all, they were “arguing,” says Mark. That usually doesn’t happen quietly. They were debating which one of them was the greatest.

 I wish we could have listened in for the criteria. Imagine each one, stating his case:

 Simon Peter goes first. He always blustered in where angels feared to tread. He says, “I'm the one up front, and I would be a good front man. And I was the first one to discover Jesus' secret identity. Not only that, someday they’re going to call me the first Pope and build a church over my tombstone.”

 Then James says, “Well, I have always been part of the inner circle. He trusts me. He invites me to the mountain top to see the mysteries that the rest of you never see. Besides, I don't have as many issues as Simon Peter does.”

 His brother John nudges him and says, “Wait just a minute. Our Lord is always talking about love and friendship, Everybody knows I am the disciple that Jesus loves. We have a special bond. He’s going to lean on me if anything special needs to get done.”

 “None of you are very practical,” Matthew pipes up. “I know how to run a business. And I know how to befriend some of the Roman soldiers. You might say I know how to grease the skids. That will come in handy when this movement of his starts a few franchises.”

 “Matthew, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” The speaker is Judas Iscariot. He continues, “All of you trust me with the books. I pay all your bills. I’m the treasurer of the group, and I know the difference between a business and a mission. This is a mission. And unlike you, Matthew, I would never sell out the Lord.”

 Andrew waits until it’s quiet, clears his throat, and says, “I hate to say the obvious, but I am a whole lot humbler than the rest of you.” Philip laughs.

 James the Just states his case, “I have the requisite moral character.” Thaddeus says, “Well, I am tall and good looking. I look like the leader.” Simon the Canaanite, “Thaddeus, at least I still have all my hair. Plus there's a dagger under my cloak.”

 Well, Thomas, have anything to say? He replies, “I am a realist, not as naive as the rest of you.”

 How about you, Bartholomew. With quiet sincerity, he says, “None of you know me very well. I stay behind the scenes. That’s where you need to be, leading from behind while pushing people forward.”

 Just then, Philip pipes up, “Pick me, pick me. Why? Just pick me.”

 What a choice. After listening in to these disciples, a single question emerges, and here it is: “Lord, can't you do better than these guys?” Which one of them is the greatest? Why not pick a woman? When women take charge, things get done. They don’t have the swagger of masculinity, the inanity of bravado, nor the empty bluster. Maybe that’s why the church has always been led by women, even when they were denied official power. They get the work done.

 But a woman told me a secret recently, which she said that I could tell you. Promise you won’t tell anybody? She said, “Women are every bit as competitive as the men.” Especially in the beautiful hills of Clarks Summit.

 Competition. It is inevitable in any human gathering. It can creep into every relationship. It can infiltrate every family.

 I don’t know how it is with those of you who are single children. I don’t know where you compete – perhaps the office, or the tennis court, or among your friends. As for those of us with sisters and brothers, competition breaks out at the dinner table (“She got a bigger piece of apple pie than I did.”). Or when the report cards come out (“I got an A in math, and you weren’t smart enough.”). Or even in the lawyer’s office (“Daddy always loved me more.”).

 Competition can be fierce in families, even when there is a good referee. As the first-born of four children, all of us rapidly aging, I’ve never opted to look over my shoulder. I guess I never wanted to see who was gaining on me, or what kind of rebellion they were planning. No, I prefer the subtle approach. Like that coffee mug that I bought for my mother. It says, “I love how we don’t even need how to say it out loud that I’m your favorite child.” She keeps it on top of the refrigerator, and I reach for it every time I go to visit. Mom says she plays along with my delusion.

Ask her sometime, “Which of your kids is the best one?” She will roll her eyes. She’s just like Jesus.

 Often, we hear the phrase, “healthy competition.” As if a worthy challenge calls forth our best effort. See the swimmer who sharpens his stroke or the scholar who strives to become valedictorian. If the competition is “healthy” (whatever that means), the contest can improve us.  

The problem is a good many competitions are not healthy. A competitive marriage is probably not a happy one. We’ve all seen it: jostling for airtime, getting the first bid in for a night out with friends, gaining the upper hand financial, always compelled to win the argument or get in the last work. Sometimes couples will try to outspend one another. Or one will try to make the other dependent. Superiority is the name of that game. That’s shorthand for “I’m the greatest.”

 Likewise, a competitive friendship will not last very long. Sharing the accolades, bragging of advancements, dominating the phone call, always comparing as a way of inching forward. As somebody said one day in frustration, “I am weary of always coming in second for a race I never decided to run.” He paused, and added, “Do you suppose he always has to come out on top because he feels a deficit in himself?”

 Could be. Why do you think those twelve disciples believed that one of them had to be “better” than all the rest of them? Who is keeping score, anyway? Does Jesus single out one of us, to the exclusion of all others? No, I don’t think so.

 So this raises the issue of what kind of Christians we are going to be. Or to broaden it, what kind of church we are going to be.

 Clearly the disciples were missing a lot of the cues. For the second time, Jesus had declared he was going to give his life. He was going to give everything away for the salvation of the world. And they aren’t paying attention. They are too busy arguing which one of them is best, which one of them is the greatest, which one of them is first.

 Every year in our community, one of the local newspapers does a survey called, “The Best of the Abingtons.” The community is polled: who bakes the best pizza? Which dentist does the best job cleaning your teeth? Who is the go-to mechanic for fixing that rattle in your car? Which real estate agent is most likely to sell your house? What’s your favorite diner? Or the diner that has the best dessert? The poll purports to offer a service to newcomers. It is often a good way to sell some advertising.

 I am profoundly grateful that they have never asked, “Which church is the best?” If they did, I can only imagine Jesus responding the same way my mother has said of her children, “They are all different, but I love them all.” Of course they are all different. And some of them are not beyond the temptation to compete. Yet there is something about the whole process of comparison and measuring one against another that runs counter with the lesson Jesus gives in the text.

 “Want to be first? Be last. Want to be at the top? Be the servant of all.” Then in a shocking move, he draws in a young child, embraces the kid, and says, “Whoever welcomes the little one, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the One who sent me.” 

What makes this shocking is that children in that time and place were never used as sermon illustrations. According to several scholars, they were never that highly regarded in the Graeco-Roman world. So this is not a moment for inclusion (we’ll get to that in chapter ten), so much as a lesson about humility – about smallness – about stepping back from the temptation to be great and accepting the truth of being just like everybody else. 

It is a good lesson. It can be a hard lesson, especially if we should ever get knocked off a pedestal. But it is a lesson, all the same, an invitation to become a servant, not a master; a companion, not a challenger; a friend, not an overseer. Those who follow Jesus walk behind him – and they walk side by side. 

This was a lesson passed along by Henri Nouwen, the tenured professor at an Ivy League school, who took a sabbatical and spent time among the poor of Central America. The experience shook him deeply in the best possible way. He noted that we spend some much time and energy trying to get ahead of one another when we are truly walking the same road. And the great problem of competition is that it always stands in the way of compassion. We cannot love one another if we scramble to be better than one another. We cannot care from above; we can only care when we are side by side.

So which one of us is the greatest? Who’s the best? Who’s on first? Human questions, perhaps, but not heaven’s questions. Heaven wants to know is who is loving? Who is giving? Who is serving? Answer those questions, and you will see who’s following Jesus.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.