Childish Ways
The 18th Sunday after Pentecost
Sunday, September 22, Proper 20B
Proverbs 31:10-31; James 3:13 - 4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37
On January 1, 1965, the undefeated Arkansas Razorbacks strode into the Cotton Bowl with something to prove. It had been five years since the Razorbacks’ last bowl victory, and they hadn’t finished a season undefeated since 1909. Further aggravating Frank Broyles’ team, the Associated Press and the UPI Coach’s Poll had released their end-of-the-season polls earlier in December, and both had declared the also-undefeated Alabama Crimson Tide as the national champion. In short, there was nothing Arkansas could do to take that title away from Alabama—except prove that they deserved it anyway.
As the Southwestern Conference champions, Arkansas faced off against the Big Eight champion Nebraska Cornhuskers in Dallas, Texas, while down in Miami, Florida, the SEC champion Crimson Tide played against Arkansas’ rival, the Texas Longhorns, in the Orange Bowl. Earlier in the season, Arkansas had defeated Texas 14-13 with a goal-line stand on a failed two-point conversion at Texas Memorial Stadium in Austin. In their game against Nebraska, Arkansas came from behind in the fourth quarter to win 10-7 and remain undefeated. Alabama didn’t fare as well. Texas got out to an early lead and then hung on to beat the Tide 21-17.
It wasn’t hard to argue that Arkansas should have been the unequivocal national champion. In fact, in all the polls released after the bowl games had been played, Arkansas was a clear #1. But even more than that, the transitive property of college football—a favorite among mid-sized-school fan bases—made the true outcome clear. Arkansas had beaten Texas. Texas then beat Alabama. Even though Alabama and Arkansas never played each other, the transitive property leaves virtually no doubt what would have happened if they did. But that didn’t stop Alabama from claiming 1964 as one of their so-called eighteen national championships. For what it’s worth, it was the last time the AP released its final poll before the bowl games had been played, so I guess you could say Jerry Jones’ Razorbacks won a moral victory as well.
In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus introduces a transitive property of his own: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” In other words, by that property, those of us who want to welcome God into our hearts should start by welcoming and honoring the children among us. Of course, Jesus is using a nearby child to make a point. The act of welcoming a child is a metaphor for the importance of humility and a reminder of the value of seeking out and including the least among us. But let’s not leave the realm of the literal too quickly. There’s more to that transitive property than a preacher’s analogy. There is something about a child that expresses the divine nature more clearly than those of us who prefer the company of adults are likely to see.
It’s clear from the start of this episode that Jesus is trying to get his point across to the disciples but failing miserably. Last week, we heard Jesus predict his passion and death for the first time. After asking the disciples who they thought that he was, Peter said, “You are the Messiah.” And in response, Jesus began to teach them that, as the Messiah, he must undergo great suffering, be rejected by the leaders of his people, be killed, and on the third day be raised from the dead.
Understandably, this was more than the disciples were ready to handle. They believed that Jesus was the one whom God had sent to redeem God’s people from the tyranny of Rome, but Jesus was telling them that the redemption God had promised would only come through his suffering and death. “Lord, this must never happen to you!” Peter exclaimed with well-intentioned disbelief, but Jesus then set the record straight, rebuking Peter and saying, “Get behind me Satan.”
That was last week. This week, at the beginning of the gospel lesson, we see that Jesus and the disciples are making their way through Galilee, their home territory, but Jesus doesn’t want anyone to know it because he’s still teaching his disciples that the road ahead will lead to suffering and they still aren’t getting the point. To illustrate the extent of their lack of understanding, Mark recalls for us that, as soon as Jesus finishes explaining that he will be betrayed, killed, and, three days later, raised from the dead, the disciples begin arguing with each other about which one of them is the greatest. Later, when Jesus asks them what they were arguing about, no one says a word because, even if they don’t understand what Jesus was trying to teach them, the disciples know enough to know that that wouldn’t get them any compliments from their teacher.
Looking around the house where they were staying, Jesus sees something that will help him get his point across—a child. Picking up the little child and holding it in his arms, Jesus says to the disciples, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Jesus recognizes that this child is the lens through which the nature of God and God’s Messiah come into focus.
This is the child who would rather play with the box and the wrapping paper than the present that is wrapped inside. This is the child who doesn’t care what kind of car her mother drives to pick her up from daycare because all she wants is to be held in her mother’s arms. This is the child who does not need a priest or a rabbi to explain why God’s greatest victory must be accomplished by the one who gives up his life for the sake of the world. And this is the child who knows instinctively that, if God loves us like that, we, too, must love one another in the same way, even if it costs us our lives.
You don’t have to explain those things to a little child. A child knows them because a child knows that true love beckons from us true love’s reply. And Jesus knows that, if those of us who are all grown up are ever going to remember what it’s like to believe that love is the only thing in this world that matters, we need to learn what that little child will teach us.
I have a feeling that Mark didn’t include the story of the disciples’ failure to understand Jesus’ teaching about suffering and death because he wanted us to laugh at the disciples’ foolishness or marvel at their stupidity. I think he wanted us to realize that this won’t be easy for us to understand either. We might not have as much trouble as they did recognizing that Jesus’ death is how God wins God’s victory over sin and death, but what that victory means for us in this life is a different story. Even on this side of the empty tomb, with confidence that the defeat of Good Friday will always lead to the joy of Easter, we still struggle to grasp what it means for us to believe in a savior who died for our sake. Unlike Peter and the disciples, we might begin to wrap our minds around Jesus’ selfless act, but it’s just as hard for us to accept that the path of suffering and death must be ours as well.
It's one thing to believe that the cross of Christ is a façade behind which the glory of God is hidden, but it’s another thing entirely to believe that the cross of Christ is the glory of God in its perfection. Jesus did not die for your sins so that you could be immune from suffering, pain, and death. He died so that the way of suffering, pain, and death, which you must walk in his name, will lead to life and love and peace.
Jesus’ death is the means by which God brings life to the world. Jesus’ suffering is how God redeems the suffering of all people. If we really believe that, why do we struggle to accept that those who proclaim Jesus as their savior must suffer and die, too? Why is it so hard for us to understand that “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all?” Somewhere along the way, we forgot that love is the only thing that matters in this life. It’s the littlest children in our midst who can help us remember it.
© 2024 Evan D. Garner
