I'm old enough to remember Cassius Clay (who later changed his name to Muhammad Ali) proclaiming that he was "the greatest." At a minimum he meant that he was the greatest fighter around, and he was certainly right in that. So, in context, his boast was understandable-- "greatest" meant that he was the best in his chosen field: boxing. But what do the disciples mean when in today's Gospel (Mt 18: 1-5, 10) they ask Jesus to tell them who is the "greatest" in the Kingdom of heaven? We don't know for sure, of course, but don't you think that by "greatest" they mean the one with the most power, the one who rules the place, the one to whom everyone looks up? And, without question, they want to be that person. It is a topic to which they, and sometimes their family members, turn over and over. Who is going to rule the place, who will have the seat at the right hand of God, who will have the power, they ask time and again. Not surprising, I suppose, because that drive for power seems built in. In the opening of the first part of the movie triology "The Lord of the Rings," Galadriel sums it up when she says that the nine rings were given "to the race of men, who above all else desire power." So true, and so corrupting. History shows us over and over how power can change us, undermine our integrity, lead us to destruction. Maybe that's why Jesus responds to the question of "who is the greatest" as He does. His response highlights a little child, and says that we should be "like little children." Little children, of course, are the most powerless folks on the planet, dependent on others for everything they need and physically without any ability to take on adults. They can't hope to be "the greatest" because they know that isn't possible. They can't dominate others with their strength. Perhaps Jesus' response is a reminder to us that the whole question of who is the greatest is the wrong question to ask. We're not intended to be "the greatest." In fact, we're intended to be the weakest, reliant on God's strength and not relying on our own. That's a good thing to remember, because it is an antedote to the corrupting influence of power. That's how little children roll, after all. And there sure is some wisdom in that.