The Loser’s Paradox
The ending of a championship game always throws a dagger of ice into my heart. You see athletes leaping into the arms of their teammates, having fulfilled a dream they’ve had since childhood. Just a few feet away, you see fierce competitors with their heads in their hands, watching someone else grab their dream from under their noses. Ecstasy and agony. Elation and despair. It’s a Rembrandt painting on network television, and it kills me every time. My heart hurts for the losers. [1]
I don’t know anyone watching those games who says I’d rather be the loser than the one lifting the trophy.
For the most part, no one wants to be a loser. If you are a loser, that implies there was a winner, and you weren’t it. It means that there was something to win, and you didn’t get it. Losers, by definition, are worse than winners at whatever contest they engage in. Whether in sports, finances, or life, losers are inferior to winners. Winners win, and Losers lose.
The problem is not everyone can win. Usually, people don’t win. In sports, at least 50% of participants lose a match. In a race, only one wins. There is one gold medal, one Super Bowl winner, and one Premier League Champion. Only one person wins an election, gets the promotion, or has the most valuable house in the neighborhood. To quote Highlander, “There can only be one.” Most people lose.
I’m writing this the day after the Super Bowl. All the sports shows are filled with conversations about the “best quarterback,” “best offensive-minded head coach of all-time,” and the “greatest ending to a Super Bowl of all-time,” and comparing them to other “greatest of all times.” TV personalities rank and argue these things, and later I’ll do it too because it’s fun to talk about.
Competitive people love this. Life is a contest, a game, even a battle to be won, and they will be the last ones standing. I tend to see life this way. My natural mindset is to find my value in where I stand compared to others. My desire to win, or more often, my fear of losing, keeps me up at night working to beat my opponents, real or imaginary. Hopefully, you don’t think that way, but if you do, I’m here for you. Let’s grab lunch.
But this is nothing new. People have been arguing about who is greatest forever. Look at Jesus’ disciples:
And they came to Capernaum. And when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” But they kept silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. Mark 9:33-34 ESV
When you consider that Jesus’ twelve closest disciples were probably in their late teens, early-twenties[2], you aren’t surprised that an argument like this broke out. Having spent 15 years ministering to teens, college students, and young professionals, I can confidently say that young men compete in everything from jump shots, jokes, girls, guys, grades, shoes, to spirituality.
Jesus, however, doesn’t affirm their argument, supposing that a competitive environment would bring out the best in all of them. Like so much of his ministry, Jesus turns the argument on its head and says:
…“If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” 36 And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, 37 “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.” Mark 9:35-37 ESV
The last will be first. Or, put another way, the losers will be winners. The ones serving everyone else, the ones welcoming the least significant, the ones wielding no power, or, more likely, those using their power to serve others rather than themselves will be the most powerful. When you obsess about winning, you lose. When you devote yourself to serving, you win.
Two things jump out to me here.
The absurdity of this claim
Who in their right mind could accept a teaching like this? It’s like saying water is not wet. It doesn’t pass the eye test. The great are great, and the low are low. All his disciples knew what a servant looked like and how different they were from those with power. It was a no-brainer who you wanted to be, and it wasn’t the one covered in the mud from cleaning the stables.
Being good disciples, maybe they accepted it willingly. But then another problem emerges. What if the new competition is who can be “the greatest servant”? My brain ties itself into knots trying to figure it out. I can understand competing to reach new heights. But how can you be great when competing to reach new lows? It’s a horrible trophy to win.
Despite centuries of “understanding” the point of this verse, many disciples (myself included), seek to win rather than lose in their spirituality. Throughout my walk with Jesus, I felt superior because of my Bible reading habits, my devotion to evangelism and God’s mission, my high standards of holiness, the movies I refused to watch, the music I wouldn’t listen to, my impeccable church attendance record, my participation in mission trips or service projects, or the passionate conviction I held concerning all of these practices.
None of these are bad, and I still believe all Christians should aspire to grow in them. But while I may have been great in my own eyes or outsiders watching me, I did not measure myself against the standard of being “last and servant of all.” My sacrifices were for Jesus, but they also served me. While I did sacrifice to serve many, I shudder to think how many spiritual points I awarded myself because of my efforts. It was the same competition, just a different game.
How am I to put this into practice without falling into the same trap?
2. The authenticity of its promise
It seems that Jesus’ teaching serves a double purpose: One, as moral instruction for his followers to welcome the least significant among them, but two, to foreshadow its ultimate fulfillment – his death on the cross.
Jesus was the servant who gave himself up for all humanity for all time. There was no human glory in the stripes along his back. No honor in the spit which the crowds cast upon him. His cross was a curse in the eyes of the Jewish people (Deut 21:22-23). The blood he spilled held no earthly benefit for himself, just for others. This wasn’t an example of “you have to spend money to make money.”
The only reason Jesus won was because the prize was not for himself; it was for others. Yes, God resurrected him to sit at his right hand, but the throne wasn’t his aim – it was us. Jesus was the greatest because he was willing to become the lowest. He commanded his disciples to accept the least of his people because even the worst person was still worthy of his blood.
The only way a teaching like “the first must be last” works is for the prize to be other people and not something you possess for yourself.
Conclusion
The paradox of Christian loserdom continues to baffle and challenge everyone who hears it. Even today, when people say that volunteering is important to them, it’s usually accompanied by an explanation of how fulfilling it is for them. Not that it isn’t fulfilling, but in that case, the prize is still your fulfillment. The people most fulfilled by service are the ones who don’t seek their own satisfaction. The ones who make the biggest evangelistic impact are the ones who care nothing of their own glory in the process.
As I look at myself, I ask, “Am I willing to be a loser like Jesus was a loser?” Am I willing to trust his promise to seek others before myself and risk losing what I think will make me great? Ask yourself that question. Ask for God to uncover your heart. Let’s see what happens to those around us when we embrace the paradox and trust that the first must be last among all.
Notes
[1] Unless the losers are the Dallas Cowboys or Manchester United. Then all bets are off.
[2] Cox, Laurence J. n.d. “How Old Were Jesus and His Disciples.” Www.academia.edu. Accessed February 12, 2024. https://www.academia.edu/30309277/How_old_were_Jesus_and_his_disciples?email_work_card=view-paper.
