Psychologist Daniel Goleman popularized a phrase for what can happen under pressure: “amygdala hijack.” The amygdala is the brain’s alarm system. When it senses threat, it can flood us with stress chemicals before we’ve even had time to think clearly. Our vision narrows. We get reactive. We move fast, not wisely. We say things like, “I have to fix this now,” “I can’t lose,” “What if I’m not okay?” It’s not that we become evil. We become urgent. And urgency often pulls out the least mature part of us.

That’s why Luke 22 is so honest. Jesus is at the table with His disciples, on the edge of the cross. The air is heavy. Betrayal is near. Suffering is coming. Their world is about to change in a way they can’t control or understand. And what happens?

“They began to argue about who was the greatest.”

That’s not random. That’s fear talking. Under stress, we often reach for status because it feels like stability. If I can be “the greatest,” at least I’ll be safe. If I can be important, I won’t be forgotten. If I can be in charge, I won’t feel powerless. When the future feels uncertain, our hearts start negotiating: “Give me a place. Give me a guarantee. Tell me I’ll be okay.”

And we do the same thing at critical junctions in life.

When the job is shaky, we posture or control.
When a relationship feels uncertain, we grasp or test.
When health news comes, we spiral into “what if.”
When we don’t know what’s next, we obsess over the perfect plan, the perfect words, the perfect outcome.

Fear doesn’t just make us anxious. It makes us competitive. It makes us defensive. It makes us demand reassurance in ways that can hurt the people closest to us.

Jesus doesn’t shame them. He re-centers them.

He says, in effect, “That’s how the world works: power over, titles, domination. But not with you.” Then He gives them the alternative: “I am among you as one who serves.”

In their stress, He doesn’t offer a detailed roadmap. He offers Himself. Presence. A different kind of greatness. A Kingdom that comes through a cross.

The spiritual alternative, when our inner alarm is blaring, isn’t to pretend we aren’t afraid. It’s to stay with Christ who is already with us. To let His calm, serving love interrupt our hijack. To ask, “Lord, what would love do right here, at this table, in this moment?” Because when we stay with Him, fear stops being our leader—and Jesus becomes it.