Christ’s journey to Jerusalem, as Mark describes it (10:32–45), is not simply another missionary tour. It is the revelation of the path of salvation: the path of voluntary humility and self-sacrificial love. The disciples “were on the road, going up to Jerusalem,” and Jesus goes before them. This “going before” is both comfort and correction: He enters suffering first; He does not push the human person into darkness, but leads him Himself through the Cross to the Resurrection.
The Evangelist notes that the disciples “were amazed” and “were afraid.” Their fear shows that they sense the weight of what is coming, yet they do not understand it spiritually. And while Christ speaks plainly about His Passion—betrayal, mockery, scourging, death, resurrection—James and John ask for a place of glory: “Grant us… that one may sit at Your right hand… and one at Your left….” So easily the heart, even while following Christ, can treat God as a means of self-affirmation. The Church does not read this passage in order to accuse the disciples, but to illuminate our own inner request: “Lord, give me….” How often, during the fast, in our prayers and efforts, do we end up seeking a “place at the right hand,” recognition, a reassurance that we are “doing well”?
Christ answers with a question that exposes hidden motives: “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink?” The cup is communion in His manner of existence: love that does not cling to itself, obedience to the Father, self-offering “for the life of the world.” The disciples say, “We are able,” yet this ability is not human self-confidence; it becomes God’s gift when a person allows his own will to be broken and his desire to be healed. That is why Christ makes it clear: the places “at the right” and “at the left” are not trophies of ambition, but a mystery granted “to those for whom it has been prepared.” In other words, glory in Christ passes through the crucifixion of self-centeredness.
And when the other ten become indignant, Christ takes no one’s side. He heals the whole community with the key phrase of ecclesial life: “But it shall not be so among you.” In the world, rulers “lord it over” others and “exercise authority” over them. In the Church, the measure is the reverse: “whoever desires to become great… shall be your servant,” and “whoever desires to be first… shall be slave of all.” Greatness is not measured by influence, but by service. It is not shown in how many follow me, but in how many I lift up from their fall. This is not a moral slogan; it is a revelation of God’s own mode of being, which is love as self-offering.
The climax comes in the verse: “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” Here the heart of Great Lent is revealed. Christ does not come to demand, but to give. He does not save from a distance, but enters into the human wound. The “ransom” is not a worldly transaction; it is self-sacrificial love that breaks the bonds of sin and death, opening again the way of communion with God.
This passage is read on the Sunday of Saint Mary of Egypt because her life is a living interpretation of it. The Saint did not climb to a “throne”; she descended into the depths of repentance. She did not ask for a position; she asked for mercy. And there, in the silence of the desert, she learned that true glory is the defeat of passion, the humbling of the heart, and the human person becoming a servant of God. The Church reminds us, shortly before Holy Week, that Christ is making His way to Jerusalem, and calls us to follow Him not with dreams of power, but with repentance, service, and a love that is crucified—so that it may rise again.
+ Metropolitan Nektarios of Hong Kong and South East Asia
