Pondering Matthias

I’ve been lingering over a moment in the Gospels, one that feels both distant and strikingly human. In Mark 3:13-19, Jesus ascends a mountain, calls a group of His followers from out of the crowd, and proceeds to select 12 to be His apostles. The scene fascinates me, not just for who was chosen, but for those who weren’t. More than 12 were there, yet only a handful were set apart. What did the others feel? Was there a pang of envy, a quiet wish to be “in the room where it happens”? And how did they stay united despite these distinctions, this apparent inequality? My mind keeps circling to Matthias, a man who was there all along, chosen later to replace Judas (Acts 1:15-26). His story offers a lens to ponder these questions, to wrestle with the human and divine threads woven into Jesus’s community where He brought inequality and unity together.

Chosen and Unchosen

Picture it: Jesus leads His followers up a mountain, a place often tied to divine encounters. He calls them to Him, and from this group, He selects 12 to be apostles, Sent Ones, tasked with preaching and authority over evil (Mark 3:14-15). It’s a moment of clarity but also of distinction. Not everyone is chosen. Some – like Peter, James, and John – receive new names, signaling an even closer role. Others remain part of the broader circle, faithful but unnamed in this moment.

I can’t help but wonder about those left out. Were there glances exchanged, hearts that sank? In my own life, I know the sting of not being picked; the job passed over, the role given to another. It’s human to want recognition, to be among the inner circle. The disciples themselves weren’t immune to this. Later, James and John ask for seats of honor in Jesus’s Kingdom (Mark 10:35-45), and the others argue about who’s greatest (Mark 9:33-37). If rivalry stirred among the 12, could those outside have felt it too? Did they wonder why they weren’t chosen, despite their devotion?

Yet, I’m struck by the world Jesus moved in. In ancient Jewish culture, life revolved around community, not individual status. The Torah shaped Israel as a covenant people, bound to God and each other through shared worship and care (Deuteronomy 7:6-8; Leviticus 19:9-10). Scholars note that first-century Jews, living under Roman rule, prioritized collective identity through synagogue gatherings, festivals, and kinship ties over personal acclaim, unlike the Greco-Roman focus on individual honor (Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief). Roles like priests or elders served the group’s survival, not personal glory (though I am sure exceptions existed, Jesus’s trial being a quick example that comes to mind). Jesus leaned into this, teaching that greatness lies in serving others (Mark 10:43) and that the last would be first (Matthew 20:16). His words must have anchored His followers, framing their roles (apostle or not) as part of a shared mission to proclaim God’s Kingdom. Still, I wonder if some standing on that mountain felt a quiet ache, their hearts torn between this communal call and human desires for recognition.

The Quiet Presence of Matthias

This brings me to Matthias, a figure who lingers in the background until Acts 1. After Judas’s betrayal, the apostles seek a replacement, someone who’d been with them from Jesus’s baptism to His resurrection. From about 120 believers (Acts 1:15), Matthias is chosen, alongside Joseph, called Barsabbas. By casting lots, the apostles entrust the decision to God, and Matthias steps into the role (Acts 1:26).

Who was Matthias before this? The text doesn’t say much, but it tells us enough: He was there the whole time. From the dusty roads of Galilee to the cross and the empty tomb, he followed Jesus. He wasn’t one of the 12, didn’t have a new name like Peter, yet he stayed. I find myself imagining his heart. Did he ever feel overlooked, standing just outside the inner circle? Did he long to be among the named, or was he content in his quiet faithfulness?

Matthias’s presence challenges me. In a world that celebrates the spotlight, he embodies something different, a steadfastness without fanfare. His selection wasn’t about ambition; it was about his proven commitment. The apostles needed someone who’d seen it all, who could bear witness to Jesus’s life and resurrection. Matthias fit because he’d never left. I wonder if, in that moment, he felt a quiet affirmation, not of status, but of a life poured out in loyalty. Or was it purer still, a readiness to serve, untainted by the need for recognition?

The Puzzle of Unity

Zooming out, a bigger question looms: How did this group stay united? With distinctions so clear (12 apostles, three renamed, others unnamed), how did they avoid fracturing despite inequality? I think of modern teams, where roles and titles can spark jealousy. Yet, the early believers seem to hold together, their unity shining after Pentecost (Acts 2:42-47) and living out Jesus’s prayer that they would be one (John 17). What kept them anchored?

First, I see Jesus’s teaching as the bedrock. He didn’t just choose the 12; He redefined what it meant to be chosen. When the disciples bickered about greatness, He set a child before them, saying, “Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me” (Mark 9:37). When James and John sought prominence, He pointed to the cross: “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). These weren’t abstract lessons; they were a way of life, urging everyone to value service over status. For those outside the 12, these words must have been a lifeline, reminding them their faithfulness mattered.

Then there’s the Holy Spirit, the great equalizer. At Pentecost, the Spirit falls on all 120, not just the apostles (Acts 2:1-4). Tongues of fire rest on each, and they all speak of God’s deeds. This moment blurs the lines of hierarchy. Whether apostle or follower, each is empowered, part of the same mission. I’m reminded of Paul’s later words: The body of Christ has many parts, each vital (1 Corinthians 12:12-27). The Spirit’s outpouring must have knit them together, their shared encounter with God outweighing any titles.

But I keep coming back to Jesus Himself. He was the center, the one who washed their feet (John 13:1-17), who loved them to the end. His life showed that true leadership isn’t about rank but about laying oneself down. For Matthias and the others, Jesus’s example must have been magnetic, pulling them beyond petty rivalries. When I think of their unity, I see His face, His voice, calling them to love one another as He loved them (John 13:34).

Inequality and Unity Today

I wonder how unity and inequality coexist. To my modern mind, they feel incongruent; inequality breeds division, not harmony. In today’s world, we see this everywhere: workplaces where promotions spark resentment, churches where roles create cliques, or societies where status divides. We strive for equality, flattening hierarchies or celebrating every contribution equally, yet inequalities persist. Some lead, others follow; some are named, others are unnoticed. Matthias’s story pulls me back to this tension. He was there, faithful yet unnamed, until chosen later (Acts 1:26). How did he, and others like him, navigate this? And can the Church today, without Jesus in bodily form, weave unity through such disparities?

I think of our context, 2025, a world of rapid change. In traditional churches, organizations, and multiplying movements alike, we assign roles: pastors, elders, facilitators, researchers, Strategy Coordinators, coaches, holders of the purse, greeters, disciple-makers, seed sowers, multipliers, Level 1-5 Leaders, etc. Some preach, others serve chai or coffee; some are visible, others labor quietly. These distinctions can feel unfair, like the selection on the mountain. I’ve seen it myself: a dedicated volunteer overlooked for leadership, a quiet contributor feeling invisible, a diligent disciple-maker with delayed fruit. Our instinct is to erase inequality, to make everyone equal in role. But Jesus didn’t do that. He chose 12, named three, yet called all to the same mission. Matthias, unchosen at first, stayed faithful, his role no less vital before his apostolic call.

This makes me wonder: Is Jesus the only one who can hold this tension? His presence unified the early believers. His teachings such as “the last will be first” (Matthew 20:16), reframed inequality as opportunity for service. His Spirit, poured out on all (Acts 2:1-4), made every member essential, from Matthias to the unnamed. His example, washing feet, dying for all (John 13:1-17), dissolved rivalries in love. But Jesus isn’t here in body now. Can the Church He’s building live this out?

I believe it can, but only by clinging to Him. The early Church didn’t rely on Jesus’s physical presence after Pentecost; they leaned on the Spirit and His teachings. Today, I see ministries thrive where leaders model servanthood, where every role is seen as advancing the Great Commission. I think of a brother in Asia who repeatedly shunned the limelight available to him by “giving away the Kingdom” and not amassing a large network of churches as he could have done. Instead, he kept empowering and sending people out, serving their vision, not his own. He has served quietly for years, much like Matthias, and unnoticed by most, but his servant heart cuts through the noise, and his impact has spread far and wide. People follow him not because of status or a role, but because he loves like Jesus.

Yet, I wrestle with this. Our world amplifies inequality’s sting; social media highlights the “chosen,” while algorithms bury the rest. I look to Matthias again. His faithfulness wasn’t for applause; it was for Jesus. The Spirit empowered him, as it did all 120, to witness (Acts 1:8). Today’s Church, if it leans on the Spirit, can do the same. Paul’s words echo: “There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit” (1 Corinthians 12:4). Inequality in role doesn’t mean inequality in value. Jesus weaves these together, and His Church, alive with his Spirit, can too; building communities where every disciple, named or not, multiplies His mission.

A Call to Reflect

This leaves me pondering my own heart. Do I serve for love of Christ or for a nod from others? Matthias’s example challenges me to stay faithful, even when unnoticed, trusting that every act weaves into God’s story. For those of us longing to see the Great Commission fulfilled, this vision of unity through inequality, held by Jesus’s love and Spirit spurs us on. Can we build churches where every role matters, where the Spirit knits us as one? What does this stir in you? I’d love to sit with these questions longer, to see where they lead. Perhaps the 1st century church provides a clue for us as to how Jesus is building His church?

This post originally appeared at: https://socraticberean.substack.com/p/pondering-matthias