Our readings this week are Hebrews 5:1–10 and Mark 10:35–45. Reading them next to each other, I found that one phrase in particular stuck out: "one does not presume to take this honour, but takes it only when called by God."

The writer of Hebrews writes these words into his presentation of the ministry of Christ, developing a dual argument that both highlights the honour, power, and responsibility of the high priest—exemplified in the Old Testament figures of Aaron and Melchizedek—and the humility and seriousness with which such a role needs to be undertaken.

The high priest was the chief religious leader of the people, whose primary responsibility was to offer sacrifices to God on behalf of the community. On the Day of Atonement, the most solemn day of the year, the high priest would enter the Holy of Holies—the innermost part of the temple, where God's presence was believed to dwell—to offer a sacrifice for the sins of the people. This act symbolised the reconciliation between God and humanity. The high priest’s role wasn’t just a matter of ritual; it was about standing in the gap between God and the people, bridging that divide, and restoring their relationship.

So, to stand facing God on behalf of the people—and facing the people on behalf of God—is not something to be taken lightly. It is a great honour and a great responsibility, one that requires a perfect blending of authority with compassion, spirituality with humanity. And one of the key attributes of the ideal candidate (as with many positions of power and influence) is the humility not to seek the appointment, but the integrity to accept it when it is offered.

For the author of Hebrews, this perfect matching of almost opposites is found—exclusively in human history—in the person of Jesus Christ. I’m not sure they’re wrong.

Jesus fulfils that role so perfectly, so completely, they argue, that no more high priests will ever be needed. The endless cycle of sacrifice that bought the redemption of God's people was fulfilled so perfectly, so completely, in Christ's sacrifice of himself that no more will ever be needed to secure our own redemption. He became, as they write, a source of eternal salvation.

It is somewhat ironic, then, that we find the antithesis of that behaviour—of selfless service without thought of recognition, or acceptance of responsibility without pushing oneself forward—in the immediate friends and followers of the one who is its perfection. James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, come to Jesus, very much put themselves forward, and presume to take the honour of being seated at Jesus' left and right in Heaven. Jesus doesn’t quite pre-quote Hebrews, but his answer is basically the same—positions of honour, responsibility, and power are not to be grasped in the Kingdom of Heaven; they are gifts bestowed only by the Father.

In a moment of generosity, we might assume that it’s the other disciples’ instinctual recognition of this that leads to their anger and frustration with James and John. I, for one, though, suspect that’s not the case. If history in general, and certain parts of the history of the church in particular, are anything to go by, an instinctual understanding of this most basic truth of the Kingdom is quite a rare thing. I suspect their anger and frustration came not because James and John asked Jesus this favour, but because they asked first before anyone else had thought to get in there.

The tragedy is that the pattern continues to this day, with dire consequences. I suggest that we live in a world in which too often our systems enable those who are willing to propose themselves to get ahead, while those who live lives of quiet, humble service get overlooked, taken for granted, and forgotten. And also in which a lot of grumbling and complaining happens not because people abuse power per se, but because they can get away with it, but I can’t...

Perhaps it’s something to think about in our own lives—are we taking the time to appreciate those around us who may otherwise be overlooked? Are we listening to the promptings of God in the shaping of our ambitions, or drowning them out in the clamour from our own hearts? Are we getting frustrated and angry, when we do, for the right reasons (and sometimes there are), or for the wrong? In short, where are we presuming with arrogance, and where are we serving with grace?