One of my favorite stories in Scripture features a mother who could be called the first “helicopter parent.” In Matthew 20, the mother of James and John approaches Jesus during the final stretch of His ministry and asks a bold question: “Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom.”

What makes this so striking is the timing. The request comes while Jesus is on the way to Jerusalem, just after He has predicted His suffering and death. Their ambition is placed in stark contrast to the cross. Matthew includes the detail of their mother making the request, underscoring how deep this desire for prominence ran—they had their mommy do the hard ask.

But Jesus’ response flips everything upside down. He doesn’t build ladders of status; He levels the playing field. The proud are humbled, and the brokenhearted are lifted. Working-class fisherman, rejected tax collectors and ostracized women are entrusted with leadership in His mission, while the rich young rulers, religious elite and politically powerful are often ridiculed and rebuked.

Jesus is not seeking ladder-climbers. He wants followers who are willing to climb down the ladder—willing to associate with the broken, the least, and the lonely. As He says in Luke 6:32–33: “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that.” Anyone can show love when it benefits them; the gospel calls us to a radical, costly love.

We are called to extend kindness to those who cannot repay us. True greatness in the kingdom is found in humility and in a love that costs us—even our social capital.

And if Jesus—the Lord of the universe—was willing to leave heaven, though He was in very nature God, in order to humble Himself and become like us, shouldn’t we be willing to humble ourselves to walk with those who cannot help us climb the ladders of life?