Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time • Year B

What’s in it for me?

Sometimes this is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, even though we may want to use different words. When a couple buys a house, they want to know what’s in it for them: What are real estate values like in this area? Is this a better deal than others? What are the advantages of this location in terms of schools, neighbors, traffic, public transportation, and shopping? When students choose a course of study, it is only natural that one of the questions they ask is, “What’s in it for me?” College costs tens of thousands of dollars a year. Careers can involve years of hard training and demanding hours. So, of course, they ask: “Will I enjoy studying this? Can I make a good living doing this? For what will this degree prepare me?”

Those aren’t selfish questions. They are sensible.

Sometimes, though, the question “What’s in it for me?” is selfish. If a longtime friend asks you to help him move into a new apartment, and you ask, “What’s in it for me?” that’s kind of selfish. If someone invites you to come along to visit a neighbor in the hospital, and you ask, “What’s in it for me?” that’s really selfish. And if you are getting married, and the priest asks if you will love, honor, and cherish this person until death do you part, and you ask, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”… well, don’t expect the reception to be a lot of laughs.

In today’s Gospel, as in last Sunday’s, Jesus teaches his disciples about the suffering and death he will have to endure. Last week, Peter disagreed with Christ, and Jesus had to put him in his place: “Get behind me, Satan.” Today, the disciples ask no questions and raise no objections; instead, they begin quietly to debate what’s in it for them. Who will be greatest? Who will surpass the others? Which one will be upgraded to first class? Who will come home with the trophy?

Understand, like the house buyer and the student, it is not unreasonable for the disciples to wonder about rewards. Jesus asks for their whole lives—not a few weeks on the road or a month or so every summer, but every day until their last. He wants them to grasp the plow and not look back, to give and not count the cost. Why shouldn’t they ask about what Jesus will do in return?

Indeed, in Matthew’s gospel, we hear them ask Jesus just that:

Then Peter said to him in reply, “We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?” Jesus said to them, “Amen, I say to you that you who have followed me, in the new age, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne of glory, will yourselves sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has given up houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands for the sake of my name will receive a hundred times more, and will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:27-29).

It’s not wrong to want something back. “The workman is worthy of his wage” (Matthew 10:10). But the apostles aren’t speculating or dreaming or wondering or hoping. They are arguing. Imagine how undignified that must have been. And they are arguing about trifles, fighting over who’s in and who’s out and which ones are the golden boys! One disciple claims to be the favorite, another one insists that title belongs to him, a third one reminds them about something nice Jesus said to him, yet another one protests that Jesus always laughs at his jokes, and still another one recounts all the times he sat next to Jesus at dinner. How true the words of Saint James we hear today: “Where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there is disorder and every foul practice.”

They think they’re being quiet. They’re smart enough to know that Jesus won’t like to hear them arguing. But they are not smart enough to realize that if you can multiply loaves and fishes, cure the sick, drive out demons, and raise the dead, then your hearing is probably excellent. Jesus does hear them, and asks, “What were you arguing about on the way?” Now the disciples fall silent. They are ashamed. They should be. Every word they have heard from Christ’s lips, every miracle they have seen him perform, every person they have watched him console—all of it indicates very clearly that position and popularity are not things they should be arguing over.

To drive the point home, Christ takes a child, places him in their midst, and says, “Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me.” Who is this child? We do not know his name or age or place of birth. He may be the son of one of Christ’s followers, or a child playing nearby with his friends who wandered over to see what the adults were doing. But we do know this: The child would not be there if he were the son of someone important. Then as now, the children of the wealthy and powerful are carefully watched over. They are not left free to wander around a city like Capernaum, and they are certainly not permitted to mix with strangers. In other words, this is the child of no one special. And what Christ is saying is this: “If you do good to a child like this—dry his tears, share your food, guide him when he’s lost—there is nothing in it for you. No rich parent is going to give you a reward, no Roman official is going to bestow an honor on you, you will make no powerful friends in the Temple. When you show kindness to a child such as this, you know better than to ask the question ‘What’s in it for me’ because you know there is nothing in it for you, except one thing: the knowledge that you have imitated me.”

This is what Jesus wants in us. He does not want us always to be thinking “What’s in it for me?” because Christ has already answered it. If you follow Christ, what’s in it for you is peace and joy, suffering and sacrifice in this life, and eternal life in the next. That’s what’s in it for us.

Therefore, we are free.

Now we can sacrifice our time to be with a sick relative without wondering if we will get credit for it with our family. Now we can be faithful to our vows even when we are lonely, kind to our neighbors even when we are tired, forgiving to our enemies even when we are angry, and not waste energy thinking about how wonderful we are. Christ has freed us from the cross of the calculator, the burden of the ledger, the grinding and incessant drive to tally up what we have given and what we have received. We are freed from wondering “What’s in it for me?” while we serve those in need. In all of our generosity and sacrifice and dedication and compassion, there is nothing in it for us but Christ. But what else is truly worth having? We can hope for nothing more precious than his love, nothing more desirable than his mercy. About that, there can be no argument.