In sports locker rooms, on ESPN, and across social media, debates often rage: Who’s the GOAT? Who’s the greatest of all time?
Names are thrown around, stats are compared, championships are counted, and lists are created.
It’s nothing new. I can remember as a teen in the early 1960s a young, brash Cassius Clay—who later became Muhammad Ali—boldly declaring, “I am the greatest!”
The story is told that Ali once sat on an airplane as the flight attendant reminded him to fasten his seatbelt.
“Superman don’t need no seatbelt,” he reportedly replied.
Without missing a beat, the attendant said, “Superman don’t need no airplane either.”
The desire for greatness—and the recognition that comes with it—is not confined to sports or our modern era. It is as old as mankind. In our text, even the disciples of Jesus argued over which of them would be the greatest in the Kingdom.
You wonder what prompted such a dispute among them. Was it jealousy over Peter, James, and John being chosen to witness the Mount of Transfiguration? Was it Peter’s prominence? Or perhaps a misunderstanding of the Kingdom as an earthly system with ranks and positions?
Whatever the cause, it was rooted in a flawed view of greatness.
Jesus knew their hearts—and instead of debating them, He illustrated the truth. Taking a little child in His arms, He said:
“Whoever receives this child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me receives him who sent me. For he who is least among you all is the one who is great.”
In this brief but powerful moment, Jesus reminds us that His Kingdom is not like the kingdoms of the world. Greatness is not defined by position, power, prominence, prestige, or possessions. As Warren Wiersbe observed, in God’s kingdom the model of greatness is a little child—helpless, dependent, without status, and living by faith.
Colly Caldwell, in his commentary on Luke, suggested that the apostles’ argument revealed a “sense of rivalry among themselves regarding rank and position,” rooted in earthly covetousness and pride.
The lessons for Christians today are obvious—yet often overlooked.
Preachers, for example, can be tempted to seek the praise of men and measure success by status within the brotherhood. If we begin to view preaching like a profession in the business world, success may be defined by preaching for a large congregation, holding numerous meetings, commanding a higher salary, speaking on prominent lectureships, or authoring books.
Yet many faithful men labor quietly in difficult places, unknown and unheralded, faithfully preaching, teaching, and serving without any desire for recognition. And they are making a difference.
Not all greatness is seen.
Some of the greatest people in God’s kingdom will never stand on a stage, never write a book, and never be known by the world—but heaven knows their names.
Elders, too, can fall into the trap of confusing position with greatness. A man appointed as a shepherd may begin to feel a sense of superiority. When he focuses more on authority than on service, he may act like a ruler rather than a servant—driving people rather than leading them.
I once heard of an elder responding to a sincere question about a decision with the curt reply, “Because I’m an elder. That’s why.”
That response reveals a failure to understand servant leadership.
Christians in general are not immune. Some may begin to feel a sense of importance because of education, career success, financial standing, or social influence. But when we start to believe those things make us greater than others, we have lost the very spirit Jesus taught. Pride replaces humility, and the heart becomes more worldly than spiritual.
It’s important to remember: not all greatness is seen by men, but none of it escapes God.
In the end, greatness in God’s kingdom is not about position, but service. D. L. Moody expressed it well:
“The measure of a man is not how many servants he has, but how many men he serves.”
And in that measure, the greatest may be those the world never notices—but God never forgets.
–Ken Weliever, The Preacherman
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