Some probably haughtily thought they were the one, others may have supported someone else as top-ranking disciple - pointing out that it was one of the sons of Zebedee who amazingly got a 1600 on their Spiritual Aptitude Test. It was an argument, kind of like churches have arguments today over who’s right and who’s wrong, who’s in or who’s out, and who Jesus happens to like best.

Nowadays, we would like to forget that Jesus stopped this argument cold. He stopped it by saying, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” That’s not what they had in mind. The first, the best liked, would get to sit with Jesus on the tour bus. They would get to maybe have special knowledge or privilege among the group. Furthest away from their minds was the thought that the greatest would get to stay late cleaning up tables and sweeping the sand out of their room for the night. What he told them shut them up – for sure.

How do we hear these words today? We live in a constant state of “looking out for number one, wanting to have it all, and striving to be the best.” We as upwardly mobile Americans are well-schooled in trying to be the “greatest.” Every metaphor for and every symbol of success suggests that we have nowhere to go but up to greater and greater heights. The myth we tell ourselves as Americans is that anyone can “get ahead.”

How else do we describe success? --- Pull ourselves up by our bootstraps

What else is a symbol of success? --- Bigger car, house, etc.

Our myths and mottos are all driven by what Jesus points out to be a futile argument. “You arguing again? You think you’re so great? Let me tell you, whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Mark’s gospel especially makes note of how many times Jesus is trying to tell the disciples about what’s really happening to him, and what do they do but question or argue the point. He tells them about resurrection and they question what it could mean. He tells them about being betrayed and killed and they get scared, so they argue about who’s the greatest among them. They are the hand-picked disciples of Jesus, and over and over again, they don’t get it. It seems rather like Jesus either didn’t know what he was doing, or perhaps he didn’t have any better choices out there.

Unfortunately, we live by the world’s standards much more often than we live by Jesus’ standards ourselves. It wouldn’t take much for Jesus to catch me comparing myself to others – to my sister or sister-in-law, to other pastors, to other mothers at my son’s school, to other drivers on the road, the list seems endless. We want to know, am I a better mother than the one who hovers around the second grade classroom every day? Have I made all the right choices to have a successful career? Would Jesus tell me one of his special secrets about the meaning of life?

This comparison sort of stuff can eat you up after a while. There’s always someone better looking, richer, smarter, funnier, or just generally more capable than you out there. At least I know there’s always someone else whom I can justify as being better than me even when I’m quite good at chalking myself up as something pretty special. I don’t like that one bit!

But fortunately Jesus seems to have a remedy for all this comparison stuff that we do. It’s an object lesson. He says, “See this kid, this little child.” The disciples nod and say, “Yes,” in the manner that suggests, “You know we’re not as stupid as you think.” Jesus answers, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

OK, what? The disciples probably thought that Jesus had been out in the hot sun just a little too long. That makes no sense whatsoever. The last must be first - that at least makes a little sense if you’re looking for someone in the group to kiss up just a little bit more. But welcoming little kids? Is that really in a disciple’s job description?

These two very familiar passages about children – with what little is said about children in scripture – come pretty close together in the book of Mark. “Welcome them,” Jesus says, “and you welcome me.” And “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

I’m not sure that gives me much help in all my adult neediness to be right and to be successful. Children are inquisitive and curious – I guess that’s a benefit. They want to be loved and appreciated – just like we all do. But children are dependent. They are vulnerable. They are rarely considered successful without passing through a number of the hoops we set up for them. They don’t have good jobs, nor are they the owners of expensive cars or the largest house on the street. It takes some conditioning from us to begin to notice who’s rich or poor, thin or fat, smart or stupid. Adults are supposed to be hospitable to other adults from whom they have something to gain. Welcoming children into the fold doesn’t seem to count for much. They can’t vote yet, or pledge, or lend a hand in the kitchen. But welcoming them is somehow the key to welcoming Jesus.

Perhaps we do need some perspective on these human arguments. We need to see how silly it is to want to be Jesus’ favorite ones. Jesus isn’t playing that game, so why should we? I think he’s saying it’s more important to be welcoming than it is to be “right.” It’s more important to be dependent on God than to somehow be buddies with the Almighty. It’s more important to show humility than it is to put on airs with our neighbors. It’s more important to be loved than it is to be great.

We get it up here. Here goes Jesus again flipping the rules of the usual game upside down. And no more than a chapter after Jesus tells the disciples that welcoming children is the same thing as welcoming him, they decide to shoo children away that people try to bring up to him. In Mark’s gospel, the disciples are pretty dense, but at least that’s a good sign for us. We may get it, but it obviously takes a while to put these new rules into practice.

I happen to know how dumb it is to start the ball rolling on setting myself up to be so great and smart and capable, but unfortunately, I haven’t been able to completely quit the habit yet myself – which leaves me open to missing Jesus in my life. We can miss Jesus either in our own lives or as a congregation if we only welcome those who are like us in greatness – meaning similar levels of education, status, or subscribed beliefs. We must be open to welcoming the dependent and vulnerable, for Jesus’ point is that we’re all dependant and vulnerable and it doesn’t matter to him how great we are.

The kingdom is wide open to children. There’s no sign up saying, “Keep off the grass,” or “No fun allowed.” Jesus says, “Let the little children come. Welcome them in my name,” and then he takes them up in his arms, lays his tender hands upon them, and blesses them. Oh, to be a child again. To be a child again is to be wrapped in the arms of God.

I pray for you, me, and all of us to let go of the arguments that show us to be the dumb disciples we are. And I also pray that we will truly experience the joy of welcoming all of God’s children in this place, for then we will meet Jesus.

Amen.