The Great Reversal: When God Flips the Script

Scripture Reading: Mark 10:17-31

There’s a scene in the classic film Trading Places where two wealthy commodity brokers make a bet about whether they can transform a homeless street hustler into a successful businessman while simultaneously reducing their protégé to poverty. The comedy hinges on our assumptions about who belongs where in society’s pecking order. By the film’s end, the supposedly “inferior” characters have outsmarted the elite, leaving the powerful brokers bankrupt and humiliated. What makes this narrative so satisfying is our deep intuition that the world’s rankings might not reflect true worth; that perhaps, the script needs flipping.

This same intuitive longing for justice echoes through human history. We’ve always sensed that current arrangements might not represent ultimate reality. The ancient Greeks told stories of kings becoming beggars and slaves becoming heroes. Shakespeare built entire tragedies around the fragility of earthly status. Charles Dickens made his fortune writing about social reversals that exposed the arbitrary nature of class distinctions. Even our modern entertainment industry thrives on underdog stories where the overlooked triumph over the privileged. There’s something in the human spirit that yearns for a great reversal, a cosmic correction where true value is finally recognized and false hierarchies crumble.

Consider the remarkable story of Dorothy Day¹, who began her adult life as a bohemian journalist in Greenwich Village, drinking with Eugene O’Neill and living what she later called a “life of sin.” She seemed destined for literary success among New York’s intellectual elite. Yet through a profound spiritual awakening, she chose to abandon that world entirely, founding the Catholic Worker Movement and spending her remaining decades serving the poorest of the poor. When she died in 1980, the powerful mourned her passing while the homeless carried her casket. Her biographer noted that she had achieved the ultimate reversal: becoming first by choosing to be last. Day herself once wrote, “The mystery of the poor is this: That they are Jesus hiding in them.”

Or consider the neuroscientific research on status and stress conducted by Robert Sapolsky² at Stanford University. His groundbreaking studies on baboon hierarchies revealed that animals at the bottom of social rankings actually demonstrate greater resilience and adaptability when circumstances change. The alpha males, so dominant in stable conditions, often prove most vulnerable when their world is disrupted. The neurological pathways that create dominance behaviors can become liabilities when flexibility is required. This fascinating research suggests that nature itself sometimes favors the apparent “losers” when fundamental changes occur, a biological hint that reversals might be more natural than we imagine.

Friedrich Schleiermacher³, often called the father of modern theology, grew up in a Moravian community where simplicity and service were valued over worldly achievement. Despite becoming one of Germany’s most influential thinkers, he never forgot his humble origins. In his Christmas Eve dialogues, he wrote, “The highest cannot be spoken; it can only be acted.” Schleiermacher understood that true greatness often manifests in ways that the world fails to recognize—in quiet service, in sacrificial love, and in choosing the path of humility rather than the highway of ambition.

The great African American theologian Howard Thurman⁴, who profoundly influenced Martin Luther King Jr., spent his childhood as the grandson of a slave in Daytona, Florida. His grandmother, Nancy Ambrose, had been forbidden to read during slavery, yet she possessed a wisdom that surpassed the educated elite of her era. She would tell young Howard, “You must be ready. When your opportunity comes, you must be ready.” That former slave’s great-grandson went on to become one of America’s most respected theologians, while many of the “educated” defenders of slavery were forgotten by history. Thurman later wrote, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

This pattern of reversal appears throughout literature as well. Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” transforms a convicted thief into a figure of Christ-like redemption while exposing the moral bankruptcy of supposedly respectable society. Jane Austen’s Elizabeth Bennet, initially dismissed by the proud Mr. Darcy as “tolerable” but “not handsome enough to tempt me,” ultimately proves to possess the very qualities that matter most. Harper Lee’s Atticus Finch occupies the moral high ground while the town’s “respectable” citizens reveal their spiritual poverty through prejudice and hatred.

The hymn writer John Newton⁵ understood this reversal intimately. As a young man, he captained slave ships, participating in one of history’s most brutal systems of oppression. Yet through God’s grace, this “wretch” became the author of “Amazing Grace,” one of Christianity’s most beloved songs. His transformation from slave trader to abolitionist demonstrates how God’s kingdom values can completely invert worldly hierarchies. Newton wrote, “I am not what I ought to be, I am not what I want to be, I am not what I hope to be in another world; but still I am not what I once used to be, and by the grace of God I am what I am.”

Modern psychology⁸ has discovered something remarkable about human happiness and status. Studies consistently show that people in professions focused on service such as teachers, social workers, and counselors, report higher levels of life satisfaction than those in traditionally high-status, high-income careers. The neurological explanation involves dopamine pathways that are more robustly activated by meaningful contribution than by external recognition. Researchers have found that acts of generosity literally light up the brain’s reward centers more intensely than receiving benefits. This suggests that our neural architecture itself supports the kind of reversal that challenges conventional wisdom about success and fulfillment.

Walter Brueggemann⁶, in his powerful commentary on the Psalms, notes how these ancient songs consistently celebrate God’s tendency to “lift up the lowly and bring down the mighty.” He writes, “The God of the Bible is endlessly committed to the reordering of power in the world.” Brueggemann observes that biblical faith is inherently subversive of established hierarchies because it recognizes a different source of authority and value. The Psalms don’t merely comfort the afflicted; they afflict the comfortable by insisting that God’s perspective differs radically from human systems of ranking and recognition.

It was into this context of reversed expectations that a wealthy young man came running to Jesus, breathless with urgency and earnest with desire. Here was someone who had achieved everything his society valued: youth, wealth, religious observance, social standing. He knelt before Jesus with what seemed like perfect humility, addressing him as “Good Teacher” and asking about eternal life. By every external measure, this young man was first—first in achievement, first in resources, and first in religious devotion.

The Hebrew concept of עשיר (ashir), meaning wealthy or rich, carries connotations not just of material abundance but of social influence and divine blessing. In first-century Jewish thought, wealth was often interpreted as evidence of God’s favor. This young man represented the best his culture could produce; he was educated, successful, religiously observant, and apparently sincere in his spiritual seeking.

Yet Jesus, looking at him with love — ἠγάπησεν αὐτόν (agapesen auton) — diagnosed the one thing that made him last instead of first. His possessions had become his prison. His wealth, meant to be a tool for blessing others, had become an idol demanding his ultimate allegiance. The Greek word κτήματα (ktemata) suggests not just money but an entire system of security and identity built around material accumulation.

When Jesus issued his invitation—”Come, follow me”—he was offering this first-place finisher the opportunity to discover true greatness through the path of surrender. But the young man’s face fell, and he went away –  λυπούμενος (lypomenos) – grieving, sorrowful, because he had great possessions that possessed him even more completely than he possessed them.

The disciples’ amazement reveals how deeply we all struggle with God’s economics of reversal. They had absorbed their culture’s assumption that wealth indicated divine blessing, that success meant spiritual superiority. “Then who can be saved?” they asked, recognizing that if the rich – supposedly first in God’s favor – couldn’t enter the kingdom, what hope existed for anyone else?

Jesus’ response cuts to the heart of the great reversal: “With mortals it is impossible, but not with God; for God all things are possible.” The impossibility isn’t limited to wealthy people entering God’s kingdom; it extends to any human effort to achieve salvation through performance, position, or possessions. But what human systems make impossible—the transformation of hearts, the reordering of priorities, the liberation from false securities—becomes possible through divine grace.

Peter’s somewhat defensive response – “Look, we have left everything and followed you” –opens the door for Jesus to articulate the mathematics of reversal. Those who lose their lives will find them. Those who sacrifice temporal securities will discover eternal treasures. Those who choose the path of service over the pursuit of status will receive a hundredfold return in relationships, community, and purpose.

But then comes the revolution’s summary statement: “Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” These words, πολλοὶ δὲ ἔσονται πρῶτοι ἔσχατοι καὶ ἔσχατοι πρῶτοι (polloi de esontai protoi eschatoi kai eschatoi protoi), announce nothing less than a cosmic reorganization of reality itself.

This isn’t merely about individual salvation; it’s about God’s commitment to justice, mercy, and truth prevailing over systems that elevate the wrong values and celebrate the wrong achievements. In God’s kingdom, the criteria for greatness are completely inverted. The first are those who serve rather than those who are served, those who give rather than those who accumulate, and those who humble themselves rather than those who demand recognition.

Consider how this plays out in our contemporary context. We live in a culture obsessed with rankings:  Fortune 500 companies, Forbes billionaire lists, university rankings, social media followers, and credit scores. We’ve created elaborate systems for determining who’s first and who’s last, who matters and who doesn’t. Yet God’s great reversal suggests that these human hierarchies might be precisely backwards.

The single mother working two minimum-wage jobs to provide for her children may be first in God’s economy while the CEO who exploits workers for profit margins ranks last. The teacher investing her life in at-risk students may outrank the hedge fund manager who manipulates markets for personal gain. The volunteer at the homeless shelter may possess greater wealth in God’s accounting than the real estate mogul who displaces the poor for luxury developments.

This reversal isn’t about God playing favorites or punishing success; it’s about recognizing that true greatness lies in character, compassion, and contribution rather than accumulation, achievement, and acclaim. The great reversal reveals God’s heart for justice and mercy, His commitment to lifting up the lowly and humbling the proud.

Mother Teresa⁷, who won the Nobel Peace Prize for her work among Calcutta’s poorest residents, understood this reversal intimately. Born into a comfortable Albanian family, she chose to live among the “untouchables,” seeing Christ in the faces of the dying and destitute. When criticized for not addressing systemic poverty, she replied, “We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love.” Her definition of greatness had been completely transformed by the kingdom’s mathematics.

The African American spiritual tradition captured this reversal beautifully in songs like “We Shall Overcome” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” These songs, born from the experience of slavery and oppression, expressed confidence that God’s justice would ultimately prevail, that the last would indeed be first. The enslaved people who sang these songs possessed a spiritual wealth that their masters couldn’t comprehend, finding in their faith a dignity and hope that no human system could destroy.

Even in our secular culture, we occasionally glimpse this reversal. Consider how history has vindicated figures like Galileo, who was condemned by the authorities of his day but proved to be right about the cosmos. Or think about how artists like Van Gogh, who sold only one painting in his lifetime and died in poverty, are now considered among history’s greatest painters while his wealthy contemporaries are forgotten. Time has a way of revealing the bankruptcy of worldly valuations and validating alternative measures of worth.

The great reversal also appears in unexpected places in our scientific understanding. Chaos theory demonstrates how small actions by seemingly insignificant agents can produce massive systemic changes, while powerful forces sometimes prove surprisingly fragile. The butterfly effect suggests that a single flap of wings in Brazil might trigger a tornado in Texas, a metaphor for how the “last” might indeed influence the “first” in ways we never imagined.

This reversal offers profound hope to anyone who has ever felt overlooked, undervalued, or marginalized. God sees what the world misses. God values what the world discards. God exalts what the world humbles. The kingdom of God operates according to a completely different set of principles than earthly kingdoms, measuring greatness by different standards and celebrating different achievements.

But this reversal also presents a challenge to those of us who benefit from current arrangements. If we find ourselves among the “first” in worldly terms – wealthy, educated, privileged, influential – we must ask ourselves whether we’re using our advantages to serve God’s kingdom purposes or merely to secure our own positions. The great reversal isn’t inevitable; it’s a choice we make about which kingdom we’ll ultimately serve.

The call to discipleship involves embracing this reversal voluntarily rather than having it imposed upon us. We can choose to be last by putting others first, to be servants by using our resources for others’ benefit, to be humble by recognizing our dependence on God’s grace. When we align ourselves with God’s upside-down kingdom, we discover that losing our lives is the only way to truly find them.

This transformation requires what the mystics called kenosis—self-emptying. It’s the choice to release our grip on status, security, and success in order to grasp something far more valuable: participation in God’s redemptive work in the world. It’s the recognition that true greatness lies not in what we can accumulate for ourselves but in what we can contribute to others.

The great reversal reminds us that God’s story is still being written, that current arrangements are not permanent, that justice delayed is not justice denied. The rich young ruler walked away from his opportunity to join this great reversal, choosing the temporary security of his possessions over the eternal treasure of discipleship. But his story doesn’t have to be our story. We can choose differently.

The practical application of this great reversal begins with examining our own hearts and priorities. What are we clinging to that might be preventing us from embracing God’s upside-down kingdom? What securities, achievements, or recognitions have become our functional gods? Where might God be calling us to voluntary descent in order to discover true ascent?

Perhaps it’s time to flip our own scripts, to redefine success according to kingdom criteria rather than cultural standards. Perhaps it’s time to invest our resources, talents, and influence in ways that lift up the lowly rather than merely advancing our own positions. Perhaps it’s time to embrace the great reversal not as something that happens to us but as something we choose to participate in, joining God’s ongoing work of making the last first and the first last.

The great reversal isn’t just God’s promise for the future; it’s God’s invitation for today. We can begin living according to these upside-down kingdom principles right now, treating the supposed “least” as the greatest, serving rather than seeking to be served, giving rather than grasping. When we do, we discover that God’s economics are not only more just than our own—they’re also more joyful, more fulfilling, and more abundant than we ever imagined possible.

Closing Prayer

Gracious God, You who lift up the lowly and humble the proud, help us to embrace Your great reversal in our own lives. Give us the courage to release our grip on worldly securities and grasp instead the eternal treasures of Your kingdom. Transform our understanding of greatness, success, and worth according to Your divine perspective. May we find joy in being last when it means putting others first, and wisdom in descent when it leads to true ascent. Through Christ, who became least so that we might become most, and who chose the cross so that we might choose the crown of service. Amen.

References

¹ Day, D., & Ellsberg, R. (Ed.). (2010). The duty of delight: The diaries of Dorothy Day. Marquette University Press.

² Sapolsky, R. M. (2017). Behave: The biology of humans at our best and worst. Penguin Press.

³ Schleiermacher, F. (1821/1999). Christmas Eve: Dialogue on the incarnation (T. N. Tice, Trans.). Cascade Books.

⁴ Thurman, H. (1949). Jesus and the disinherited. Beacon Press.

⁵ Newton, J. (1779). Olney Hymns. W. Oliver.

⁶ Brueggemann, W. (2002). Spirituality of the Psalms. Fortress Press.

⁷ Teresa, M. (1997). A simple path (L. Vardey, Ed.). Ballantine Books.

⁸ Dunn, E. W., Aknin, L. B., & Norton, M. I. (2008). Spending money on others promotes happiness. Science, 319(5870), 1687-1688.