Sunday 30 July 2017

The Deceiver Deceived, and the Case of the Missing Blessing (Genesis 29:15-28)


(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 30, 2017, Proper 12)



One of the Bible’s “Good Ol’ Boys”

Last week after the service, John playfully pleaded Jacob’s case: “Why the bad rap?” he asked.  It’s a fair question.  If you’ve been here the last couple weeks, you’ve heard me refer to Jacob as a scoundrel.  Why?  By the letter of the law, he hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  The two counts against him are questionable.  There’s no law against taking advantage of your brother’s stupidity, is there?  If he’s too foolish to protect his birthright, that’s on him.  And then that whole business of masquerading as his older brother—putting his brother’s clothes on, making himself hairier than usual, all to trick his father and win his blessing—well, that was really orchestrated by Jacob’s mother, Rebekah.  Can a young man really be held responsible, if his mother’s told him to do something?

Maybe I have been too harsh on Jacob.  Maybe the responsibility for his actions really belongs to others: to his brother for being a fool, to his mother for being a bad influence.  Maybe Jacob just happens to be an innocent beneficiary of others’ irresponsibility.

The problem is, as I make all these excuses, I can’t help but feel that I’m coddling Jacob.  Which is perhaps to be expected.  He is a momma’s boy, after all.  But he’s more than that.  Jacob, I believe, is one of the Bible’s “good ol’ boys”: you know, he’s a winsome guy from a good family.  Yeah, he may have dabbled in some dubious behavior, but cut the guy some slack, give him a break.  Can’t you see?  He’s destined for greatness. 

If my cards aren’t completely on the table yet, let me put them there.  I don’t approve of Jacob.  He’s a hero in countless children’s Bibles—but why?  What has he done to deserve our adulation?  If anything, Jacob shows us how not to live.  Jesus invites us to make ourselves last.  Jacob strives to be first.  Jesus teaches us to wash each other’s feet.  Jacob grabs them by their heels.  Jesus invites us to serve others.  So far, everything that Jacob has done has been self-serving.  He may clean by the letter of the law, but not at all by the rule of love.

A Romantic Drama Up There with the Best of Them

Which is why a part of me rejoices when I read today’s scripture.

Jacob, remember, has run away from home.  All his heel-grabbing had finally caught up to him.  After he swindled his brother Esau of his birthright and then beat him to their father’s blessing, Esau was furious.  He was planning to be done with Jacob once and for all.  So Jacob flees.  His mother has suggested he visit the home of her brother, Laban, who lives up north in Haran. 

That’s where we find him today.  What happens next is a romantic drama right up there with Romeo and Juliet or Pride and Prejudice—full of uncertainty and heartache, deception and surprise.  Laban has two daughters, Leah and Rachel.  Both have their features, but Jacob is smitten with the grace and beauty of Rachel.  So when Laban asks what it would take for Jacob to stick around and do some work for him, Jacob makes a deal: “I will serve you seven years for your younger daughter Rachel” (29:18). 

Even I, who do not approve of Jacob, cannot begrudge him this tender love story.  For once, he is not struggling to get ahead.  For once, he seems to have a heart.  The storyteller puts it most poignantly: “Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her” (29:20).

As touching as Jacob’s love is, it wouldn’t be much of a story without a twist.  

At the end of seven years, Jacob approaches Laban and reminds him of their deal.  Laban acknowledges that it’s time, and so he arranges a wedding feast.  In the charged darkness of the evening, Jacob is waiting in the tent to embrace his new wife.  She enters.  They consummate the marriage.  The original story in the Hebrew captures the next moment wonderfully, with what I would consider both comedy and horror: “Then, the next morning—look!  It’s Leah!” (29:23).  Jacob has been duped.  He angrily confronts his father-in-law Laban, who says, “Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you.  We have a custom of giving away our firstborn daughters in marriage first.  How about this?  You agree to serve me another seven years, and I’ll give you Rachel in marriage now too” (cf. 29:26-27).

What Goes Around…

You know what they say about karma?  She’s—she’s a mean one.

Jacob duped his brother into forfeiting his firstborn privilege.  Now he’s been duped himself into fulfilling Leah’s firstborn privilege.  Jacob pulled the wool over his father’s eyes.  Now his father-in-law’s pulled the wool over his eyes.  He had deceived his father into giving him his blessing, and his father-in-law has deceived him into seven more years of labor.

One ancient rabbi with a delightful imagination guesses at the conversation between Jacob and Leah that first morning after.  “Deceiver,” he imagines Jacob saying to Leah, “did I not call you Rachel last night, and you answered me?”  To which Leah slyly replies, “Did your father not call you Esau and you answered him?”[1]

What goes around, comes around, they say.  And finally Jacob’s deception has caught up with him.  It has come full circle.  Jesus once proclaimed that those who live by the sword, will die by the sword (cf. Matt 26:52).  We see the truth of this in Jacob’s tale.  He who gets ahead by heel-grabbing, will fall by heel-grabbing.

Where Is God’s Blessing When Our Heels Have Been Grabbed?

That is a rather retributive logic—measure for measure, like for like, an eye for eye.  It satisfies our human urge for payback.  But it falls short of reality.  Do only the heel-grabbers get their heels grabbed?  Sadly, no.  Bad things happen to good people all the time.  Jesus had his own heels grabbed.  The message of today’s scripture is not that Jacob got what was coming to him—although I would dare say he did.  The message of today’s scripture, I believe, is simpler than that.  It’s that our heels get grabbed all the time, whether we deserve it or not.  They get grabbed by enemies, by greedy business, by cancer, by bad news, by laws out of our reach.

So what about God’s blessing?  Remember, Jacob has already had a dream that has promised God’s presence and goodwill.  Jacob has already been assured of God’s blessing.  So where is God’s blessing now?  Has it left Jacob?  Is it missing?  And where is God’s blessing in our lives, when our own heels are grabbed through no fault of our own?

Today’s scripture doesn’t have an answer.  And neither do I.  

Maybe God’s Blessing Looks Different

But I am beginning to have a hunch as I read Jacob’s story.  Where is God’s blessing when it hurts?  When things don’t go our way?  Maybe it hasn’t gone anywhere.  Maybe it simply doesn’t look like what we’re looking for: success or happiness or personal advancement.  Maybe God’s blessing is as intangible and immortal as a dream, as invisible and eternal as love; maybe God’s blessing has less to do with what we can get, and more to do with what we give. 

Jacob gives fourteen years of his life as a mark of his love for Rachel.  Maybe the blessing in Jacob’s life right now isn’t what he gets, but rather his love and his dream and all that he is willing to give.

A friend recently shared with me the story of a recently divorced single mother, who was facing the threat of eviction and living off food stamps and the kindness of others.  Her journey back to stability was slow and difficult.  But when she tells the story of how she survived, she doesn’t talk about so much about her struggles.  She tells instead how at her lowest ebb, she decided to throw a great dinner party for her friends and neighbors.  She went to the dollar store, scrounged up whatever she could with what little she had, and sure enough, she threw a feast.  That more than anything, she said, was what kept her going.  She found blessing—just a little bit, just enough to keep on—in giving rather than grasping, loving rather than lashing out, dreaming rather than despairing.

The tale of Jacob tells us not only that karma can be mean, but simply that life can be mean.  Our heels will get grabbed, whether we deserve it or not.  Where is God’s blessing in this?  Maybe it looks different than what we’re looking for.

Prayer

God of deceivers,
God of the deceived—
You share your blessing
With us all,
But so often
We look for it
In the wrong places;
Grant us grace
To give up the struggle for what we can get
And to celebrate the gift,
Both given and received.
In the name of Jesus,
Who gave his life freely for all.
Amen.



[1] Bereshit Rabbah 70:17.

Saturday 22 July 2017

The Surprise of Blessing (Genesis 28:10-19a)


(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 23, 2017, Proper 11)



What Is Jacob’s Blessing?

Over the course of the Bible, Jacob develops a reputation.  Not as a scoundrel—which I think he most definitely is—but as a blessed man. 

So as we read his story these next few weeks, I’d like to keep asking the question: What is Jacob’s blessing?  How does he get it?  Is it by virtue of grabbing heels, which he is doing all the time?  Or is his blessing something else?  Something received in a different way?

From Grabbing to Grabbed

Last week, we saw Jacob swindle his brother out of his firstborn’s privilege.  This week, when the curtain rises, we see Jacob in the wilderness and on the run.  Any idea why?  Most of us already know the story, but even if we didn’t, we’d probably have a good guess.  He is running from Esau.  Jacob—the “heel-grabber,” the go-getter—has gone and gotten his brother’s birthright and his father’s inheritance, both by deception.  His brother Esau has become so enraged that he has been breathing death threats against Jacob.  Jacob takes the cue and gets out of town as quickly as possible.

Now the sun is setting.  Shadows creep over the land.  Jacob, I imagine, scans the horizon behind him.  Nothing in sight.  Surely his angry brother has given up the chase by now.  Right? 

Night presents a problem for Jacob.  The problem about night is that, sooner or later, Jacob will have to do something that goes against his name, against every fiber of his heel-grabbing, go-getting nature.  He will have to let go.  He will have to give up control.  He will have to sleep.

Sleep is a very curious thing.  We all do it.  But to be more precise, we don’t do it.  Sleep is not something that you do.  Sleep is something that happens to you.  You cannot control the moment that sleep happens.  It overtakes you when it will.  Sleep reminds us that we are not in control.  Even more troublesome for Jacob, sleep leaves him helpless, defenseless.  What if his brother should show up and steal back all that he has stolen?  Steal even his life?

What a Surprise!

I imagine that night was one of the scariest nights of Jacob’s life.  For someone skilled in struggle, gifted in grabbing, sleep is a terror.  In sleep, there is no struggle to win, nothing to grab.  Sleeps grabs you.

It’s a surprise that a nightmare didn’t descend upon Jacob that night.  With a murderous brother on his heels, and perhaps a guilty conscience somewhere deep within, there would be plenty of fearful thoughts ripe for a dark and distorted dream.

It’s even more of a surprise what does happen.  Jacob has a sweet dream—the sweetest of dreams.  There is a ladder, and there are messengers of God, and just like Mark’s busy bees, they’re going up and down, buzzing about their good work.  And then there is God, standing beside him. And God promises him family and land and blessing for all the earth—a promise that seems utterly ridiculous as he runs away from his family and land, pursued by the curses of his brother.  And then God gets to the very heart of the blessing: “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you” (28:15).

What a surprise!  At Jacob’s weakest moment, at the one time of day when he is not in control, he receives God’s blessing.  When he wakes up trembling, he says, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it” (28:16), and he calls the place Bethel, “God’s house.”  But if you ask me, this place isn’t any more sacred than another.  The reason that this place is divine has more to do with Jacob than God.  This is where Jacob stopped grabbing for once and let himself be grabbed—by sleep.  And so much more.

The good news according to Jacob the scoundrel, then, is that blessing is perhaps right under our nose but we’re too busy struggling for something to notice it.  Only when we stop grabbing and let ourselves be grabbed might we say, like Jacob, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I didn’t know it!”  Only when we stop seizing can we be seized.  That is the surprise of faith.  Literally!  Surprise comes from an old Latin word that means “seize.”  A surprise is what seizes us.  Sleep is always a surprise, if you think about it.  And so is God’s blessing.

The Surprise of Sobriety: One Girl’s Experience

Recently I read a story of recovery told by Amy Liptrot, a girl about my age.  She had grown up on a farm in Orkney, those islands at the north of Scotland.  When she moved to London as a young adult, the freedom she found was intoxicating.  She could go so many different places, meet so many different people, have so many different experiences.  She was worlds away from the sparse fields and lonely shores of Orkney.

In London, her life turned into a never-ending party.  It began innocently enough: her curiosity led her from one event to the next, from one group of friends to another.  But there was a deep undercurrent beneath her new life.  She was always drinking.  It turned into a hurtful, all-consuming addiction. 

What caught my attention in her memoir is her turning point.  In a single sentence, she describes the day that she stopped drinking and turned herself in to a rehab center: “That day,” she says, “my will just broke.”[1]  Soon enough, she found herself confessing in the words of AA’s 12-step program that her life had become “unmanageable.”

What had caused this great reversal?  What was the source of her recovery?  I think if you asked her, she would say: I honestly don’t know.  It was a surprise.  Which is literally to say, something seized me. 

The funny thing about Amy’s story is that she also has a profound distaste for Christianity.  Whenever someone talks about “God and faith,” she says, it makes her “heart beat faster” and “anger rise” within her.[2]  But the experience of faith, I believe, is much deeper than words.  She may never use the words of our Christian tradition.  But what happened to her bears a remarkable resemblance to what happened to Jacob when he finally lay down to sleep that dark night.  Somehow the girl who was always impulsively seizing the bottle, stopped seizing long enough to be seized by something else.  And what happened next was a complete surprise.

Blessing Is Not Happiness but God-with-Us

In the experiences of Jacob and Amy, blessing is not something we do.  It’s not something we achieve.  It’s not a paycheck or a big house or the perfect relationship.  Most importantly, blessing is not happiness.  At least, not the blessing of God that seizes us when we give up control and surrender the struggle.  Amy says honestly in her memoir: “People like to tell me [now] I’m looking ‘well’ but there are late hours alone when my heart is an open wound and I wonder if the pain will ever stop brimming fresh.”[3]

Blessing is not happiness.  It is deeper than happiness.  It stays with us when happiness fades.  Indeed, that’s perhaps when we know it most clearly.

Blessing is the promise that seized the scoundrel Jacob by a dream, the promise that somehow seized Amy on the day her will just broke: it is the promise that God is with us and will keep us wherever we go and will bring us back where we belong.  Which is another way of saying the surprising gospel that we hear all across scripture: God is with us, and there is a way to life.  We hear it today in our Psalm: there is nowhere we can go where God is not, neither heaven nor hell; wherever we go God’s hand will be there to hold us fast (cf. Psalm 139).  We heard it this last week at Vacation Bible School: “The Lord your God is with you; he’s mighty to save” (cf. Zeph 3:17).  We hear it in Paul’s undying proclamation that nothing can separate us from the love of God. 

Blessing cannot be achieved or bought or won, because it’s something we always already have.  On those rare moments when we give up grabbing the heels of life, we might find grace enough to see what Jacob saw: that “surely the Lord is [already] in this place” (28:16), and we just didn’t know it.

A Struggle or a Gift?

What happens next in Jacob’s tale can only be called a relapse.  On this one dark night, blessing seizes him.  He knows, if only for that moment, that he has God’s love.  He does not need to grab it, to seize it, to struggle for it.  He already has it.

But old habits die hard.  Jacob will soon be back to his heel-grabbing ways. 

In the meantime, we might ponder: When has blessing surprised us?  Seized us?  Maybe it’s not at the times of our greatest happiness, but in fact in the opposite times, in the times when we’ve had nothing left to hold onto, nothing to grab, no strength left to grab. 

And what if this blessing were the most important thing in the world to us?  If God really does love us, and there’s nothing that we need to do to secure that love—then would we live any differently?  Would it be as important to defend our honor?  Would it be as important to secure a reputation?  Would it be as important to achieve a more comfortable lifestyle? 

Would life be something that we struggle for?  Or would it be a gift?

Prayer

God of blessing,
Like Jacob, may we today
Find ourselves saying:
“Surely the Lord is in this place—
And I didn’t know it”;
May we stop struggling
Long enough to be surprised,
Seized,
By your blessing of love,
And may that love become
The center of our life.
Amen.



[1] Amy Liptrot, The Outrun (Edinburgh: Canongate, 2016), 62.
[2] Liptrot, 224.
[3] Liptrot, 267.

Sunday 16 July 2017

An Immoral Tale? (Genesis 25:19-34)


(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 16, 2017, Proper 10)

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What Is Jacob’s Blessing? 

For the next four weeks, we’ll be following the lead of the lectionary—the church calendar of scripture readings—and reading the story of Jacob in Genesis.

Jacob leaves a lasting impression on the Bible. He is the second son, but he is blessed. He is chased out of his own home, but he is blessed. The whole world seems out to get him, but he is blessed. For the rest of the Bible, the memory of Jacob is the memory of blessing. Jacob becomes a byword for blessing. When the prophet Malachi and the apostle Paul want to encourage their audience, they say, “Remember Jacob! He is your ancestor, your heritage. His blessing is your blessing” (Mal 1:2-3; Rom 9:6-13).

For these next four weeks, then, I would like to explore what is Jacob’s blessing. Inheritance? Marriage? Children? What is his blessing? And how does he get it?

The Story of a Struggle 

The story of Jacob is the story of a struggle. From the very beginning, even before Jacob comes kicking and screaming into the world, his story is struggle. Fists and heels, pushing and shoving—he and his twin brother Esau are wrestling with one another in their mother’s womb.

Their prenatal throwdown is so intense that their mother, Rebekah, has some questions for God. Is this how it’s supposed to work? What the heck is this rumbling within? What’s going on?

I don’t know how God answered her—in a dream, in the words of a friend, in the whisper of the wind, or in a voice clear and true—but somehow Rebekah gets from God a sense of things to come. These wrestling brothers will become two divided nations, and the greater one will serve the smaller one.[1] Many readers interpret this forecast as God’s blessing on Jacob, the younger son. But is prediction the same thing as endorsement? Just because God says that such and such will happen, does that mean that God wants this to happen? I would not be so hasty to say that this is the moment of Jacob’s blessing, that everything forward from here will favor Jacob because God favors Jacob. For me, this is simply God anticipating a complicated brotherly rivalry. It is a diagnosis, not a blessing.

Jacob the Go-Getter 

It is often said that the way something begins is the way something will end. The start determines the finish.

When Rebekah gives birth, twins appear, the second one grabbing the heel of the first one. And so it will be for years to come. The younger son will always be at the heels of others, grabbing at their heels, snapping at their heels, chasing after their heels. That is what his name, Jacob, means. It comes from the word “heel.” In our own way of speaking, we might call him a “go-getter.” He will do whatever it takes to get ahead.

One day, his big brother Esau comes in from the field, famished. Jacob, quiet and calculating, is in the tent, tending to a stew. Esau is either too exhausted to speak in complete sentences, or too dull. In either case, he makes his request: “Some of this red stuff, please, for I’m exhausted!”

Jacob capitalizes on his brother’s desperation, or dull-wittedness, whichever it is. He makes a deal: he will give Esau stew in exchange for Esau giving him his birthright. Esau’s stomach is much bigger than his mind at this point, so he agrees. And Jacob, our go-getter, gets ahead.

No Fairy Tale, No Fable 

A few weeks ago, we read the stories of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar and saw that the Bible is no fairy tale. It has laughter, yes, but it also has tears.

This week, we find that the Bible is no fable. As we read the story of Jacob, there is a strange absence of judgment. This isn’t an episode of The Waltons or Full House or Family Matters, where conflict is resolved in the space of half an hour, along with a tidy moral lesson for us to take away. Is Jacob’s behavior good? Bad? Is it held up as a model for our behavior? Or is it discouraged? We don’t know. Neither God nor the storyteller tells us.

The Jacob in Us 

On the one hand, I would like to say that this is clearly an immoral tale. Jacob may not break any laws, but he acts indifferently—irresponsibly—toward his own brother. I imagine if someone confronted Jacob over his behavior in this instance, he would simply shrug and say something like, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

If the story of Cain and Abel taught us anything, it’s that, “Yes, you are responsible for your brother.”

But on the other hand, as much as I would like simply to label this an immoral tale, I must also respect the truth that it tells. As immoral as this tale may be, it is also a very realistic, down-to-earth, practical, businesslike tale. This is the kind of tale that gets played out in our world, time and time again, and we would be fools to miss it.

Our world is full of go-getters—full of Jacobs. Jacobs who take what’s for the taking. Jacobs who know the right words to say and the right people to say them to. Jacobs who would never break the law but wouldn’t blink to break a heart or two if there was something in it for them. “There’s no law against taking advantage of someone else’s stupidity,” is there?[2] Jacobs, remember, are not criminals. They are simply go-getters. They are winners. They are the products of a world that preaches power, success, and happiness.

Chances are, a little bit of Jacob lives in us. We may have never cheated an older sibling out of his or her privilege. But we all play the game of power, success, and happiness from time to time. The Jacob in us seeks our own good at the expense of others. The Jacob in us is not diabolical; he only wants a better life for us, maybe for our family. The Jacob in us does not reflect long or truthfully on how his actions will affect others. He’s willing to compromise on relationships, or capitalize on the ignorance or incompetence of others, in order to get us “the invitation or the promotion,” “the pat on the back and the admiring wink.”[3]

A Very Common Tale 

Is today’s story really an immoral tale? Maybe not. At least not according to our world.

Today’s tale is a very common tale. The tale of Jacob is the tale of our world—which is this: that blessing means getting ahead, that blessing is the same thing as winning. For those who come on top, this tale is a fairy tale.

But there is a dark side to this tale that we would do well not to forget. It’s what we see at the very beginning of Jacob’s life. It’s what is captured in his name. The dark side to Jacob’s success is struggle. Struggle that robs him of peace and robs others of their dignity and worth.

Struggling for Whatever We Can Get Our Hands on 

What is blessing? How do we get it?

According to Jacob—and our world—blessing is whatever we can get our hands on. Blessing is what we must struggle for.

Is that the blessing of God? Let’s stay tuned….

Prayer 

God of mystery,
Who sometimes seems
Strangely absent
From the struggles of our lives:
Keep us mindful
Of the difference
Between our achievement
And your gift.
When your love and grace come to us,
May our hands be open and empty
To receive them. Amen.


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[1] Most English translations say that the older one will serve the younger one, but that’s an interpretation of the literal adjectives rav, “great,” and tza‘ir, “little.”

[2] Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006), 6.

[3] Buechner, 6.

Sunday 9 July 2017

Within Touching Distance (Mark 10:13-16)


(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 9, 2017, Proper 9)

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Greatness Looks like a Little Child

Greatness is as much a topic today as it was two thousand years ago. Unless you live under a rock, you probably know that greatness was the slogan of our president’s campaign last year. “Make America great again.”

Two thousand years ago, the disciples were hoping Jesus would make ancient Israel great again. And last week we heard them speculating about who would be the greatest in the new kingdom (Matt 18:1-5). Jesus, remember, had a rather surprising response. You want to know what greatness looks like in the eyes of God, he asks? Greatness looks like a little child. Greatness looks like someone who is low in the world, someone who must trust others, someone who must rely on others, someone who is weak and vulnerable, someone for whom the world is not a foregone conclusion but rather full of possibility.

How Many Different Ways Can Jesus Say it?

You have to wonder, though, how well the disciples were listening.

Because just one chapter later (cf. Mark 9-10; Matt 18-19), when people start bringing little children to Jesus, the disciples stop them, as though to say, “Jesus has more important things to do, can’t you see? He has wise lessons to teach. These little children will just get in the way.”

When Jesus sees what the disciples are doing, he becomes “indignant.” I have to imagine that he allows himself a roll of the eyes and a deep sigh. What had he just been telling them about greatness? What could be more important than these little children? They weren’t getting in the way. Quite the contrary: they were the way. And Jesus says so, for a second time. “Do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (10:14-15). And I have to imagine, again, that Jesus allows himself a little shake of the head, wondering how many different ways he can say this before the disciples will understand.

Defenseless and Defense-Defying

Not long ago I read a story about a Catholic chaplain who worked in a maximum-security prison. He and his wife had recently had a child, and they wanted him to be baptized in the prison. Perhaps they wanted to share their joy with folks who had little other reason to celebrate. The prisoners who attended the baptism gathered round in a circle to watch. The baby was sprinkled with water and words of blessing and then returned to his mother’s arms.

Then one of the prisoners asked the mother if he could hold the child. She nodded yes and placed the baby in his arms. He received the infant with “great tenderness and looked directly into his eyes. As he smiled, the baby smiled back at him. The prisoner broke down in tears.”

A creature so fragile and powerless had done what little else could. Having slipped through the prison walls, the baby then infiltrated the sturdy defenses of the prisoner’s heart. Little children hold a miraculous power. They are defenseless, yet they defy our strongest defenses. Small and helpless, they do what no army or ruler or law can. They somehow break through the fortification of our hearts, the barriers of pride and power, the walls of wealth and independence. The way that a little child can look into our eyes, full of trust, smiling without fear—somehow this defeats our need to win, to be strong, to prove ourselves. The little child disarms us of our self-seeking ways and invites us to love.[1]

It is as Jesus says. The kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

The Little Child’s Secret:
The Need for Touch and Communion

What is the secret of the little child? How is it that this little, defenseless human disarms us of our pride and our competitive spirit, effectively opening the door to God’s kingdom and inviting us in?

Today’s scripture, I think, shows us the little child’s secret. But it’s so simple that we’re liable to miss it. The story begins with people bringing little children to Jesus “in order that he might touch them.” The story ends with Jesus taking them up in his arms and blessing them with the touch of his hands.

In other words, the story begins and ends with touch.

That, I think, is the simple secret of a little child: the need for touch and communion. A little child is “not helped by ideas, no matter how deep or beautiful they may be; she does not need money or power or a job; she does not want to prove herself; all she wants is loving touch and communion.”[2]

Judy once shared with me the story of her brother, Dale, and his first grade teacher Mr. Murgatroy. In a parent-teacher conference with their mother, Mr. Murgatroy revealed that Dale had a peculiar habit. Every now and then, he would stop what he was doing, get up from his seat, and come to the teacher’s desk. Without saying a word, he would stand close to Mr. Murgatroy, and sometimes he would reach out and gently pat the teacher’s arm. When he was done, he would return to his seat satisfied.

Judy shared that her father showed very little affection for his kids. Little Dale did not receive at home the touch and the communion that he desired, needed. And so he reached out for it at school.

God’s Hands Reaching Out to Us

We at Gayton Road are blessed with a lively bunch of children. The good news for us today, then, is simple: the kingdom is near—very near!

The stories that we’ve read the last couple weeks are not very different from our own experience. In our world as in Jesus’, children are often treated as an inconvenience or a disruption. Like the disciples, we might want to push them to the side and say, “Jesus has more important things to do right now.” But for Jesus, these little ones are the most important ones in the world, the pioneers of the kingdom. Left to its own devices, our world walks a self-destructive path of independence and loneliness, ego and conflict, fear and competition. What our world needs is to be defeated.

And according to Jesus, our conquerors are not far off. The kingdom of God is not off in the distance. On the contrary: it is within touching distance. The kingdom, according to Jesus, lives right underneath our nose.

The baby who smiled at the prisoner’s touch, little Dale who gently patted Mr. Murgatroy’s arm—according to Jesus, the kingdom belongs to such as these. And I believe it! For little children usher us away from the world where what matters is being right or being strong or being popular, and they invite us into the kingdom of God where what matters most is that we bless one another, sometimes even without words. The little hands of children reaching out for touch, for communion—are none other than God’s hands reaching out to us. The kingdom visits us in these blessed moments when we let down our defenses, forget our ambition, drop our competitive pose.

The Kingdom: Of Tables and Children

In a few minutes, we’ll gather at the Lord’s table. Jesus regularly compared the kingdom to a table, a feast. He also regularly compares kingdom-dwellers to children. I wonder if it’s not more than a coincidence that many of my greatest memories involve both children and tables: birthday parties, board games, family reunions, jokes told at the dinner table and milk spewing out of noses.

At the table, or in the presence of a little child, we are called beyond ourselves. We are called into the lives of others. We are brought into touch with a holy communion.

May God bless our gathering always with tables and children. Both disarm us of our selfish ways and invite us into what matters most. They invite us into the kingdom of God.

Prayer

Our dear Jesus,
Who received little children
Not with impatience
Or out of obligation
But with loving embrace:
Lead us into the kingdom
By the way of our little ones;
And by their need,
Teach us
What matters most. Amen.


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[1] This reflection comes by way of a story told in a letter written by Jean Vanier in January 2011: http://www.faithandlight.org/rubriques/haut/publications/jean-vanier-january-2011.pdf, accessed July 4, 2017.

[2] Jean Vanier, Community and Growth (Rev. ed.; New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 97. In this passage, Vanier is actually describing a grown woman with “a severe mental handicap” who “remains in many ways like a child only a few months old.”

Sunday 2 July 2017

Growing Down (Matthew 18:1-5)



(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 2, 2017, Proper 8)

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The Blessing under Our Nose 

Today and next Sunday, I am doing something that makes me feel a little delinquent. I am deviating from the lectionary—the church calendar of scripture readings—and selecting a scripture myself. Why?

For a small church, Gayton Road has always been blessed by a lively bunch of children and youth. I say that word “blessed” very intentionally: not only to mean, we’re “fortunate” or “lucky” to have children among us, but also to mean that our children do indeed bless us.

This next school year, I’ll be encouraging us to discover this blessing, if we haven’t already, by sharing some time with our children. Maybe as an occasional Sunday School teacher, maybe as a volunteer at one of their events, maybe simply by sitting next to them at worship.

So today and next Sunday, I would like us to spend time with Jesus as he spends time with children, and to discover the blessing that lives right underneath our nose.

My First Gayton Road Memory: 
Kids, Legos, and Possibility 

My first real memory of Gayton Road Christian Church is a Sunday. I’ll be honest: I don’t remember a thing about the worship service. I recall vaguely that there was a potluck luncheon afterward, and while I imagine that I met a number of folks then, I don’t remember any of those introductions. What I do remember, very clearly, is that as the luncheon was winding down, I discovered two boys playing with legos in the nursery. I asked what they were building. They explained: cars, spaceships, houses. From time to time, they would dismantle their creation and begin anew on something else. The game, I learned, wasn’t about end product but about the play of possibilities.

Kids love legos, so it should have been no surprise for me to see Vasik and Radek playing with them that Sunday morning. But when I grew up, there were no legos at church—only these generic, wooden building blocks. Legos, I think, are a part of Gayton Road’s unique genetic makeup. They are a part of our kids.

And if they teach nothing more than possibility, then they have already taught more than many Sunday School lessons.

An Example of Greatness 

When Jesus called a child to stand among his disciples, he was showing them an example.

Jesus loved using examples. Footwashing. Breaking bread, passing a cup. If you ever forget what love looks like, it’s easy enough to remember. It looks like a basin of water. It looks like a table, a cup, a loaf. Love looks like serving one another; love looks like sacrifice and sharing.

What Jesus does today—calling a child to stand among his disciples—is not so different from these other examples. This isn’t simply a sweet, sentimental anecdote meant to give us warm fuzzies. It’s Jesus showing his disciples what greatness looks like.

The disciples ask Jesus, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” and instead of answering them, he waves a child over into their midst. You want to look upon the greatness of the kingdom? Look upon this child. After making his point with a stunning example, he makes his point in words: “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever makes himself as low as this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (18:3-4).

The Greatness of Children: 
Position, Not Personality 

If the greatness of the kingdom is a child, then Jesus still has some “splainin’” to do. Because I have about four months’ experience of teaching middle- and high-school age kids, and those were four long months. From spitballs to insults, cliques and cat fights to broken hearts, I saw firsthand the unsavory side of childhood and adolescence. Selfishness, jealousy, vengefulness, emotional turmoil.

Is this what Jesus means when he urges us to become like children? Is this the picture of greatness in the kingdom of heaven?

My guess is that Jesus is talking about something much deeper than personality. The personalities of children are as variable as the personalities of adults. Some of the students in my class were the most respectful folks I’ve met; others exhibited such rage as I’ve rarely seen elsewhere. I’m sure some of you could say the same for your work colleagues.

My guess is that Jesus is not endorsing a change in personality. Rather, he’s suggesting a change in position. He’s not inviting us to become like a child in our habits: to suck our thumbs or pick our nose or anything like that! He’s inviting to take the position of a child.

Growing Up and Growing Down 

In the Earthsea stories by Ursula Le Guin, which are stories much like C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series or Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, there is a simple but profound scene near the beginning of the story, when the young man who will grow up to be the hero enters into the school of wizards. He stands at the gate of the school. There he is greeted by an old man who says, “This is the school…. I am the doorkeeper. Enter if you can.” The boy steps through the doorway—but then finds that by some strange magic he is still standing outside. He feels angry and mocked. Remembering an old spell that his mother taught him, he says the special words. But still he is unable to pass through the doorway.

Finally the boy looks to the doorkeeper and says: “I cannot enter…unless you help me.”[1] And the doorkeeper lets him in.

I love this story because it symbolizes the boy’s growth—and our growth too, I think. The boy stands not only in front of the doorway to school. He stands also in front of the doorway to life. He stands at a crossroads. In which direction will he grow?

The boy has been growing up. The world has been teaching him the ways of power and status. He has learned spells that give him control of things. He has learned the importance of appearance and influence. We learn much the same in our world, where our schools—with their debate clubs and athletic programs and dances—teach us how to win arguments, win fights, and win the admiring looks of others.

If the boy were intent on growing up, on growing in control and status, then he would not have been able to enter the doorway. He would have turned around in pride and lived out a grasping, clutching life among other grasping, clutching adults.

But instead he lets go of his pride and his control, and he admits his helplessness and need. He takes the position of a child. He grows down.

Real Maturity 

To be clear, growing down is not the avoidance of adulthood. It is not an escape to some Neverland where all is youth and fun and games.

In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul laments that the Christ-followers in Corinth are still “babies in Christ” (1 Cor 3:1), not yet ready for “solid food” (1 Cor 3:2). What exactly is their problem? According to Paul, it is “jealousy and quarreling.” Which is to say, it is the same problem that Jesus repeatedly addressed in his grownup disciples: the grasping for power and prestige, the clutching after control and status.

In the world, people usually grow “up.” They grow into influence and authority and wealth. Which is another way to say, they grow full of themselves—selfish and controlling and possessive.

Real growth according to Paul and Jesus—real maturity—moves down rather than up. In the kingdom, the greatness of a mature adult will be the humility and openness and trust of a child.

Two Ways of Growing Old 

There’s another way to say this:

There are two ways of growing old.

I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Sometimes you meet old folks who have grown “anxious and bitter.” They may have grown up very well—grown into possessions and power and good looks—but now that they are losing those things, their growth is shown for what it is: selfishness. They never stepped foot into the kingdom of which Jesus spoke. They were too busy trying to build their own empire, and now it is crumbling fast.

But on the flip side, sometimes you meet old folks with a child’s heart. It’s as though they relish their loss of power and prestige. They have rediscovered the freedom of being powerless and trusting and humble.[2] They approach life like Radek and Vasik approached that box of legos: not as a matter of end product, but as a play of possibilities. Rather than grow up, they have grown down, down to a place where they cannot do it on their down, down to a place where they must trust in a power other than themselves, down to a place of prayer, down to a place where the world looks surprisingly like legos and becomes full of possibility.

Icons of the Kingdom 

A basin of water. Bread and cup. A child. These are all examples that Jesus gives us to remind us of what the kingdom looks like.

Our children bless us. They are icons of the kingdom. May we have the eyes to see it and the hearts to follow.

Prayer 

Lowly Christ,
You yourself became small
Like a child,
Entrusting yourself to us
As you gave freely
Your love and forgiveness:
Help us to grow “down,”
To expose ourselves
To a life of trust, sharing, and service,
To open ourselves
To your kingdom.
Amen.


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[1] Ursula Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2012), 39.

[2] Jean Vanier, Community and Growth (Rev. ed.; New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 140-141.