Passage: Mark 10: 35-38, 41-44
35 James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” 36 And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” 37 And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” 38 But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking.”
41 When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. 42 So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 43 But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.
Those who know me well, know that I am very competitive. As the third of three boys in my family, perhaps I had to be, as a means to survival. I could tell you stories of our playing football in the front yard that might make some of the ladies cringe, and the guys laugh knowingly. In my family, we used to joke that we could come to blows over a game of ping pong, though the joke wasn’t far from reality. Or maybe it’s part of my genetic heritage, coming from a dad who is pretty competitive himself. But don’t take any of this as an excuse, because whatever its origin, long ago I embraced competition as a way of being.
Many in society would see this attribute as admirable, an advantage, a means to getting ahead in life. I cannot deny that this trait has serve me well, in helping me succeed in sports, the academic world, and the career I chose. There have been some accolades that have accompanied each of those facets of my life, which I enjoyed at the time, but mean little in my day to day experience of life. Honestly, good-natured competition can be a really enjoyable part of life. However, adopted as a way of being, this endless striving to be ahead of others indicates an impaired outlook on life.
For at the heart of my competitiveness is comparison. One cannot simply be good at an endeavor. One must be better, better than the rival, better than the classmate, better than the colleague – and now it grows darker – better than the friend, the brother, the spouse. Better. This competition pushes its way into the deepest corners of our lives, affecting the way we conduct our relationships, and preventing us from joining hands in full solidarity with others in the endeavors we pursue.
Sometimes I think this perspective of better by comparison has worked its way into our understanding of salvation. For I’ve noticed that in practical terms, many of us still perceive our chance for redemption, as contingent on our grade on the works righteousness final exam, and we’re always comparing our report cards with others. I may not be perfect, but I’m better than that guy with the tattoos and piercings, better than that mother who can’t control her kids, better than those folks with “alternative lifestyles”, better than all those outside our faith. At least I go to church.
Isn’t this the competition we are seeing in our passage today, as James and John ask Jesus if they might be placed in the positions of greater rank, when Jesus came into his glory? They are not content to be perceived as equals to the other disciples in the kingdom, but seek a higher status. And we see the disunity and dissension this creates among the first and most prominent members of our Church. “When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John.”
Then Jesus speaks, telling the disciples that they have completely misunderstood his mission. “You do not know what you are asking.” He goes on to reconstruct their understanding of what the kingdom of God will be like. What the kingdom Jesus is about creating, in heaven and on earth, is egalitarian, a community of equals. The saved existence Jesus envisions, totally subverts the competitive, comparative ranking system by which our world assigns value. “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you.” Finally, Jesus helps his disciples redefine what greatness means, and explains what winning will look like in this better world he intends to create. “[W]hoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
Lately, I sense that this competitive way of relating to others might exist at odds with being a truly compassionate person. Trading in our comparisons with others for a compassion toward others, might require our giving up the dividing lines by which we separate and rank those in the world around us – white/black, richer/poorer, American/other, Republican/Democrat, Christian/non-Christian. It might mean we would have to relinquish the differences and distinctions by which we determine who should be among those with whom we attend church, and what folks’ lives are “incompatible with the Christian lifestyle”. It might even question who we deem fit for the kingdom itself. Jesus’ radical words suggest there are no comparisons to be made in the new creation he envisions. All this could mean losing our identities as the winners. This reality makes clear why the call to be compassionate can be so frightening and arouse in us such deep resistance.
As I consider the glory that awaits us at the end of our Lenten journey, I often want to rush in front of my travelling companions. There are many who walk so slowly, or are hindered by difficulties I haven’t experienced. Should I wait for these folks, maybe even pause and give them some help or company?
Prayer: Guardian God, I am often caught up in competitive games – who is better, who is richer, who is nicer, who is more attractive. This competition keeps me separate from others, making me a loner rather than a comrade and a person in solidarity with others. Help me to live a life where distinctions fade away and differences are downplayed, where I become a lover of all rather than a lover of self. Amen.
— Henri J. M. Nouwen