"Let the little children come to me..."
“Let the little children come to me…”
Matthew 19:13-15
Years ago, the Church Ladies group went on a field trip—the only one that I can remember taking together. We all bought our tickets and went to hear our favorite author speak. We found our seats in the large auditorium and settled in. The place was buzzing with anticipation.
All of us where there to see Anne Lamott, an amazing writer, who, at the time, had just released a book called, “Traveling Mercies,” which became a beloved spiritual memoir, filled with blunt honesty about her own life struggles and a gentle, self-effacing humor about so many things. The book inspired people to drive long distances to be in the presence of someone who already felt like a dear friend simply by virtue of having read her book.
Anne Lamott was a presence from the moment she took the stage. Her trademark dread locks bounced as she walked out. She was dressed in that California casual sort of way that the rest of us could never really pull off. Her smile was genuine. There was this profound sense that she was being exactly who she would be if you met her anywhere else. This was just Anne being Anne.
It actually was quite a profound evening that I still remember in great detail. Some of what she said about spirituality really hit home. Some of what she said about writing has inspired me ever since. The most powerful moment that has stayed with me, though happened almost as soon as she started to talk…
Anne Lamott took the podium and looked out at the crowd and smiled. She seemed genuinely taken aback at how many folks were there. She thanked people and began to work her way into her talk. Right then, the unexpected happened. A child in the front row began a monologue at full volume. People got uncomfortable. People were struggling to hear. You just know the biggest question in the room was, “Who brings a child to an event like this?” (The answer to that question we would soon discover was, “A woman whose baby sitter arrangements fell through.”). People were almost immediately restless and irritated.
That’s when Anne Lamott just shined. While a lot of other people were thinking, “Get that kid out of here,” Anne Lamott made a beeline to that mother and child. She was wearing a lapel microphone, so we heard her words. She looked the woman straight in the eye and said, “Hi…I’m Annie.” The woman said she was so sorry. Anne gently stopped her excuses, just after the woman explained about the baby sitter: “Sister, I have been right where you are!” No judgement, just empathy. Then, she went back up to the stage to get her purse—a giant mom purse—and began pulling out paper and crayons and a few toys. She got down to the child’s level and drew with him for a second. She hugged the mother and said, “Let me know if you need anything else. It’s a big purse!” Then, she told the woman how glad she was that they were there.
As I said earlier, Anne Lamott’s speech that night has stayed with me. She had so many insights into so many things. However, the thing that made me think, “That’s who I want to be,” was that interaction with that mother and child. Her talk was about discovering an every day, lived spirituality. She showed me what that looked like before the talk ever began. There was just so much integrity that night—the “saying” and the “doing” were aligned.
Just before our text in Matthew, some big time ministry is taking place. We are told that a huge crowd of people found Jesus and they were all looking to be healed. As I’ve suggested in the past, we might hear that as a sea or miracles and kind of balk at that notion. I think the “real time” experience for the disciples would have been one of having all the people that you’ve always avoided getting close to all of a sudden come running at you, altogether, all at once. Most people react to a homeless person this way. The person seems a little rough around the edges, a little crazy, a little dangerous. Now, imagine a few hundred homeless people coming your way.
Jesus welcomed those people. I’m pretty sure that the disciples struggled to follow Jesus’ example, just like we would. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable day with people you don’t want to be with. Welcome to being a disciple. Of course, it’s Jesus who cares for and heals those people. Still, the disciples had to be there. They had to watch. They had to make peace with being uncomfortable.
If we’re honest, this is still one of the greatest challenges of trying to follow Jesus. We are asked to help people we’d rather not help. We are asked to do things that we’d rather not do. It’s almost like the right conclusion when we feel uncomfortable is, “Oh…I must be doing the right thing, the faithful thing, after all.” There are lots of other things that we will feel down the line—the joy of actually being helpful, the deep meaning of feeling connected to someone whom I’ve never felt connected to, the fulfillment of realizing that we have actually grown. However, the first feeling when I’m on the faithful path may often be the discomfort that says, “This is new…”
Just when the disciples and Jesus are done healing the crowd, the Pharisees show up. These are the legal experts who had set out to trip Jesus up. They weren’t there to do anything other than engage Jesus in a technical discussion of the law in the hopes of collecting evidence against him. In this case, they wanted to discuss Jesus’ views on divorce. (As an aside, for all those who want to say what Jesus’ view on gay marriage would be, so many people want to skip over what he actually said about divorce. He had a lot to say…mostly, I think, in response to a culture who’s laws left divorced women horribly vulnerable economically.)
Stop, though, for a minute and consider the disciples again. They’ve endured through the whole day with the crowd of sick people. Now, the authorities show up. The overwhelming experience had to be feeling like they were at risk. The authorities clearly had it out for Jesus. By association, the disciples had to know that they were suspects, too. (Remember, this is the fear that would overwhelm them and lead them to abandon Jesus when he was arrested.) They’ve spent a whole day being uncomfortable. Just when they are feeling good about how things went, there is a tidal wave of fear. And, let’s be clear, they are at risk.
Faithful people still spend time being afraid. It’s not always comfortable to do the faithful things. Sometimes that involves caring for people we wouldn’t choose to care about on our own. Sometimes, when we are doing the faithful thing, we end up feeling at risk. We are afraid. Consider why the words of Psalm 23 are so often called up from memory, “I fear no evil for thou art with me.” Sometimes, the powers that be extract a heavy price from those who are just trying to do the right thing, the faithful thing.
So here are the disciples. They’ve spent a whole day feeling uncomfortable and feeling afraid. It’s not hard to imagine that all they want is a break. Let’s finish this day. Let’s get a good night’s sleep. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. However, wait…there’s more. Toward the end of this very busy day, a group of people approach with children. They want Jesus to bless the children.
What happens? The disciples are tapped out. They also are part of a culture that had a very different view of a child’s place in the world. Childhood was very short, with girls getting married by age 13. I’m sure that children were loved but they didn’t really have a place in the world until they were grown and could contribute to the family’s well-being. It’s not that children would make the disciples uncomfortable. It’s simply that at the end of a long, frustrating, uncomfortable, frightening day, those children didn’t matter. They weren’t worth Jesus’ time. “Give us a break…”
What happens Is pretty familiar to most of us. Jesus says, “Let the children come to me.” At one level, this should be a lesson to everyone who thinks they know who matters and who doesn’t matter to Jesus. This, of course, would apply to every person who has watched the “wrong” person walk into their church and thought to themselves or even said out loud, “They don’t belong here! Why don’t they just go away.” We’re not God’s bouncers. We’re not God’s gatekeepers. As soon as we think we set the terms on who is in and who is out, we are no longer being the church. We’ve turned into the membership committee of the country club.
At another level, what we should see is a moment of delight for Jesus. As my father used to say, “The only thing worse than a noisy child in church is no children in church.” In the middle of all the complications of that day for Jesus, which he had to deal with and the disciples just observed, what a welcome thing it had to be to just throw his arms open to some children. Don’t you believe in your heart that he took time to play with them? Did he draw something funny in the dust? Did he pull a coin from their ears?
Today, as we celebrate Mirabelle and Everley’s baptisms, I remember the first day they showed up here. We were still in the throes of the pandemic, struggling with all of those complex challenges and discomforts and fears. I was standing right here in the courtyard and I looked out, before worship began and saw not just one but two beautiful babies. Instead of worrying about the morning’s tech challenges or dealing with any number of members who had issues going on in their lives, I made a beeline straight to Mirabelle and Everyley. I smiled bigger than I’d smiled for a while. And then, I looked into those amazing eyes. At one and the same time, I felt totally present and felt like maybe there was going to be a future after all. What a gift from God! If we ever, for a second, forget that every child is a gift from God, well…God help us all.
Finally, Jesus makes one of his most interesting, most counter cultural points. He says that instead of looking at this child and wondering who they will one day be, we should look at a child and aspire to become like them. He says, “God’s kingdom is made up of people like these.” Just take a moment to take that in… Adults question people’s motives. Children trust. Children respond to love, for the most part, by being loving. Children have an amazing way of being present in what’s happening right now and delighting in what’s happening. If a child sees someone who is hurting, they don’t ask if the person is worth caring about. They don’t ask if they think they can actually help. They just respond with concern and care.
Mirabelle and Everley reminded me of what really matters on the day that they showed up. Today, as they are growing up and the world makes their world and their understanding of things more complicated, we’ve committed to walking with them on their journey. It will be our job to invite them into the conversation about what actually matters in this life. It will be our gift to get to listen to the answers that they explore along the way.
“Let the little children come to me…”