Cross-Shaped Leadership
Mark 10:35-45
Let me start with a question that might make some of us squirm just a little: If James and John—the Sons of Thunder—were sitting in our pews today, what do you think we'd say about them?
They come to Jesus and basically say, “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask.” Bold, right? Then they drop the request: “When You come into Your glory, let one of us sit at Your right hand and the other at Your left.” Thrones. Status. The top spots. If they walked into a leadership seminar or church growth conference today, we'd probably pull them aside afterward and say, “Boys, you've got vision! That's the kind of ambition we need. Keep dreaming big—seize the moment!”
We'd hand them a copy of a leadership book, maybe even John Maxwell's The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership, and say, “Here, Law #18 is all about sacrifice—give up a little now to go up later. You've got what it takes to climb the ladder.”
And honestly? We'd mean it. Because in the world—in business, in politics, even in too many corners of the church—ambition like that gets applauded and rewarded. We celebrate the climbers. The ones who grow the biggest churches, fill the biggest roles, get the biggest titles. Success looks like going up the ladder. That’s the world’s mentality—Leaders climb ladders!
But here's the thing that stops me cold every time I read this passage: Jesus doesn't applaud them. He doesn't hand them a promotion plan. He looks at these two ambitious disciples—right after He's told them for the third time He's going to suffer and die—and He says, in essence, “You have no idea what you're asking for.”
This morning we're looking at Mark 10:35–45, a passage that turns everything we think we know about leadership upside down. Jesus doesn't give James and John a pep-talk about seizing opportunity. He gives them—and us—a vision of greatness that doesn't run through boardrooms or bishop's chairs or even overflowing sanctuaries. It runs straight through a cross.
The path to greatness in God's Kingdom doesn't go up. It goes down. Leaders in the Kingdom don't just serve—they sacrifice. And the surprising truth is, this isn't just for pastors or missionaries or young people. This is for every one of us who says we want to follow Jesus.
Today I want us to look at what ‘cross-shaped leadership’ really looks like. And if we're honest—and I plan to be very honest with you—it might mean laying down some ladders we've been climbing. It’s not just about laying down. It’ll also be about picking up.
Let's look at what happens in Mark 10. James and John come to Jesus and say, “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask.” Jesus, patient as always, says, “What do you want Me to do for you?”
And they lay it out: “Grant us to sit, one at Your right hand and one at Your left, in Your glory.” Thrones. Honor. The prime seats in the Kingdom. These are the same two who, not long before, wanted to call down fire from heaven on a village that didn't welcome Jesus. But notice the timing. Jesus has just told them—for the third time—He's going to Jerusalem to suffer, be rejected, killed, and rise again. And right after that prediction, they ask for the VIP spots.
If I’m honest, I understand that impulse. We've all had moments when we wanted the spotlight, the recognition, the place of influence. Maybe not thrones, but the committee chair, the board seat, the “well done” from the right people. James and John weren't evil; they were ambitious. And ambition isn't always bad—until it blinds us to the way of the cross.
Jesus doesn't scold them. He simply asks them a question: “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” The cup—suffering. The baptism—immersion in pain and death.
They say, “We are able.” Brave words. Jesus tells them they will drink that cup and share that baptism—James would be martyred, John exiled—but the seats? “That's not Mine to give.”
Then the other ten hear about it and get indignant. Jealousy flares up. The whole group is caught in the same trap: who's the greatest? Sound familiar? They just had that discussion back in Mark 9. Let’s not be hard on them. We've had the same discussion in churches, in families, even in our own hearts.
This is where the rubber meets the road for me personally. Because if I'm honest—and I told you I would be—this passage has been confronting me hard this Lent. For years in ministry, I climbed the ladder too.
The weekly preparation has been challenging on every level as the Holy Spirit has confronted me with my own failures as a disciple. I won’t go into all those ways. This week I’ve been confronted with my own ambition and jealousy in years of ministry. Here’s the confession, and here’s our jumping off point: For years in ministry, I climbed the ecclesiastical ladder.
I came to ministry because I wanted to be a good pastor. I wanted to help people. I’ve shared before that I was in law enforcement because I wanted to help people, but I soon discovered that law enforcement has a hard time helping the people who need help the most, and there was little place for grace in the law enforcement world.
Ministry provides the opportunity for both. Perhaps, though, I came to ministry without a true understanding of the nature of the Kingdom. I brought all my secular expectations to the task of ministry. I was ambitious. I wanted to be a good pastor, sure, but as much as (or maybe more than) I wanted to be a good pastor I wanted to be a successful pastor. Successful pastors grow churches. Successful pastors “make disciples.”
And, if you’re a United Methodist pastor, successful United Methodist pastors climb the ecclesiastical ladder. And, boy, did I? I rose to the point of being a District Superintendent, and then the pastor of a large church. I thought I could be a bishop. It was the next logical step on the ladder. While I know my heart and the role I played in it, it’s not all my fault. The Church encouraged my ambition. It rewarded my ambition. It sent me to leadership seminars and conferences. The leaders of the Church taught me the leadership principles of the world. “Adapt them for the Kingdom,” they said.
And, adapt I did. If I’m absolutely honest, I have to admit my jealousy, too—just like the other ten disciples. I’ll admit to jealousy as I saw other pastors promoted to the “big church.” I was jealous of those “mega-church” pastors and thought to myself, “Why can’t I do that?” “Why hasn’t the Lord blessed me that way?” Yeah! Not just the ambition, but the jealousy, too.
See? You thought you had a humble pastor. The Good News is that Lent is for repentance and Jesus never tires of leading us back home.
Jesus sees the mess—the jealousy, the power plays—and He calls them close. “You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them.” That's the world's way. Power. Control. Climbing ladders. Leaders climb ladders!
But Jesus says, “It shall not be so among you.” Not in My Kingdom. “Whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all.”
Servant. Slave. Those words would have stung. In their world, servants and slaves were at the bottom—no status, no rights. Yet Jesus flips the script: greatness isn't about being over others; it's about being under them in service. The path to greatness in God's Kingdom doesn't run through power or prestige. It runs through the cross.
We read leadership books—good ones, even Christian ones. John Maxwell's 21 Irrefutable Laws helped me in ministry and business. But Law #18—the Law of Sacrifice—comes in at number 18. “A leader must give up to go up.” It's one principle among many. For Jesus, sacrifice isn't Law #18. It's the only law. And “going up” isn't the goal. Going down is. In the world, leaders climb ladders. In the Kingdom, leaders carry crosses.
This isn't just theory. It's the pattern Jesus lived—and calls us to live.
And then Jesus drops the mic: “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.”
He doesn't just teach cross-shaped leadership. He embodies it. The Son of Man—the One with all authority—didn't come to be waited on. He came to serve. And the ultimate service? Giving His life as a ransom. Paying the price to set captives free. That's Isaiah 53 language—the Suffering Servant who bears our sins. The cross isn't just how Jesus saves us. It's how He leads us. It's the pattern for how we serve.
Cross-shaped leadership is what the Apostle Paul described in Philippians 2:
5 In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
6 Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
7 rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
8 And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
For three chapters in Mark, Jesus has been driving this home: the cross doesn't just save us. The cross shapes us. It shapes how we live, how we serve, how we lead. Everything rises or falls on leadership—but only when that leadership is cross-shaped.
Friends, everything we've talked about this morning rises or falls right here, on verse 45: “For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
Jesus didn't just tell us to carry crosses—He carried His first. He didn't climb a ladder; He descended all the way to the cross so that we could be set free. That ransom wasn't paid for our comfort or our status— it was paid so we could become like Him: servants who lead by laying down our lives.
So, here's the invitation today: Will you lay down the ladder you've been climbing? Maybe it's the ambition for recognition in your family, your workplace, your church role, or even in your own heart. Will you pick up your cross instead—not in some dramatic, heroic way, but in the small, daily choices to serve rather than be served? To listen rather than demand, to give rather than grasp, to value others above yourself?
I started this sermon confessing my own ladder-climbing and jealousy. By God's grace, He's been reshaping that in me—not perfectly, but continually. And He wants to do the same in you. The cross isn't just where Jesus died for us; it’s the shape He wants our lives to take.
If that's stirring something in you today—if you're ready to say, “Lord, make my leadership, my relationships, my whole life cross-shaped”—I invite you to respond right now. In the quiet of your heart, as we pray, tell Him: “Jesus, I lay down my ladder. I pick up my cross. Reshape me like You.”
And remember John—the same Son of Thunder who once chased thrones—eventually wrote, “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters” (1 John 3:16). If God could transform him, He can transform us.
