Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Jesus predicts his arrest, death and resurrection a second time in today’s reading, Mark 9:30-37. His disciples, uncomprehending as before, are afraid to ask for clarification—even the three who witnessed Jesus’ transfiguration on the mountaintop (9:2-8). For them, this is Jesus’ third mention of resurrection. Descending the mountain, they were sworn to secrecy until after he is raised from death (9:8). Perhaps they took this as a mysterious figure of speech.
On the road to Capernaum, their attention shifts to things they understand: they argue about which of them is greatest. It is as if Jesus’ teaching session following his first passion prediction (8:34-37) had never happened. Maybe the twelve assume that Jesus’ admonition to relinquish self-promotion applied only to the untutored masses he had addressed that day (8:34a). Surely, weighing the qualifications of the movement’s core leadership was an important matter! Yet, when Jesus asks later, “What were you debating on the way?” he is met with silence. Jesus gathers them and teaches, radically subverting the familiar practices and norms that determined rank in Mediterrranean culture: “Whoever wants to be great among you must be last of all and servant of all.” (v 35).
This model of greatness is no easier to embrace today than twenty centuries ago. We have ways of turning “humble” service itself into a contest for recognition, approval, and the status and decision-making power it may garner. Every congregation has its ubiquitous volunteer who manages to grab the reins of key committees and jealously guard the prerogatives of leadership. But blessedly, there are also those whose selfless, timely service is so quiet, unselfconscious, and largely invisible that we hardly know it is there. After a top executive of the largest company in my hometown died, it came to light that, throughout his working life, he had lived on a tenth of his income. He gave away the rest, year on year, anonymously. The impact of his generosity was immeasurable.
In vv 36-37 Jesus creates a living parable that portrays the inverted values of the reign of God. First, Jesus places a young child among his disciples. That Jesus asks his (male) disciples to pay attention to a child at all would have been counter-cultural. In that culture, young children were more liability than asset, economically; men had little to do with them. Children were loved, but on par with servants in status until puberty, when daughters could marry, sons could help support the family, and both could inherit property. Jesus takes this small, insignificant one in his arms and declares, “Whoever welcomes a child like this welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me (v 37). This was (and is) mind-bending. Welcome this weak one, this empty-handed one, and you welcome Jesus, which is to welcome the Holy One whose name is unspeakable.
In first century Jewish society, one hosted guests at least on par with oneself, or a notch higher—thus improving one’s own status. Welcoming children—helpless, incapable of imparting honor or improving one’s reputation—would be regarded as a foolish waste of resources. Such a practice would unravel the social fabric, and the first casualty would be one’s own reputation.
Of all Jesus’ teachings about the inverted values of the reign of God, this living parable and the saying that accompanies it are perhaps most theologically radical and socially consequential. Take it to heart. Search the faces of those frightened, hungry children in war zones on the evening news; you may discern Jesus among them. Let compassion turn into action, and you may begin to experience something of the Holy drawn near, the Creator God, unmaking and remaking the world.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 