The paragraph about Jesus and children can be found in all three synoptic Gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke. The early Church held it to be important. Unless they are serious students of history, twenty-first century people living in developed countries may not understand the revolutionary nature of Jesus' attitude toward children. In the Palestine of two thousand years ago, children were at the bottom of the social ladder. They've come a long way since then, haven't they. And for the most part, that's a good thing.
I say "for the most part" because I sometimes see adults giving power to children that children are not ready to handle. With some frequency I hear a parent, mother or father, in Fairway saying to a child anywhere in age from three to the teens, "I think we'll have chicken tonight for dinner." And then the inevitable and somewhat unfortunate word used so often in such conversations: Okay? I heard one child respond, "No. You know I don't like chicken. I want macaroni and cheese." I watched as the parent went to the packaged pasta aisle and bought the demanded item. Validating children and giving them inappropriate power are two different things. (I know that some of you will want to tune out here and argue with me one this subject, which is fine, but it's for another occasion.) The point for this morning is that two thousand years ago children had very little social standing.
People were bringing little children to Jesus so that he could touch them in blessing, assumedly place his hands on their heads. The inner circle of Jesus' followers "spoke sternly" to the people bringing the children, probably parents or other relatives. Jesus' reaction was indignation followed by an expression of welcome. "Let the little children come to me; do not stop or hinder them, for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs." Those of us who grew up with the King James Version of the Bible remember it as "Suffer the little children to come unto me...," an illustration of how language changes and why updating translations of the Bible is necessary.
It's interesting that both Matthew and Luke omit the statements in Mark that Jesus was indignant and that he took children up in his arms. It's likely that the later gospel writers felt is was inappropriate to depict "the Lord of the Church" as having human feelings like indignation and exhibiting human behavior like embracing children. I find it a point of connection that Jesus felt indignation. I felt indignation and more when I watched a replay of Rush Limbaugh saying President Obama shouldn't have been surprised the 2016 Olympics aren't going to Chicago. Limbaugh said Obama has been "belittling America around the world—why would the world want to give America the Olympics." Indignation is absolutely appropriate with regard to such demagoguery and dishonesty.
That Jesus took children up in his arms to bless them and maybe even hugged them is the foundation of the way I believe congregations should "pass the peace of Christ" in worship services. Touching is so much a part of healthy human experience, and touching and hugging can communicate welcome and even healing more fully than just words. Obviously we need to observe basic rules of hygiene, washing our hands and refraining from touch when we are sick. But otherwise, appropriate touch is a means of grace for people, especially for people who don't experience much physical contact as part of their daily life.
Jesus was indignant that his inner circle tried to keep children away from him. He welcomed them, touched them, and blessed them. He went on to say that children exemplified what is necessary for entrance into God's Kingdom, which as I said last week is the same as entering into life in all its fullness. As is so often the case in the Gospel narratives, Jesus didn't elaborate. He didn't say what it was about children that qualified them as examples of readiness for the kind of living he hoped to inspire.
Among the traits of children often mentioned in Biblical commentaries are honesty or directness, curiosity, trustfulness, and dependence. I don't want to deal with all those things this morning, but I want to add another one. Children love to accept gifts. They know that other people can give them things they need or want. They haven't yet convinced themselves they can fulfill their dreams without help from anyone else. They haven't yet bought into the myth of the rugged individual. They instinctively know about interdependence and the limitations of human power. Yes, they sometimes insist, "I can do it myself." But when they fail, they say to a parent, teacher, or other adult, "Will you help me with this?" No sense of shame or failure—just an acknowledgment of need and a willingness to accept help.
Friday night I saw a revival of the play Having Our Say, which is the result of a New York Times reporter's convincing two sisters to share their thoughts and their memories. At the time they did so, Sadie and Bessie Delany were both more than one hundred years old, and they were living together in Mount Vernon, New York. In 1995 when the play was presented in Princeton before going to Broadway, Sadie was 103 and Bessie was 101 years old. They were two of the ten children born to Henry Beard Delany and Nanny James Logan Delany. Henry Delany was the first African-American bishop in the American Episcopal Church.
Some things the sisters said in the play are relevant to what I am talking about this morning. Their mother outlived their father by many years. Having spent most of her life in the American south, Mrs. Delany moved to New York on invitation from her two daughters, who cared for her as her health declined. Bessie, who closed her dental practice to stay at home while her school teacher sister continued to work, said that she spent time in the house doing things she thought would make her mother more comfortable—preparing certain foods, keeping the place clean and neat. But she discovered that what her mother really wanted was for one of her daughters to sit right beside her as much of the time as possible. It was human touch she yearned for in the closing years of her life—an echo of what she had valued over decades. As I listened to those words on the stage of McCarter Theater, I thought of this morning's Gospel reading and Jesus touching the little children. I like the bumper sticker or refrigerator magnet that asks, "Have you hugged a child today?"
But Having Our Say reminded me of something else. It reminded me of accepting gifts, and I referred to that in connection with children and what they show us about entering the Kingdom of God. In the third and final act, Bessie, who has talked about the large extended family she was part of, talked about "little Hubie." In Bessie's words, "Little Hubie was born damaged." She didn't say in what way he was damaged. She went on to talk about how the extended family showed this special child extra love and care. Bessie mentioned a family friend who knew about damaged children. He came and visited "little Hubie," and Bessie asked the man if little Hubie would be all right. He didn't answer.
Even so the entire family was devastated when little Hubie died at the age of ten. Bessie said it was a moment of truth for her and for many of her relatives. Till then, she said, the Delanys thought they could overcome anything, just the way they had overcome economic challenges, human prejudice, and ignorance about racial equality. But, she said, we couldn't save Hubie, not by love, not by prayer, not by anything we could do. The theater was very quiet. I suspect that many people, I among them, were remembering the first time we had to acknowledge that we can't control everything in the world, especially with regard to people we love. Some things are stronger than human ingenuity, knowledge, will power, and persistence. Some things we just have to accept.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
What are the gifts you have been given, the gifts you have received without earning them, without even deserving them? William Sloane Coffin, long-time social activist, chaplain at Yale University and pastor of the Riverside Church before James Forbes, has written about the death of his son at the age of twenty-five in a one-car automobile accident. As he grieved that loss, he remembered one of his college friend's funeral when they were undergraduates. Dr. Coffin remembered the beginning of the liturgy when the priest recited the traditional words from the Book of Job,
The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Dr. Coffin writes that he doesn't believe we can say of death that it is God who takes away. I very much agree, having lost a child at an early age, as most of you know. Coffin goes on to say he has come to understand that with all of life, including his friend in college and his son many years later, it is God who gave life to them. It is God who gave them to their families and friends.
Of all the gifts we have received—our health, our minds, the privilege of living in a democracy, the talents we may or may not have developed—the most precious of all is the gift of life, our own and the life of those we hold in our hearts.
As I left McCarter Theater Friday night, I breathed a silent prayer of gratitude for being reminded of the struggle inherent in living and for being reminded that even lives that don't last as long as we would like are gifts from God, and we can be grateful.
Thanks be to God.