I don’t remember, now, how it happened but… 

at an early age… 

I became obsessed with flying.

I became an avid reader of Biggles’ books…

and I think that’s what got me into making model airplanes—

not the balsa-wood kind…

let alone the really fancy ones with engines and remote controls…

the ones that actually fly.

Rather, I made the plastic replica model planes that come in kits.

And the first one that I made was a Sopwith Camel—

like Biggles flew, in the earliest books.

I carefully painted all of the pieces and glued them together…

and stuck on all the decals.

But one solitary plane didn’t seem enough.

So, I got a kit for a Fokker Triplane—

like the Red Baron flew—

and after I made it…

I would hold one in each hand…

moving them around in a simulated dogfight.

But, from there, it just snowballed.

Soon, I also had an S.E.5…

then a German Albatross…

a De Havilland…

and a Sopwith Pup.

Every last cent of my pocket money would be spent on new model kits, glue, paints, and brushes.

I would ride my bike to the shop…

and spend ages wistfully pouring over the boxes of models…

wishing that I could buy more.

I would even borrow money from my brother…

just so that I could get another model plane kit…

because I couldn’t wait for Christmas or my next birthday—

which seemed so far away.

And whenever I did get one… 

and I had finished making it…

I simply turned my sights to what else was available.

The more I had, the more I wanted.

 

It’s human nature, isn’t it?

The more we have, the more we want;

the more we get, the more we come to expect.

 

Let’s face it…

it’s what drives this modern world of ours.

We see it in our rampant consumerism:

where everything has an inbuilt redundancy or use-by-date;

where we’re constantly bombarded by television advertisements and junk mail…

trying to convince us… 

that our happiness or fulfilment depends upon accumulating more and more things—

the latest…

the smallest…

the fastest…

the one with the most features.

The more we have, the more we want;

the more we get, the more we come to expect.

 

We see it in the pillaging of the environment in the name of “progress”:

our factories pumping out plumes of greenhouse gases or contaminating our waterways…

the increasing amount of landfill…

and the desecration of forests and fragile ecosystems…

all in an effort to obtain the minerals…

the metals…

and the raw materials…

that we need to build our better, faster, smaller, latest gadgets.

The more we have, the more we want;

the more we get, the more we come to expect.

 

We see it in relation to our health:

with each advance in medical knowledge…

with each vaccine that’s developed…

with each potent new drug that’s discovered or concocted…

with each surgical technique that’s pioneered…

with each complaint that’s managed successfully…

with each disease that’s cured…

we almost no longer expect to suffer or to die;

the medical profession touts its omnipotence;

and medical researchers increasingly try to play God.

The more we have, the more we want;

the more we get, the more we come to expect.

 

We see it in politics and public life:

where policies are pursued based on polling and focus groups…

on what will earn the most votes…

and what directly affects people’s wallets…

rather than based on principle… 

or on what might be best for the nation as a whole.

And we also see it theologically.

We live as though God exists to meet our needs—

like some sort of cosmic dispensing machine:

put the right sort of words or requests into the slot…

press the right sort of buttons…

and out pops what we’re craving.

The more we have, the more we want;

the more we get, the more we come to expect.

 

But, in a sense, that’s nothing new. 

We have seen it throughout history.

And we see it in our story this morning from Mark’s Gospel:

James and John come to Jesus with a request…

“Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you”.

Whatever we ask?

What sort of a request is that?

And yet, as the author portrays it, they have followed Jesus around for some time…

they have seen him do all sorts of amazing things…

he’s performed all sorts of wonderful feats…

and he’s shown—

to their way of thinking—

that he was a powerful prophet, in the league of Moses and Elijah…

that God was clearly with him…

that God was working through him.

And the more he gave, the more they wanted.

The more he did, the more they expected.

 

And, in this story, their expectations have, in a sense, peaked.

Here they were, heading to Jerusalem.

And, although they didn’t know how…

they presumed that he was going to drive out the hated Romans from their land…

get rid of all the corrupt politicians and priests…

and become king.

So, they had come to lobby for position:

“Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory”.

They wanted to be his lieutenants.

They wanted to be wealthy and powerful.

They wanted a share in his privilege and prestige.

And why not?

After all, they had been struggling fishermen…

who had spent long nights away from family and friends…

with little to show for it;

they would have been up to their eyeballs in debt—

with payments for fishing licences and repayments on boats and equipment.

He had given so much to others—

to people he didn’t even know—

why shouldn’t they expect to get special privileges?

And the more that Jesus did, the more they expected.

 

But flying in the face of human nature and instinct, the Markan Jesus proclaims:

“Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all”.

He’s trying to turn their expectations on their head.

He’s claiming that, ultimately…

we don’t find fulfilment at other people’s expense;

we don’t achieve contentment through acquisition and accumulation;

we don’t discover who we’re meant to be through the exercise of power;

we don’t create a society that’s harmonious by concentrating on “what’s in it for me”;

we don’t learn what it means to be truly human by expecting more and more.

Rather, we discover what it means to be human—

and what it means to live in community— 

only in relation to the God who is not all-powerful or all-knowing…

to the God who doesn’t give us whatever we want… 

or ask… 

or expect.

We discover who we’re meant to be…

in relation to the God who stands with us—

in vulnerability…

in weakness… 

in powerlessness…

and in self-giving. 

We discover who we’re meant to be…

in discovering that God doesn’t exist to meet our needs…

but that we exist for God and for each other.

And that the more we lose, the more we all have…

and the more we give, the more we all receive.