Lenten Reflection – Day 18 of the Great Lent
The Child in the Middle – St. Mark 9:30-42
“If anyone desires to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.” (9:35)
Yesterday the master came home. He found his servants watching. And instead of inspecting their work, he tied an apron and served them dinner. The God we worship is a God who serves.
Today Mark shows us what happens when the disciples fail to understand this. Jesus has just told them He is going to die. They do not understand. And instead of asking Him to explain, they start arguing about which of them is the greatest.
The timing is devastating. Their teacher is on the road to His death. And they are discussing their own ranking.
Christ’s response is not a lecture. It is an object lesson. He takes a child, sets the child in the middle of the room, and wraps His arms around the child. Then He says something that redefines greatness for the rest of history.
We are eighteen days into the Great Lent. The fast has been building. We have been challenged, fed, confronted, and comforted. But somewhere in the middle of all this spiritual activity, a question has been forming. Quietly. In the background. The same question the disciples were arguing about on the road. Am I doing this well? Am I doing better than others? Where do I rank?
Today Christ puts a child in the middle of our fast and says: start over. Everything you think you know about greatness is wrong.
The Second Prediction (vv. 30–32)
“Then they departed from there and passed through Galilee, and He did not want anyone to know it. For He taught His disciples and said to them, ‘The Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill Him. And after He is killed, He will rise the third day.’ But they did not understand this saying, and were afraid to ask Him.” (9:30–32)
This is the second time Jesus tells His disciples He is going to die. The first was in Mark 8. Peter objected. Jesus called him Satan. Now, the second time, the response is different. They do not object. They do not argue. They do not understand. And they are afraid to ask.
“Afraid to ask.” This is an important detail. The disciples are not indifferent. They are afraid. Afraid of what the answer might be. Afraid of what it would mean for them if their teacher really is going to die. Afraid that asking the question would make the answer more real.
We know this fear. Eighteen days into a season of repentance, there are questions we are afraid to ask. Questions about our marriages. Our addictions. Our hidden sins. Our doubts about God. We sense that the answer would change everything. So we do not ask. We change the subject. We talk about something else. We argue about ranking instead.
Mark tells us what the disciples did with their fear. They did not process it. They did not sit with it. They did not bring it to Christ. They buried it. And in the silence where honest conversation should have been, a different conversation grew. A conversation about power.
The Argument on the Road (vv. 33–34)
“Then He came to Capernaum. And when He was in the house He asked them, ‘What was it you disputed among yourselves on the road?’ But they kept silent, for on the road they had disputed among themselves who would be the greatest.” (9:33–34)
Jesus asks. They are silent.
They are silent because they are ashamed. They know the argument was wrong. They know the conversation was absurd. Their teacher just told them He is going to be killed. And they were discussing promotions. They cannot bring themselves to repeat it in His presence.
The silence of the disciples is one of the most human moments in the Gospels. We have all had conversations we would not repeat in front of Christ. Competitive thoughts we are ashamed of. Comparisons we know are petty. The inner ranking system that measures our fasting against someone else’s fasting, our prayer life against someone else’s prayer life, our sacrifice against someone else’s sacrifice.
On Day 13, we saw the demon who had perfect theology and zero surrender. Today we see the disciples who have been walking with Christ for months and are still thinking about themselves. The demon’s problem was knowledge without obedience. The disciples’ problem is proximity without transformation. They are right next to Jesus. And their hearts are still turned inward.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 58 on Matthew (on the parallel passage in Matthew 18:1–5), observes that the desire for greatness is the last sin to die. It survives when other sins have been conquered. A person may have overcome lust, greed, and anger and still be consumed by the desire to be recognized as the holiest person in the room. Chrysostom calls this the sin of the advanced. Beginners struggle with obvious sins. The experienced struggle with the desire to be first. And the Lenten fast, with its visible disciplines and measurable sacrifices, is especially fertile ground for this particular temptation.1
Eighteen days in. The question must be faced honestly. Has the fast produced humility? Or has it produced a subtle, spiritual competitiveness? Are we fasting before God? Or are we fasting before an audience?
Last of All and Servant of All (v. 35)
“And He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘If anyone desires to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.'” (9:35)
Jesus does not rebuke them for wanting to be great. He redefines what great means.
“If anyone desires to be first.” He does not say “stop wanting to be first.” He does not say ambition is evil. He says: fine. You want to be first? Here is how. Be last. Serve everyone.
This is not irony. It is not a clever reversal designed to make them feel foolish. It is the actual structure of the kingdom. In the world, greatness is measured by how many people serve you. In the kingdom, greatness is measured by how many people you serve. In the world, the greatest person is at the top of the pyramid. In the kingdom, the greatest person is at the bottom. Holding everyone else up.
On Day 17, we saw the master who came home and served his servants dinner. Today we hear the principle behind that story. The master served because in the kingdom, serving is what the greatest do. It is not a demotion. It is the definition of greatness itself.
“Last of all.” Not last among equals. Last of all. Behind everyone. Below everyone. The position no one wants. The position that gets no applause. The position where you see everyone else’s back because you are always behind them, always supporting, always pushing them forward.
“Servant of all.” Not servant of the people who can repay you. Not servant of the important. Servant of all. Including the people who will never thank you. Including the people who do not notice. Including the person at the very bottom of your own personal ranking system. Especially that person.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on the Church, writes about Christ’s redefinition of greatness as the most revolutionary act of His ministry. Empires are built on the principle that the strong rule the weak. Religions are often organized the same way. The learned over the unlearned. The righteous over the sinners. The experienced over the beginners. Christ turns the entire structure upside down. The strong serve the weak. The learned kneel before the unlearned. The experienced carry the beginners. Ephrem says that the Church, when it is truly itself, is the only community in the world where the ladder goes downward. Where climbing means descending. Where the person at the bottom is the one who looks most like Christ.2
A Child in the Middle (vv. 36–37)
“Then He took a little child and set him in the midst of them. And when He had taken him in His arms, He said to them, ‘Whoever receives one of these little children in My name receives Me; and whoever receives Me, receives not Me but Him who sent Me.'” (9:36–37)
Words were not enough. Jesus needed to show them. So He picked up a child.
A first-century child had no status. None. Children were loved within families, yes. But in public, in the social order, a child had no rank, no voice, no power, no influence. A child could not repay a favour. A child could not advance your career. A child could not boost your reputation. A child was, in the world’s ranking system, at the very bottom.
Jesus picks up the thing at the bottom and puts it in the centre.
Not as an illustration of innocence. The passage is not about the moral purity of children. It is about status. Christ is saying: this is what greatness looks like. Not the person at the top. The person at the bottom. The person who has nothing to offer you. The person who cannot improve your position. The person the world overlooks.
And then the staggering claim. “Whoever receives one of these little children in My name receives Me.” When you welcome the powerless, you are welcoming Christ. When you serve the person who has nothing to give back, you are serving God. The invisible, overlooked, unimportant person is the meeting point between you and the divine. Christ hides Himself in the small.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke (on the parallel passage in Luke 9:46–48), teaches that Christ identifies Himself with the child not because the child is virtuous but because the child is dependent. The child has no resources of its own. No achievements. No reputation to trade on. It comes with nothing and receives everything as a gift. This is the posture Christ asks His disciples to adopt. And this is the person Christ asks His disciples to welcome. Not the powerful guest who arrives at the feast. The small one who arrives with nothing. Cyril connects this directly to the Eucharist. When the Church gathers around the table, the measure of its faithfulness is not the impressiveness of the congregation but its willingness to receive the least of its members as if receiving Christ Himself.3
During the Great Lent, we are often focused on the grand gestures. The long fasts. The extended prayers. The heroic disciplines. Christ puts a child in the middle and says: forget the grand gestures for a moment. How do you treat the small people? The people who have nothing to offer you? The child who interrupts your prayer? The beginner who asks a question you think is obvious? The person at church who is not impressive, not influential, not useful to you in any way?
That person is where I am, Christ says. Receive them and you receive Me.
He Who Is Not Against Us (vv. 38–40)
“Now John answered Him, saying, ‘Teacher, we saw someone who does not follow us casting out demons in Your name, and we forbade him because he does not follow us.’ But Jesus said, ‘Do not forbid him, for no one who works a miracle in My name can soon afterward speak evil of Me. For he who is not against us is on our side.'” (9:38–40)
John changes the subject. Or perhaps he thinks he is staying on topic. He has just heard Jesus talk about receiving people in His name. And he remembers something. They saw a man casting out demons in Jesus’s name. But the man was not one of them. He was not part of the twelve. He was an outsider. So they told him to stop.
John expects praise. He expects Jesus to say: good work. Protect the brand. Keep the circle tight.
Jesus says the opposite. Do not stop him. He is on our side.
This is one of the most generous and troubling things Christ ever said. The disciples wanted a clear boundary. Inside the group or outside. With us or against us. Jesus draws the boundary much wider than they are comfortable with. Anyone who works in My name and is not against us is for us.
This is not theological relativism. Christ is not saying all beliefs are equally valid. He is correcting the disciples’ instinct to turn the kingdom of God into an exclusive club. The same instinct that produced their argument about ranking. The same instinct that wants to know who is in and who is out. Who is first and who is last. Who belongs and who does not.
St. Basil the Great, in his Letters (particularly Letter 204), addresses this principle in the context of disputes between Christian communities. Basil argues that the tendency to reject anyone who does not use our exact language or belong to our exact community is a form of the same pride the disciples displayed on the road to Capernaum. If someone is doing the work of Christ, we should rejoice, not compete. The kingdom is bigger than our denomination. The work of the Spirit is wider than our committee. Basil was dealing with intense theological controversies in his own time and knew the temptation to turn every disagreement into a war. He counselled generosity. Not doctrinal compromise. But generosity of spirit toward anyone genuinely working in Christ’s name.4
For us in the Great Lent, this is a needed corrective. It is possible to fast with a competitive spirit. To measure our tradition against other traditions. To measure our parish against other parishes. To look at a Christian from another community and say: they do not follow us. Christ says: if they are not against Me, they are for Me. The kingdom is bigger than your fasting calendar.
The Millstone (vv. 41–42)
“For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink in My name, because you belong to Christ, assuredly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward. But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea.” (9:41–42)
Christ ends with a cup of water and a millstone. Two images. One gentle. One terrifying. Both about how we treat the small.
A cup of water. The smallest possible act of kindness. Not a feast. Not a fortune. A cup of water. Given to someone because they belong to Christ. That act will be rewarded. The economy of heaven counts the cup of water. The world does not notice it. Heaven writes it down.
A millstone. The heaviest possible judgment. Not a rebuke. Not a correction. A millstone around the neck and thrown into the sea. For what? For causing one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble.
The gap between the two is the measure of how seriously Christ takes the vulnerable.
A cup of water given to a small person is rewarded. A stumbling block placed before a small person is condemned with the harshest language Jesus ever used. The little ones matter. Not because they are impressive. Because they belong to Christ. And what you do to them, you do to Him.
St. Shenoute of Atripe, the great fifth-century Egyptian abbot and one of the most important figures in Coptic Christianity, was known for his fierce protection of the vulnerable in his communities. In his Discourses, Shenoute warns leaders and mature believers that their greatest responsibility is not the display of their own spiritual achievements but the protection of the weak. A leader who uses his position to crush rather than to build, who flaunts his knowledge in a way that confuses the beginner, who lords his experience over the newly converted, is the person the millstone was designed for. Shenoute understood that spiritual communities are especially dangerous for the vulnerable because power in spiritual communities is often invisible and unaccountable. The person who causes a little one to stumble rarely thinks he is doing anything wrong. He thinks he is being strong. Being correct. Being authoritative. And the small one falls quietly while everyone watches the strong one perform.5
During the Great Lent, the application is direct. How are we treating the small ones? The person who is new to fasting and struggling with it. The child in church who does not understand the service. The young believer who asks a question that seems naïve. The person whose faith is fragile and easily shaken. Are we giving them cups of water? Or are we placing millstones?
For Our Journey Today
Check the argument on the road. What have we been quietly arguing about in our hearts during this fast? Where do we rank? Are we fasting better than our neighbor? Praying more than our spouse? More disciplined than the person sitting next to us in church? Name it. The disciples were ashamed to repeat their argument in front of Christ. We should be too. And once we name it, let it go.
Receive a child today. Not necessarily a literal child, though that counts too. Receive a small person. Someone who has nothing to offer us. Someone who cannot advance our career, our reputation, or our spiritual status. Give them our attention. Our time. Our patience. Do not serve the powerful today. Serve the powerless. Christ is hiding in them.
Give a cup of water. One small act of kindness. No fanfare. No audience. A cup of water given in Christ’s name. A text message to someone who is struggling. A prayer said quietly for a person no one else remembers. A moment of patience with the person who tests our patience the most. The economy of heaven counts these things. Even when no one else does.
Lord Jesus Christ, who took a child in Your arms and showed us what greatness looks like, forgive us for the argument on the road. We have been competing when we should have been serving. We have been ranking when we should have been kneeling. We have walked right past the small ones while looking for the important ones. Teach us to go last. Teach us to serve all. Teach us to see You in the child, in the beginner, in the person who has nothing to give back. And protect us from becoming millstones. Keep us from placing stumbling blocks in the path of anyone whose faith is young and fragile. Make us cup-of-water people. Quiet. Faithful. Last in line. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Mark, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407). Homily 58 on Matthew, on Matthew 18:1–5 (the parallel passage to Mark 9:33–37) ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373). Hymns on the Church (Madrāshē d-ʿal ʿEdtā) and related hymnic collections. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444). Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, Homily 50, on Luke 9:46–48 (the parallel passage to Mark 9:33–37). ↩︎
- St. Basil the Great (c. 330–379). Letters, particularly Letter 204 and related correspondence on church unity and the treatment of those outside one’s immediate community. ↩︎
- St. Shenoute of Atripe (c. 348–465). Discourses. Edition: Shenoute’s Coptic texts are being published in the Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (CSCO), Scriptores Coptici series. For accessible English introductions and translated selections, see David N. Bell, The Life of Shenoute by Besa, Cistercian Studies Series 73 (Cistercian Publications, 1983), and Stephen Emmel, Shenoute’s Literary Corpus, 2 vols., CSCO 599–600 (Louvain: Peeters, 2004). Also Rebecca Krawiec, Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery: Egyptian Monasticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press, 2002). ↩︎
