Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on September 23, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 9:30-37

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

I have a particular fondness for scenes such as this from the life of Jesus. Many of you have undoubtedly noticed that I quote another such scene when doing my blessing for children who do not yet commune: “Jesus said ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, for the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these.’” Back in my house, one of my prized possessions is the Precious Moments “Jesus and the Little Children,” which appropriate has each child in the set a different race/ethnicity. (I wear my liberal bona fides openly.)

But what is it about children that makes Jesus so eager to use them as examples in all these wonderful stories? I know many people are quick to say it’s their innocence, but I’m no fool when it comes to that. I remember well the cruelty of my peer when I was myself a child, so I’ll confess to a bit of cynicism in that regard. No, I don’t think it’s innocence, but rather another I-word: ignorance.

That’s a loaded phrase I’ll admit, usually used insultingly and pejoratively. That’s not my intention here. Nor do I necessarily mean to imply that ignorance is always a good thing. There is a very big difference between the ignorance shown by children and the ignorance we often find in adults. Adult ignorance is closed, hard, inflexible. It’s the reflex we employ to do anything to avoid admitting we’re wrong about something.

Adult ignorance is the sort of thing that allows people to disbelieve climate change when the overwhelming consensus among experts says it is very real. Adult ignorance is source of Creationists, who refuse to believe God could create the world any other way than as written in Genesis. Adult ignorance allowed the Germans to ignore what their eyes and ears saw right in front of them as the Nazis herded the Jews off to their deaths. Adult ignorance makes the Religious Right, those self-appointed guardians of family, purity, and morality, turn a blind eye to sexual predators, endorse corrupt politicians, and support unethical and dishonest clergy and businessmen. All done so people can deny even undeniable truth when it contradicts their own biases and beliefs.

But that’s not the kind of ignorance I’m talking about. Child ignorance is different. It’s a tabula rasa, a blank slate. It’s open to whatever experience life brings. Children are sponges, taking in everything without judgment or evaluation. Everything is magical to them. Everything is new. Everything is wondrous and magnificent. Everything produces that rarest of spiritual virtues: awe.

THAT is what draws Jesus to children. Because they are the ones who see the world the most like God himself does.

I said last week that “everything has value” and this is how. It’s not hard for me to imagine God’s spirit casting itself across the universe and him saying to the angels “Look at this nebula. Look at this planet. Look at this plant. This building. This painting. Listen to that bird. That symphony. Taste this food. Smell this fragrance. Isn’t it all wonderful?”

When was the last time you had your breath taken away? The last time you heard a song that gave you goosebumps or saw something of such magnificent beauty that your eyes just grew wide in wonder? Those moments are rare and yet I am increasingly convinced that God wants those sorts of moments to be everyday for us. Being right ceases to matter. Being top dog becomes irrelevant. All there is is the wonder of the creation God has made and all the beauty of everything therein.

I’ve been lucky. God has granted me two such moments in the past week or so and I was doubly lucky to be able to share them with people of my congregations. The first was last Sunday when we were cleaning the rail trail for GWOH. At one point, the Dietz’s and I chances upon a single Morning Glory blossom sticking up out of the fallen leaves. Because of the shade of its location, the plant didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to blooming at that time and yet there it was. A moment of beauty and we all stopped and stared for a bit, taking it in. A moment of wonder.

The other took place when I was in the hospital and Kathy came to visit me. At one point in our conversation, we got to talking about art and I mentioned my fondness for visiting the Philadelphia Museum of Art when I lived there and when I go back to visit. One painting in particular always causes me to catch my breath. It’s called the Moorish Chief and I keep a copy of it as the background of my cell phone. I showed her the pic and she too was taken by its magnificence. I could sit in that museum in front of that picture and stare at it all day long and not consider that wasted time. Because it is such a thing of wonder.

That’s why Jesus so loves the little children. They have not lost that sense of wonder of the world. The same wonder that God himself shows to it and to us. It’s those kind of eyes with which God looks at each one of us. Yes, we commit sin and make mistakes, but we are imago dei and we reflect what he meant to be the best of himself in ourselves. That’s why we’re so precious to him. That’s why he loves us. We are magnificent. We are wondrous. We are, I mean this in its literal sense, awesome.

That’s why we’re worth it. It’s why he came, was born, went to the cross, died, and rose again.

In a few minutes, after I conclude this sermon, we are going to move around this space and “pass the peace” with one another. We do it every Sunday. I want to do something different today. When we do that, I want you to all to tell each other how beautiful you are, how magnificent, how wondrous. I want you to see one another, as best you can, as God does. I want you to look at one another with those child eyes again. That’s what it means to be a child of God. To see and to be seen as the wonder you are. Amen.