Not So With You
What Jesus taught about true greatness
As we continue our Lenten journey toward the cross, we are invited not only to remember what Jesus has done, but to listen carefully to what He says along the way. Lent slows us down. It asks us to walk with Him, to notice what we might otherwise rush past, and to allow His words to search us more deeply.
This week, we listen in on a conversation that exposes something in the disciples that is not as far from us as we might like to think.
Mark 10:35–45
“Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. ‘Teacher,’ they said, ‘we want you to do for us whatever we ask.’
‘What do you want me to do for you?’ he asked.
They replied, ‘Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.’
‘You don’t know what you are asking,’ Jesus said. ‘Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?’
‘We can,’ they answered.
Jesus said to them, ‘You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared.’
When the ten heard about this, they became indignant with James and John. Jesus called them together and said, ‘You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’”
One of the greatest joys of my life right now is being “Booga” to my grandkids. There is something about having kiddos in the house again that feels both familiar and fleeting, like stepping back into a season you once lived every day but now only get in snippets. The laughter is louder, the messes happen faster, and somehow everything, especially meals, feels more important than it once did.
One morning, the girls were over for breakfast, and like always, they all wanted the same thing. French toast. They always want French toast. So I stood at the stove, working the griddle, trying to keep up with the steady demand while plates and voices began to pile up around me. It did not take long for the competition to start.
My oldest granddaughter, Scarlett, confidently announced, “I want the first piece!”
Before I could even respond, Lydia (our future pastor) looked at her with surprising seriousness and said, “Scarlett, remember how Jesus said the first will be last and the last will be first?”
Scarlett paused, just long enough to consider it, and then replied, “Well… you can go first then.”
I had to laugh, not just because it was witty and funny, but because it was so revealing. In that small, ordinary moment at my kitchen counter, theology came alive. It was right there, playing out between two little girls, a bottle of sticky syrup, and a pile of French toast.
The truth is, we do not outgrow that instinct. We simply learn how to carry it quietly. What shows up in children as an obvious desire to go first tends to appear in adults in subtler ways. We may not say the words out loud, but we still feel the pull to be noticed, to be valued, to know that we matter and that our place is secure.
That same instinct is exactly what surfaces in Mark 10. Jesus has just spoken about His suffering, His rejection, and His death. And yet, almost immediately, the conversation shifts. James and John, the Sons of Thunder, step forward with a request that feels strikingly out of step with everything Jesus has just said. They ask if they can sit at His right and His left in His glory.
This was no subtle request. They are asking for position, for proximity, for prominence. They wanted to be first.
What makes the moment even more telling is that the other disciples are not shocked by the request. They are indignant. Not because the question is wrong, but because James and John asked first. The same instinct was sitting in all of them, just waiting for its turn to speak.
And if we are honest, we recognize ourselves here. We may not ask for thrones, but we do pay attention to where we stand. We notice who is recognized, who is deferred to, and who is remembered. We feel it when we are overlooked, even if we never say a word about it.
Jesus gathers them together because this is not just a problem for two brothers. It is a problem for every follower. And then He speaks words that draw a clear line between the way the world operates and the way His Kingdom functions.
“Not so with you.”
With those four words, He acknowledges what they already know. They have seen how power works. Authority is used to elevate, to control, to secure a higher place. That is the system they understand.
But His Kingdom is different.
In both Mark 10 and Matthew 20, Jesus explains that while the rulers of the Gentiles “lord it over” others, His followers are called to something altogether different. Greatness in His Kingdom is not found in climbing higher but in going lower. It is not about securing a position but about embracing a posture.
Whoever wants to become great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first must become a slave of all.
This is not a minor adjustment. It is a complete redefinition of greatness.
Alistair Begg once said, “The way up in the Kingdom of God is down.” It sounds simple until we begin to see how deeply it confronts everything in us that wants to rise, to secure, to be seen.
Jesus does not leave this teaching in the realm of ideas. He anchors it in Himself. “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.”
This is where the weight of His words settles in. He is not simply calling them to a different way of living. He is revealing the very heart of God. The One who holds all authority does not grasp for position. He moves toward the cross. The One who is worthy of all honor does not demand it. He lays His life down.
The path He describes is the path He Himself is walking.
I have seen how this same struggle shows up far beyond a kitchen or a conversation among disciples. Even in ministry, where the language is right and the intentions are good, it is still possible to subtly build something for ourselves. We can serve and still want to be known as the one who serves. We can give and still hope it comes back to us as recognition.
That is what makes Jesus’ words so searching. “Not so with you” is not simply a correction. It is an invitation into a completely different way of living.
When I think back to that moment with Scarlett and Lydia, it still makes me smile. But it also lingers, because it reveals something deeper. The question underneath it all is not really about breakfast or who gets the first piece.
It is about the posture of the heart.
Am I living as though there is not enough, as though I need to secure my place before someone else takes it? Am I quietly reaching for recognition in ways that are easy to justify but hard to surrender? Or am I learning to trust the One who has already secured my place, not by climbing, but by laying His life down?
Scarlett wanted the first piece. Lydia remembered the words of Jesus. And somewhere in between the two, I was reminded that following Christ does not erase our desire for greatness. It transforms it. What once drove us to reach higher is slowly reshaped into a willingness to go lower, not out of obligation, but out of trust.
Because in His Kingdom, things truly are different.
Not so with you.
In Christ,
Dawn
What a sweet story with your two grand babies. You exposed a critical function of our heart towards God--whether He's our greatest goodness or if we feel we need something more than Him.