Meditation on Losing

I've thought about and prayed and worked on this post for a few weeks, off and on. Please accept these words as more of a prayer: unfinished, unrefined -- a stumbling.

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My wife and I used to play one another in ping-pong while at college. There was a table set up in the middle of a common area just outside the cafeteria, so when we played people often saw us. We still laugh at the time a passerby said to me, "Ian, take it easy!" I'd just slammed a point on her side. I said, "No! She'll win!"

And that was true. If I went easy, not only would she be frustrated at me for not playing my best, but she'd also win -- and I couldn't have that.

No, really. There was a part of me that, for a moment, put our relationship aside so that I could relish the win: the swing of the arm, the twist of the ball, the look on her face -- I win!

Many years later, we see that we've sown the seeds of competition in our sons. It wasn't that difficult, because it comes so naturally. We've come to see, however, that we have a problem when trying to teach those same boys how to love one another like Christ loves. How do I show my sons how to serve sacrificially on the one hand, all the while stoking the fire of a winner on the other?

Perhaps as an adult I can explain that context matters. A little healthy competition here, service there. Maybe. The problem arises when I study those pesky words of Jesus. He's the problem, let's face it.

Recently, I've been reading Matthew 20.20-28. This is the passage in which James, John, and their mother come to Jesus to ask that he grant them the honor of sitting on either side of Christ's throne "in [his] kingdom." A bold request, one that leaves "the ten" angry, "indignant," with them. 

(Did you catch that -- "the ten"? More on that later.)

And can't we see the logic in their thinking? James and John had been some of the first to be called to follow Jesus, and they had recently been chosen, along with Peter, to see Jesus transfigured. Why wouldn't they begin to calculate that even Jesus himself would find it fitting that they were, in fact, greater than the others?

Matthew, Mark, and Luke record in similar fashion another encounter between Jesus and his disciples that is relevant here. After the transfiguration, but before the brothers' request, the disciples argue about who is the greatest among them, and Jesus answers them this way: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven" (Matt. 18.3-4). As a side note, the companion account in Mark 9 gives me the idea that the child has humbled itself by allowing Jesus to hold it in his arms. It's not until the Passover before Christ's death, when, according to John, he washes the disciples feet, that they come close to being so humble. They have not yet learned to crawl into his arms.

Perhaps it's baffling to us that James and John -- along with their mother -- go on to make their request after such a bald statement about humility from Jesus. Yet, as Christ's glory was about to be revealed further in the triumphal entry, it seems they couldn't help it. Haven't we been with you all this time? Haven't we been part of your innermost circle? Then why not us?

And what does Jesus reply? "You know that the 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 your slave -- " and then the words that I forget too often: "just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many" (Matt. 20.25-28).

I can't reconcile my desire to win -- anything -- with these words. Isn't it simply that I forget them? In the heat of the game, all I can imagine is myself as victor; I must say it still more accurately: all I can imagine is myself.

I come to the conclusion that I have two options: compartmentalize or submit to His teaching in all things. Compete here, serve there, or humble myself in Christ's arms and become a slave. This is my "oh so black-and-white" thought as I read his words, but when I begin to play something -- or even when I'm in a conversation and I want attention! -- that competitive fire is kindled with the coals that were just under the surface.

I can no longer seek winning -- even in the smallest of games -- while training myself to serve like Christ. What else does he mean when he says "whoever wants to be first must be your slave"?

So many objections rise up in my mind. I don't know which one to list first. Can you decide which one is the most convincing? Do I choose economic necessity, political righteousness, or game-winning fun? Which line do you take?

Above I mentioned "the ten." This term is not simply a convenient device to signify the rest of the disciples. It is an accurate descriptor of what happens when we attempt to be better than others. We divide. Or, perhaps we'd better say we subtract. The Twelve, in that moment, were then "the ten" minus James and John. And I know the bitter taste of losing to a close friend -- don't you? For a split second, a hair of a second, we aren't friends.

And so, what will I chose?

His words chip away at my defenses and all my objections, but I must hear him, so three things more from Matthew. First, 20.22b: "Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" Second, 20.28: "just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve..." We know what he says next about giving himself up "for many." Third, from chapter 16: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me" (Matt. 16.24).

These things disturb me and my plans, and I am frustrated the most because -- in the immediate context of his words -- Jesus is on his way to crucifixion. In chapter 16, he just got done telling his followers that he'd be killed in Jerusalem, and when a purported messiah is killed, guess who else is, too? (It's really no wonder that Peter rebuked him on this sensitive point.)

He's inviting me to Golgotha. It's an open invitation.

Is ping-pong too light of a subject to bring back? What about that board game we played the other night? It seems to me those are too small to mention now. But if I refuse to offer those tiny things, how can I lay down the more important ones? Winning is a small taste of power, after all, and the more I sample, the more I want.

In these approaching days of summer, I look forward to coaching my boys on the baseball field. Lord, may it be that the game is reduced to the raw material for glorifying you. 

Yes, it will be difficult for me not to dwell over my decisions when we lose. Pray for me.

Yet, another area needs attention. In my daily interactions with my wife and sons, there's another kind of competition going on, and I don't often think of it in those terms. But as I meditate on the words of Jesus, the conviction that every conversation we have can be "won" or "lost" settles upon me. And not only the argument kind, but every conversation I have; some words that come to mind are: schedule, expectation, agenda.

Remember those little ones Jesus held in his arms? Whatever expectations the disciples had, holding children didn't fit with them. And the moment that sticks with me lately is this: mid morning in the living room, my youngest asks whether I want to see his baseball cards. We've done this many times. Then it hit me hard -- I need to really see these cards. Not put him off or pretend I'm looking and listening, but welcome him into "my" time. I am convinced that when I put him, or his brothers, off for the silly reason that I have other things to do at the moment, I miss out on welcoming Christ (and so many other things, too).

Yes, there are times I ask him to wait, and that's an important lesson for him to learn, but in that moment I was learning how to lose to him. I'm still learning, of course -- yet, we sat together that morning, and I'm not altogether sure, but it may be that the couch sat atop Golgotha. Again, pray for me. Pray for us. May we learn to love and serve in our home so that we can better love and serve beyond it.

Make us your servants, Lord!