Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)
Wisdom 2:12, 17-20; James 3:16 – 4:3; Mark 9:30-37
I read a story a few years ago about a small jet with five passengers. While flying at thirty-thousand feet, the engine malfunctioned and the plane started to descend toward earth. The pilot came running out of the cockpit with a parachute strapped to his back and said, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The bad news is that the plane is going to crash and there is nothing I can do about it. The good news is that there are several parachutes on the wall in the back of the plane. The other bad news is that there are only four of them left and there are five of you. Good luck. Have a good evening and thank you for choosing our airline. With that, he gave the stunned passengers a thumbs up, opened the door, and jumped for safety.
Immediately, a man jumped out of his seat and said, “I am the greatest brain surgeon in the world. My patients depend on me and the world is a better place because of my breakthroughs.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back, and jumped.
Then a woman stood up and said, “I’m a partner in the biggest law firm in the country. We go up against big tobacco, asbestos companies, and fight for the little guy. The world is a better place with me in it.” She grabbed a pack, strapped it to her back and jumped.
Next, another man stood up and said, “I am arguably the smartest man in the world. My IQ is so great that I won’t even tell you what is, but surely you understand that the world needs me, so I simply must take a parachute.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back and jumped.
That left only two people on the plane, an elderly priest and a teenage boy.
“Young man,” said the priest, “you take the last parachute. You’re young; you still have your whole life ahead of you to do great things. God bless you and safe landing.”
The teenager grinned at the priest. “Thanks Father, but there are still two parachutes left. The smartest man in the world just grabbed my backpack.”
I thought about that story this past week when I first read this Sunday’s gospel as I prepared my homily and reflected on what are the qualities that makes one great . . . at least in the eyes of Jesus.
In today’s gospel, as they’re walking down the road to Capernaum, Jesus becomes intrigued by the conversation of his Apostles, their arguments over which one of them was the greatest. You see, they were still caught up in the popular notion that the Messiah would be a great and glorious conquering hero - another King David - someone who would conquer Israel’s enemies, restore Israel to peace and prosperity, and lead Israel to a place of prominence in the world. And if that’s what the Messiah was going to be, and if Jesus was the Messiah, just think of the implications for his righthand men: power, prestige, wealth. But they just didn’t get it. They just couldn’t understand and accept that Jesus had rejected that concept of Messiah, as we heard last Sunday. The type of Messiah he had come to be was one who would establish a kingdom, not of power and riches, but of love and righteousness. He would suffer greatly, be rejected by the Jewish leaders, and be killed, but would rise three days later.
Maybe part of why the Apostles had such a difficult time with this is because they just didn’t want to accept the implications for one who would follow a Messiah such as this. And so, Jesus spells it out for them and overturns their understanding of greatness by telling them that the greatest is not the one who is A #1, top of the list, king of the hill, but the one who is servant to all. Then he took a child, hugged him and tells them, “If you want to be great, welcome one like this child, become like this child.
To understand fully what Jesus was getting at in today’s gospel, we need to avoid romanticizing about childhood and appreciate that we live in a different culture than the one of this story. In the ancient society to which Jesus belonged, children were not the center of attention they are today. It was a time of 30% infant mortality and 60% of children were dead by the age of 16. Children had little status within the family. A minor child was on par with a slave, and only after reaching maturity was one considered a free person who could inherit the family estate. Children were loved but could be severely disciplined as well. And so, for Jesus to exalt the child in front of them was to insult these status seeking disciples.
And when he placed a child in his arms and told them to welcome such a child as if they were welcoming the Messiah himself, it was because the little child stood for all who are powerless, all who are in need of being cared for, all to whom we might owe service. Seeing the poor, the outsider, the meek as especially privileged is to see them as Christ’s little ones. His followers are to have concern for those who were not seemingly important. Christ is calling each of us to servanthood and to embrace the one who stands in our midst and is in need of being fed, clothed, washed, taught, embraced, and spoken lovingly to.
This kind of living for others, living for even those people whom we have a difficult time liking, isn’t easy. But living a life of service was never supposed to be easy. It’s a difficult way to live, but it is the way of the cross . . . it is the way of Jesus. Jesus lived a life of sacrifice for others and calls you and I to such a role in our lives. We are called to be servants of God and servants to others. He is calling us to be Christ in this world, to be the light of hope, and to be the instruments of peace, love and mercy.
But children are also innocent. Children trust. Children have hope. Children love very easily. Children are spontaneous. Children find it easy to forgive. Children are accepting of people. Children are sensitive to the feelings and needs of others and give all that they are and all that they have to someone they see are in need. Therein lies true greatness in the eyes of God.
According to psychologist Carl Jung, the human personality is driven by two energies which he calls by the Latin words senex, meaning old man or senior, and puer eternis, the eternal boy or child. The senior is more wise, prudent and calculating, always looking before leaping and so ends up often not leaping at all. The child energy, on the other hand, is more venturesome, more prone to making mistakes and takes more chances. The senior is more preserving and security conscious, the child is more like easy come – easy go, more prepared to change and to let go. The senior is more geared towards competition, power and success, the child energy is more attuned to cooperation and celebration. The senior is more responsible while the child is more lighthearted. Jung tells us that to be fully human and fully alive, these two energies must find a balance, a harmony, in the personality.
I think that Jesus was telling us two thousand years ago something that modern psychology is only discovering today. When Jesus tells us that we must accept one such as the little child whom he embraced, I think he is also telling us that we need to acknowledge and accept the child within ourselves. When we celebrate the child within us, we become less calculating, less concerned about our personal dignity or shame, less afraid of failure and death, and less grabbing for power and success. With more of the child energy, we shall be more disposed to take a leap in the dark, to let go. Then, only, does believing and following Jesus become possible.
In the Aramaic language, the language that Jesus spoke, there is a word talya which can mean both "servant" or "child." Today, let us recognize that Jesus is calling us to be both. Let us seek greatness by becoming the least and serving the needs of all who are in need or who have been marginalized. And let us also recognize and celebrate the child within each of us. Let us strive to have the simple faith of a child: to love God and one another without condition or expectation, with honesty and faithfulness. Let us strive for childlike faith that is never deterred or discouraged, never becomes cynical or jaded, and one that never ceases to be amazed and grateful for the many ways God reveals his presence in our lives.
