He walked before them up the road,

Jerusalem ahead.

The Twelve came on, amazed, afraid,

while He named the coming dread:

chief priests and scribes would pass the sentence,

Gentile hands would mock and bind;

spit and scourge, then death would meet Him,

third-day rising close behind.

James and John came near with longing:

“Grant us places in Thy light,

one beside Thee on the left hand,

one beside Thee on the right.”

They saw glory, reached for seating,

heard a kingdom, measured rank.

Jesus showed the cup before them,

showed the baptism they would drink.

Can ye drink the cup before Me?

Can ye bear the baptism too?

“We are able,” came the answer.

Then the ten grew angry too.

Not so among you.

Not the throne, not the lifted hand.

Not so among you.

Greatness kneels where the servants stand.

Whosoever would be great,

let him minister to all.

Whosoever would be chief,

let him be the servant of all.

Gentile rulers press their power,

make their weight descend below.

Titles rise by making others

feel how far beneath they go.

But the King who walked before them

was not guarding place or breath.

Every step toward Jerusalem

carried service toward His death.

Not so among you.

Not the throne, not the lifted hand.

Not so among you.

Greatness kneels where the servants stand.

The Son of Man came not for service,

but to minister and give.

His life

as a ransom for many.

Not so among you.

Let the first learn the lowest place.

Not so among you.

Let authority wear a servant’s face.

He walked ahead toward suffering,

not retreating from the call.

The King would give His life for many,

the Servant standing under all.

Jerusalem ahead.

Jesus still walking.