FOR HE THAT IS NOT AGAINST US ON OUR PART (Santamaria)

A strange kind of spiritual ugliness shows itself when people can watch evil being pushed back and still feel irritated. That is exactly what happens in the Gospel of Mark 9. A man is “casting out devils” in the Name of Jesus Christ, and the disciples’ first response is not gratitude, not awe, not the holy relief that comes when darkness loses ground. Their first response is to shut him down—because he isn’t wearing their jersey.

The moment matters even more when you remember what comes immediately before it. In Mark 9:33–37, Jesus has just confronted the disciples for arguing about who is greatest. He sets a child in their midst and says, “If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.” Pride has already been exposed in them; now it shows up again, wearing a different mask. It’s as if they say, “Fine, we won’t brag about beingthe  greatest… but we will still act like we own the franchise.” So John speaks up: “Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name… and we forbad him, because he followeth not us” (Mark 9:38, KJV). He doesn’t say, “because he followeth not thee.” He says, “because he followeth not us.” The kingdom has been subtly relocated from Christ’s authority to the disciples’ circle.

Mark’s Greek makes the scene even sharper. John says they saw someone ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί σου (en tō onomati sou), “in your Name,” ἐκβάλλοντα δαιμόνια (ekballonta daimonia), “casting out demons.” The verb ἐκβάλλω is a force-word—drive out, expel, throw out. This is not gentle self-improvement; it is violent eviction. And “demons” here is δαιμόνια (daimonia), personal malevolent powers in the Gospel narrative. Whatever else you think about exorcism accounts, Mark is depicting a collision with real spiritual hostility.

Then John adds the grievance: “and he followeth not us.” Greek: ὅτι οὐκ ἠκολούθει ἡμῖν (hoti ouk ēkolouthei hēmin). The scandal is not that the man denies doctrine or dishonors Christ. The scandal is that he isn’t attached to the approved band of disciples. And when John says, “we forbade him,” Mark uses an imperfect tense: ἐκωλύομεν αὐτόν (ekōlyomen auton). That’s not just “we stopped him once.” It carries the sense of repeated or ongoing effort: “we kept hindering him.” They made it their project to block him.

Jesus answers with a direct reversal: “Forbid him not” (Mark 9:39). Greek: μὴ κωλύετε αὐτόν (mē kōlyete auton)—“Stop hindering him.” The verb κωλύω (kōlyō) means to prevent, obstruct, restrain, or hinder. It’s the same kind of word you’d use for blocking a road. Jesus is basically saying, “Get out of the way.”

Then Jesus explains why: “for there is no man which shall do a miracle in my name, that can lightly speak evil of me” (Mark 9:39). In Greek: οὐδεὶς γάρ ἐστιν ὃς ποιήσει δύναμιν ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματί μου (oudeis gar estin hos poiēsei dynamin epi tō onomati mou)—“for no one is there who will do a work of power upon my Name”—καὶ δυνήσεται ταχὺ κακολογῆσαί με (kai dynēsetai tachy kakologēsai me)—“and be able quickly to speak evil of me.” That ταχὺ (tachy, “quickly”) is a rebuke of the disciples’ assumption. Jesus is not teaching that it is metaphysically impossible for someone to misuse his Name; Scripture elsewhere warns about deceptive signs. He is saying something more immediate and practical: the direction of this man’s action matters. If someone is truly acting in allegiance to Christ’s authority—“upon my Name”—they are not simultaneously operating as a casual slanderer of Christ. The disciples are treating “not in our group” as equivalent to “against Christ.” Jesus refuses that shortcut.

And then comes the famous line, the one you’re building on, in Greek and in KJV:

ὃς γὰρ οὐκ ἔστιν καθ᾽ ἡμῶν, ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν ἐστιν. (hos gar ouk estin kath’ hēmōn, hyper hēmōn estin)
“For he that is not against us is on our part.” (Mark 9:40, KJV)

The prepositions here are doing theology with a scalpel. καθ᾽ is κατά (kata) compressed before a vowel—“against,” with the sense of pressure, opposition, hostility. ὑπὲρ (hyper) is “for, on behalf of, in support of.” Jesus is not praising spiritual apathy. He is making a judgment about allegiance as revealed by action. This man is not setting himself “down against” the mission; he is acting “for” it.

Then Jesus pushes the principle into a humbler register, from exorcisms down to a cup of water: “For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ… he shall not lose his reward” (Mark 9:41, KJV). Greek: ὃς γὰρ ἂν ποτίσῃ ὑμᾶς ποτήριον ὕδατος (hos gar an potisē hymas potērion hydatos)—“whoever gives you a cup of water”—ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε (en onomati hoti Christou este)—“in Name, because you are Christ’s”—ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν (amēn legō hymin)—“truly I say to you”—οὐ μὴ ἀπολέσῃ τὸν μισθὸν αὐτοῦ (ou mē apolesē ton misthon autou)—“he shall certainly not lose his reward.” That emphatic double negative οὐ μὴ (ou mē) is strong: not just “probably not,” but “certainly not.” Jesus is teaching the disciples to recognize allegiance not by inside badges but by Christ-centered mercy, even in small acts.

Now, this is where modern readers love to run off the road. Some turn Mark 9:40 into a soft, syrupy slogan: “Everyone who’s not actively hostile to Christians is basically with Christ.” But Jesus is not blessing vague niceness. The entire discussion is anchored to the Name—τὸ ὄνομα (to onoma). In biblical thought, the “Name” isn’t a magical string of syllables; it stands for the person, authority, reputation, and claim of the one named. To act “in the Name” is to act under the authority of the King.

That’s why the disciples’ “he followeth not us” is so poisonous. They are the relocation authority. They are turning the Name into an in-house trademark, something controlled by the inner circle. Jesus yanks it back. The Name is not theirs to license.

You can hear this same dynamic elsewhere in Scripture, like an old melody appearing in a new key. In Book of Numbers 11, Eldad and Medad prophesy in the camp, and Joshua—like a young disciple with a clipboard—says, “My lord Moses, forbid them” (Num. 11:28, KJV). Moses replies, “Enviest thou for my sake? would God that all the LORD’S people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit upon them!” (Num. 11:29, KJV). The same spirit is at work: God is not trapped inside your approved channels. Jealousy can disguise itself as zeal, but it’s still jealousy. Moses refuses to be flattered by exclusivity, and Jesus refuses to be “protected” by the disciples’ possessiveness.

You see it again in the Gospel of John 3. John the Baptist’s disciples complain: “Rabbi, he that was with thee beyond Jordan… behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come to him” (John 3:26, KJV). Translation: “We’re losing market share.” John replies with spiritual sobriety: “A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven… He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:27, 30, KJV). John refuses the same temptation the disciples indulge in in Mark 9. John’s joy is tethered to Christ’s increase, not to his own brand.

And Paul, in Epistle to the Philippians 1, stands in the same tradition when he says that some preach Christ “even of envy and strife,” yet he concludes, “Notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence, or in truth, Christ is preached; and I therein do rejoice” (Phil. 1:18, KJV). That is not gullibility; it’s a refusal to make personal ego the center. Paul can distinguish motives without turning into a petty policeman.

Still, someone will fairly object: doesn’t Jesus also say something that sounds like the opposite? Yes. In the Gospel of Matthew 12:30, Jesus declares: “He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad” (KJV). Greek: ὁ μὴ ὢν μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ κατ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἐστιν (ho mē ōn met’ emou kat’ emou estin)—“the one not being with me is against me”—and ὁ μὴ συνάγων μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ σκορπίζει (ho mē synagōn met’ emou skorpizei)—“the one not gathering with me scatters.” That is strong language. So how can Jesus say both?

He can say both because the situations are different. In Matthew 12, the religious leaders are attributing Jesus’ works to demonic power; they are waging interpretive war against manifest light. That is not “an outsider doing some real good but not part of the inner circle.” That is hardened opposition to Christ. In that context, neutrality is not innocent; it’s a mask for hostility. The kingdom is arriving, and to stand aloof—or worse, to call it satanic—is to align against the King.

But in Mark 9, the danger is the disciples’ sectarian jealousy, their instinct to treat “not us” as “against Jesus.” Jesus’ words in Mark 9 restrain the disciples’ tribal impulse. His words in Matthew 12 expose the opponents’ moral rebellion. Same Lord, same center—Christ himself—but different heart diseases, different medicine.

That difference helps keep Mark 9:40 from being misused as a theological permission slip for anything. Jesus is not saying that any activity with religious vocabulary is automatically “on our part.” Scripture is extremely clear that false prophets exist, and that signs can be counterfeited or weaponized. “Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God” (1 John 4:1, KJV). Jesus himself warns: “Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils?” and then he says, “I never knew you” (Matt. 7:22–23, KJV). That warning is real, and it keeps the church from naïveté.

So what is Mark 9 actually giving us? It’s giving us a way to resist a different danger: the danger of confusing discernment with sectarianism. Discernment asks, “Is Christ honored? Is the gospel true? Is holiness loved? Is mercy real? Is the fruit consistent with repentance?” Sectarianism asks, “Are they one of us?” Discernment is Christ-centered; sectarianism is ego-centered. Discernment can weep; sectarianism smirks. Discernment can rejoice in Christ even when personal credit is absent; sectarianism cannot tolerate God using a “wrong” person.

Mark’s Greek keeps dragging you back to the axis: the Name. ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί σου. ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματί μου. ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε. Name, Name, Name. The disciples tried to make the axis “us.” Jesus keeps saying, “No—my Name.”

And this brings us into a wider biblical theology of “the Name.” Scripture treats the Name as weighty, holy, dangerous (in the best sense), and deeply relational. “The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe” (Prov. 18:10, KJV). God reveals his Name to Moses (Ex. 3:14–15), tying it to his self-existence and covenant faithfulness. The third commandment is about the Name: “Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain” (Ex. 20:7, KJV). The Name is not decoration; it is covenant reality.

In the New Testament, this intensifies around Christ. Peter proclaims: “Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved” (Acts 4:12, KJV). Paul says God has given Christ “a name which is above every name” (Phil. 2:9, KJV). The apostles do ministry “in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth” (Acts 3:6, KJV). The Name isn’t a charm; it’s authority and allegiance. To invoke the Name truly is to stand under Christ’s lordship.

That is why the disciples’ behavior in Mark 9 is so spiritually offensive. They treat the Name as a badge they can issue and revoke. But the Name is not theirs. It belongs to the King. And the King refuses to have his authority domesticated into a club rule.

So Jesus’ principle—“he that is not against us is on our part”—is both bracing and liberating. It is bracing because it tells the disciples, and us, that the kingdom is not arranged around our preferences. God’s work will sometimes appear in forms that irritate our pride. It is liberating because it releases the church from the exhausting need to be the universal manager of grace. Jesus is not anxious about the kingdom’s survival. He is not looking for interns to protect his brand. He is looking for servants who can rejoice when the enemy is driven back, even if it happens through someone outside their immediate circle.

And if we want to feel the moral force of that, we have to actually sit with the disciples’ sentence: “because he followeth not us.” That is the seed of a thousand divisions. It is the beginning of “party spirit,” the instinct Paul rebukes in First Epistle to the Corinthians 1: “Now this I say, that every one of you saith, I am of Paul; and I of Apollos; and I of Cephas; and I of Christ” (1 Cor. 1:12, KJV). Paul answers with the simplicity of a thunderclap: “Is Christ divided?” (1 Cor. 1:13, KJV). When “us” becomes the center, Christ gets fragmented into mascots. When Christ is the center, “us” becomes secondary—real, meaningful, but not ultimate.

Another passage harmonizes beautifully with Mark 9: Epistle to the Romans 14. Paul speaks to disputes about food and days and says, “Who art thou that judgest another man’s servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth” (Rom. 14:4, KJV). He isn’t abolishing doctrine or holiness; he is abolishing the pride that appoints itself as master over someone else’s conscience in disputable matters. The Lord has servants outside your control. “For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself… whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s” (Rom. 14:7–8, KJV). That is Mark 9 logic in Pauline prose: “because ye belong to Christ.”

But we have to be careful. Mark 9 does not invite us to become doctrinal minimalists who pretend differences don’t matter. The same Jesus who says “Forbid him not” also warns about false teaching and false fruit. The same New Testament that celebrates unity also commands separation from serious error. Paul can say, “If any man preach any other gospel… let him be accursed” (Gal. 1:8, KJV). John can say, “If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house” (2 John 10, KJV). So the Bible is not confused; it is complex because reality is complex.

What Mark 9 targets is not the pursuit of truth; it targets the egotistical instinct to treat our boundaries as God’s boundaries. Jesus is correcting an inflated sense of ownership. The disciples act like they are the custodians of Christ’s authority. Jesus reminds them that they are servants under it.

You can even hear this in the pronouns. In Matthew 12, Jesus says, “not with me is against me.” The axis is Christ himself. In Mark 9, he says, “not against us is for us”—because the disciples are the ones being tempted to treat their group as the center, and Jesus is addressing that specific temptation. He is not replacing himself with the group; he is rescuing the group from making itself ultimate. The “us” must remain subordinate to “my Name.”

Now here’s where the saying becomes dangerous in a good way: it doesn’t just correct theology; it exposes motives. Why do we feel the need to “forbid” people? Sometimes it’s genuine concern for truth and holiness, and Scripture honors that concern when it’s guided by love and reality. But sometimes—often—it’s something smaller: irritation that God is blessing someone who didn’t come up through our channels; annoyance that the Spirit didn’t ask our permission; fear that our tribe will lose prestige; discomfort that Christ is not behaving like a tame deity who validates our hierarchies.

When Jesus says μὴ κωλύετε αὐτόν, he is not only saying “don’t hinder that man.” He is saying, “Stop hindering God’s work because it didn’t flatter your status.”

Then he widens the lens with the cup of water. He essentially tells them: the kingdom is full of small, easily missed loyalties. There are people—perhaps unknown, uncredentialed, not in your inner circle—whose quiet acts of mercy are seen by God and honored by God. “In my name, because ye belong to Christ” is the logic of the whole thing. It is relational allegiance. It is Christ-centered recognition. It is the refusal to turn the church into a private guild.

And that Christ-centeredness should also sharpen us. The same “Name” that prevents sectarian jealousy also prevents vague universalism. Not “in any name.” Not “in a spiritual mood.” Not “with good intentions.” The text keeps saying ὄνομα—the Name tied to Christ. The confession “Jesus is Lord” has content. The gospel has a shape. The fruit has a scent. The church is not asked to celebrate every spiritual performance; it is asked to recognize genuine allegiance to Christ even when it comes from unexpected places.

So the verse lands as both a rebuke and a call to maturity. It rebukes the disciples’ childish tribalism—“he followeth not us”—and it calls them into adult joy: rejoice when the enemy loses ground. It calls the church into a posture where we can say, without hypocrisy, “Let Christ increase,” even when that means “Let our ego decrease.” It calls us to the humility that can admit: God has servants we didn’t appoint. God has mercy that doesn’t need our committee meeting. God has a kingdom that is not fragile enough to require our insecurity as its security system.

And if that sounds like it would weaken holiness, it won’t—if it stays tethered to the Name. Because the Name is not a soft thing. The Name is judgment and mercy, authority and tenderness, salvation and lordship. “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15, KJV). “Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth” (John 17:17, KJV). “Let everyone that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity” (2 Tim. 2:19, KJV). There is no real honoring of the Name that makes peace with sin. There is no real allegiance that treats doctrine as optional. The “Name” does not merely console; it commands. Which means that the same passage that frees us from sectarian pettiness also binds us to Christ’s lordship.

The disciples were worried about protecting their group. Jesus was concerned with something bigger: the advance of his kingdom, the honor of his Name, the rescue of captives, and the training of his followers into humility that can recognize allies without surrendering truth. That’s why Mark 9:40 is not a sentimental slogan. It is a knife. It cuts away the itchy pride that always wants to say, “He followeth not us.” It forces us back to the only safe center: Christ himself—his Name, his authority, his gospel, his mercy, his reward.

In Greek, it stands there like a stone inscription: ὃς γὰρ οὐκ ἔστιν καθ᾽ ἡμῶν, ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν ἐστιν. Not against. For us. And the only reason that can be true—without collapsing into mush—is that the whole episode is framed by the Name: ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί σου… ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματί μου… ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε. The axis is not “us.” The axis is the King.

That’s a hard word. It should be. It’s also a freeing word. It means the church can stop being a nervous border patrol and start being what it was meant to be: a people so anchored to Christ that we can rejoice whenever Christ is honored, recognize mercy wherever it appears, refuse petty hindering, and still cling fiercely to truth—because truth is not our tribe’s property. Truth is the King’s. And the King has already told us what to do when our pride wants to forbid: μὴ κωλύετε.