Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts

Monday, October 5, 2015

Bless the Children

Sermon Mark 10:13-16 October 4, 2015 Ordinary Time; World Wide Communion

Bless the Children

A tradition that has not changed through thousands of years and thousands of families is the tradition to bless the children. Fathers in the Old Testament blessed their children before the father passed from this life to the next. Mothers blessed their children as they left the home for the day’s work ahead.

The blessing over someone is to bestow good upon them, to consecrate them, to set them apart, to ask for protection and guidance, to mark them as God’s own. We witnessed the Pope passing out blessings upon all those who he met along the path of his travels. But, blessing giving isn’t limited to the Pope. All of us have been gifted with this ability to bless others. Now, blessings however, are more than saying, “Bless you”, when someone sneezes. It is also more than what we do here in the south. You know how we talk, right? Yes, that’s it. We say things about others whether they are compliments or condemnations and we end all of our statements with, “Bless his heart!” Or we end them with, “Bless her souls.” These are not the blessings we are talking about today and not what Jesus said with the child on his lap.
The blessing is a welcoming, it is an encounter with the one who willingly receives. The blessing is an openness to radical hospitality.

The willingness of Jesus to receive all those who were brought to him opened up the opportunity for the followers of Jesus to witness a social revolution. Jesus was creating a greater equality of all people, men were not the dominant ones as he lifted up the women, healed them, gave them voice, spoke of their rights. Jesus then took the children in his arms and used them as the springboard for the future by welcoming them openly and blessing them publicly.

The disciples were frustrated with Jesus and the attention he was giving to all those who had no status. They were his followers and if they were going to invest their time and their lives to him he could at least draw a crowd of elite rather than the vulnerable. Who wants to be a follower of someone who only relates to broken people? Who wants to be a follower of someone who hangs out with the marginalized, the stranger, the foreigner, and the least of all these people in the world?

Every generation since Jesus took these tiny ones in his lap has had to wrestle with who is really welcome into the kingdom of God?

We are imperfect people living in an imperfect world where fairy tales do not come true. We live in a world where people hurt each through neglect and ignorance, through intent and force. People die at the hands of each other all across the world. There is not a continent that has gone untouched by the violence of humanity. My father had a friend who left Holland the same year he did and headed to Australia. They were in search of the place where they felt they could live safe and secure. His friend moved his family to San Francisco and raised his family there. But, after awhile he became frustrated again with the violence and he decided to move his family to where he believed it was truly safe.  He moved his family to the most southern tip of New Zealand. And it was safe there. Until one day my father received a letter from his friend letting him know once again how disappointed he was because there, even in New Zealand violence existed. As broken people our very lives show the symptoms of our failures toward one another and to God.

Jesus has been showing the disciples all along that no one is worthy or more valuable than another. Jesus has been telling the disciples that they can’t fight over which one of them is greater or who gets to sit next to him in heaven. If this story was written in the 21st century they would be asking who gets to ride shotgun with Jesus.

As Christians these days we try to find a church where we belong. We seek a church home where we can find people who will welcome us as we are in all our ways, warts and all. We put ourselves in a vulnerable spot the first time we walk through a new set of stained glass doors. And we sure hope the folks on the inside don’t send us away because we might be bothersome to Jesus.

Part of the welcome, the blessing, that comes from the open arms of Jesus, is that he lets those who enter his arms know they are at home with him in his kingdom.
It might be impossible for us to open our arms in welcome the way Jesus does, and so we close our eyes and remember that it is God who is doing the welcoming through us and everything is possible through God. Our dependence on God allows us to let go of trying to justify ourselves and we can open ourselves up to God’s mercy and grace in Jesus Christ who receives us and all others as we are.

You see the disciples were trying to be good followers of Jesus but were still trying to figure out how they belonged in God’s kingdom. They were wondering (and I believe we all do too) how does God love them, and how do they know they belong to God?

You see, the first six questions of the catechism that we use to teach the children helps answer the question, “How are we to receive and enter into the Kingdom of God?”
Here they are:
1.       Who are you? I am a child of God
2.      What does it mean to be a child of God? That I belong to God, who loves me.
3.      What makes you a child of God? Grace-God’s free gift of love that I do not deserve and cannot earn.
4.      Don’t you have to be good for God to love you? No. God loves me in spite of all I do wrong.
5.      How do you thank God for this gift of love? I promise to love and trust God with all my heart.
6.      How do you love God? By worshiping God, by loving others, and by respecting what God created.


As Jesus says to his disciples ‘Welcome the kingdom as a child welcomes it.’ Let us welcome God’s kingdom, let us welcome Jesus as he welcomed the child. Let us receive the least of these and let us be received as Jesus received. Let us find our home and find our family here in this place. Let us receive the gift of grace so freely given and let us be blessed. 
Amen. 

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Sacred Moment.

Sacred Moment.

A moment of the sacred entered my life on Sunday.
He was three years old.
He looked at me from a distance and wasn’t really sure if he should approach. I saw him clutch his daddy’s hand a little tighter. I squatted down so we could be face to face and I said hello.
He smiled at me.
Barely verbal, he said hello back.
I told him how glad I was to see him.
I stood back up and greeted his father and the man who came to be his Godparent. They appeared as if entering the church was not a common or familiar practice for them. The father was kind and genuine. I could tell both men were determined to be there for this child. Both men were set to offer this child into the hand of God.

We had very little time before the service was to begin.
We had not spoken before.
We had not done the usual pastoral visit,
nor the usual meeting with the child.
I had received a phone call earlier in the week from the child’s grandparents’ expressing their son’s desire for his child. SO, with the permission of the elders, we forged ahead to prepare for a Sunday baptism of a child we had not met and the father they barely knew nor had I met.

I was convinced that this was a moment Jesus would honor.


The little boy was ready to run and discover as he tried to tear away from daddy’s grip. I said to him, “Do you want to play with toys?” His eyes lit up as he said to daddy, “Toys, toys!” We found our way upstairs to the nursery and there he played with fire engines and everything that made noise. Through the sirens I ran quickly through the liturgy for dad and Godparent. I shared the questions I would ask and the expected response from each of them. I again thanked them for choosing baptism for this child. It was all in such a rush, not the way we would expect it to be done right. But, what is right really? Did Philip hesitate at the request of the eunuch? I think not.

I looked at the little boy and said, “Let’s go downstairs and I’ll show you the water and everything that will happen this morning.” We went downstairs and I showed him the pitcher that held the warm water to be poured into the font. He pulled away unsure and not too keen on water. I held out the pitcher and again offered it to him to touch and then I gently took his hand and put his fingers in the water. He looked up at me with big eyes and he touched the water again dipping his fingers deeper. We walked to the font and I spoke of what would happen next and how the water would be placed on his head and, if he let me, I would lift him up and hold him.

Time was running out and it was clear we needed to empty the sanctuary and allow the congregants to gather. We squeezed through the side door and we parted ways for the time being.

The moment in worship arrived and I called the family forward and all the children to be witnesses to “remember our baptism as we witness today’s baptism.”

The little boy was filled with energy. He saw the baptism candle and tried to blow it out as one would blow out a birthday candle. He took the wooden cross to be given to him at the end and gripped it in his hand. He reached around dad and looked at the children seated there. He looked up at all those grown-ups staring down at him.
He smiled.
All through the long liturgy and the many words and prayers he held the hands of several people. He looked at them and eyed them with a wondering heart.

And then the moment came to pour the water.
Together we took the pitcher in hand and as we poured together I prayed the prayer of the presence of the Holy Spirit over the waters. It seemed in slow motion as we intentionally emptied the pitcher together into the font.
We eyed each other with satisfaction.
God had united our hearts and made us one in Christ.
I reached to pick him and he went willingly into my arms. And here the little child who was so afraid of water received the water poured over him. His eyes were mesmerized and so large.
He didn’t say a word.
“I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit Amen!”
He was motionless,
still,
ever so quiet.
Again, we looked at each other as I said the words. “This promise is for you, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believes in him has eternal life…you too will grow to love God as God loves you.”
In my arms he stayed as I walked with him all around the large sanctuary and as I shared the story of home and the place to belong with God and this congregation.
                                                             I believe he saw God that day.
                                                     I believe he saw the real face of God,
                                                             his eyes and his body showed it to me. 
                                                          Yes, I’m sure he saw God that day.

The only other time I have seen this awe on the face of a child was when my son
was three years old. We had stepped inside a cathedral in the midst of mass. And there was the priest wearing white and waving his arms with the liturgy. We stood there for some time taken in with the worship. And then with respect as to not disturb the rest of worship since we were tourists we quietly departed. As we came out my son looked at me with enormous eyes. He face was almost drained of color as he stared at me. He said to me, “I saw God.” I said, “You did? Where?” He responded, “He was inside wearing white and waving his arms.
I saw God.”

I do not doubt that he saw God that day.
Just as I do not doubt this little boy saw God.

                        Because I too caught in the holy moment of Sacrament,
                                           not only experienced God,
                                                              but
                                                         I saw God.

             A moment of the sacred entered my life on Sunday.
                                                          He was three years old.