September 6, 2015, Mark 10:13-16

People were bringing little children to Jesus in order that he might bless them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, 

“Let the little children come to me; 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.” 

And he took the children up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.

***

I have never seen a congregation as good at welcoming children as you. Just last week Ed and Jim Kauth suited up Sydney and Silas in the acolyte robes and walked behind them, Ed picking up Sydney whose face scrunched in concentration as she lit the each candle with the help of her grandmother’s guiding arm. Ditto the the same for the offering plates and the patient hand on the shoulder to wait to pass them over until after the prayer of dedication. The thing is any of you, not just their grandparents, would have jumped up to do the same. You do it for Vacation Bible School, where we welcome kids from all over the community, our church rooms are full and squirming like an ant colony and your leadership and attention equally an organized chaos. You are comfortable with the chaos of children, and during the children’s sermon many of you are rooting for the kids, rather than their pastor. The kids winning doesn’t look like perfect angels quiet and attentive. Instead it looks like perfect angels silly and disruptive. If I win it looks a little too much like the disciples winning in this passage, keeping the kids away from Jesus. If the kids win, in the crazy kid-ness, it looks a lot more like Jesus describes the kingdom of God. It looks like coloring sharing cards, running down the aisle, and jumping off the chancel steps. Its a kid-dom of God in this place, and it doesn’t stop with our little ones. 

We are a tiny church with a full time youth director, with adults who volunteer their time to go on mission trips, cook Presbyterian Youth Group (PYG) dinners, and serve Open Door Breakfasts or play a round of ping pong. The youth have an auction and your generosity is astounding, its not because you desire some help raking leaves. Its because you want each kid to know they and their gifts are supported. Likewise, we have a youth elder and a youth deacon who help give voice to different perspectives and a different look to congregational care. Their voice and their care often means more than those of the adults around them, in the same way that watching Sydney and Silas brings us more joy than an our adult ushers. Kids are valued in this church and that is half of what Jesus is saying. The other half is harder.

The other half is for us to be like children. We are a congregation of doers and sometimes we have to be reminded to play. I know often times I rush in like a whirlwind, each minute a checklist prior to worship. I wonder how much of you feels the same. How do we enter this space? When is the last time you jumped from the chancel steps because it looked fun or ran down the aisle without care. If this would would be the end of you, when is the last time you simply smiled at the thought. How do we enter God’s space? Do you want grab a kids coloring bag, because I think it would be okay, pick up a sharing card and decorate it like the world is a blank page, or if you knit, knit, or if you have to giggle just let out (though we all know, part of the kid-dom of God is laughing when your supposed to and how much funnier things become when your trying to hold it in, especially in church. I think this is a God thing.) How do you enter God’s space?  Little Grace sometimes walks in with a totwo and Kathryn Gentry likes sparkles, Maddie princesses, and Jake his boots, and Coleman his cowboy hat. What would you wear if each day held the opportunity of a dress up box because it does in the kid-dom of God? How do express your concern in the kid-son of God? Cards and phone calls and flowers are great but don’t limit yourself. Once when I was having a hard day Maddie asked Melissa if she was going to dance to cheer me up, so the Irvine kids made hopping, dancing, Maddie subsequently falling and getting right up - video, just to make me smile and brighten my day. It worked and I have taken it on, and I have got to tell you, making silly, jumping, dancing videos for people is about the most fun way to cheer someone up. Its about living in the kingdom of God. How do you sound in the kid-dom because its about singing at the top of your lungs no matter how you sound, or whose around, whether or not you know the hymn. Its about exploring and adventuring, and making the most of three day weekends even in the cold. Its about giant hugs given at the knees and the bend over to rub the little back and say thank you. Its about sitting with Dale and Shirley in fellowship hour and laughing contagiously like Zach Allen, or being as witty as Julie Gentry and Mark Ferns who also excels at making faces. Its like Sharon Defrees reading a Bible story or Luke leading the guitar. Its like the silly photo booth pictures we took last Christmas with antlers and red noses and frankly they were some of the best, most happy pictures of you I’ve ever seen. Its like Tom Kulog who would help Magnolia when she was younger feel comfortable at church or each of the volunteers who have signed up to help watch the nursery. There are people in our congregation who are closer to the kid-dom of God. Perhaps they can help show us the way but it takes a letting go, so we are going practice. On the count of three, I want you to make the silliest face you can think of 1, 2, 3, okay, that was decent, but lets get even sillier, 1, 2, 3, silver 1,2,3,

that my friends is the kid-dom of God. How did that feel? What did you experience? What did we have to let go to make a silly face? The fear of being the only one? Wondering how our face looks? The idea that silly faces don’t belong in church? We know they do, because we welcome them in our kids, but it takes an effort to welcome them from ourselves. There is doctor who has studied relationships and he says that one of the most important ways that relationships last is if during the middle of disagreement if someone can lighten the mood, make a joke, a silly face, ask for a hug. I have watched countless parents do this, the kid is wailing and the parent, knowing that this is not the end of the world validates the kids feelings but then does something silly, tickles the kid, points out a duck or a caterpillar going by. Its one of those moments where adults practice kid language, the language of God, of love, and care, and sheer joy. Can you imagine if our world leaders did this? What if during official visits and discussions there was a golden retriever who wandered around the room smiling and nudging the speaker? What if our parades in town focused on throwing kids candy and being a community instead of protest march? What if our congregation colored and did art together? What if more Sundays were in the park and more hikes to heaven? What if we did these things not just for the kids, but for ourselves? What would you do as you leave the sanctuary? Go listen to Jazz in the park? Go for a hike or even a mushroom hunt? Lay on your back and watch the clouds? What would you do in your work? Write with colored pens? Keep stickers in your purse? listen to music while you work? What might interacting with your family change? would there be game nights, and dance parties before bedtime, or stories told with laughter and open grace?

Next week is Children of God Sunday. Its geared to our preschoolers and elementary, that once a year they may have worship at their age level, geared for them, but next Sunday, I want you to remember you too are a Child of God, so come in your totoos, your sparkles, running down the aisle, singing at the top of you lungs. Come and learn from those who already belong, for the kingdom of God, is in many ways the kid-dom of God and you belong.

August 30, 2015 Mark 7:24-30

A few things to note,

When Jesus talks of the dogs in this passage he is referring to Gentiles and Syrophoenician who are disposed by the Jews like Jesus. In like manner, the children to whom Jesus refers are his own people. 

 

Mark 7:24–30 

From there Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about Jesus, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter. 

He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 

But she answered Jesus, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” 

Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 

So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. 

***

I’m going to tell you a story of breaking up, because firstly, and most importantly, it mirrors the scripture, but also because heartbreak, though a universal feeling - from anyone past age of middle school, is rarely preached on, and hopefully in the telling, we can enter this crazy text, in a way that is approachable rather than reproachable, as our gut feeling leads us to believe about Jesus. 

It happened awhile ago, I had been watching his plants while he was abroad, watering them as if caring for him, a quarter turn to the left each time, that the sun might round them out into a bouquet to welcome him home. Its unclear whether for him these plants were parting gift or good riddance, but he needed neither they or I when he came home. What I knew was I needed parting gift, as well as good riddance, or in other words - closure; I needed to heal the unclean spirit of heartbreak, and this required finishing final things and removing reminders of blooming bouquets cultivated for other intents. I asked to meet up and hand them off, and he said keep them, and I said I had questions, and I heard no answer. 

He didn’t have to answer. He could hole up and not want anyone to know he was there. Jesus had sent the disciples, fed the 5,000, cured the sick and lame throughout Israel and been persecuted by the Jewish authorities, and now finally, was attempting to rest. The man I loved had done the thousand things that happen when you move away, move back and moved on, and his desire for peace was also fair. Yet, I likewise, could do what I wanted, and I wanted him to have his plants, whether or not I saw him. I, and the Syrophoenician woman, knew enough that he could not escape notice. So I cautiously packed them behind the front seats in the car and drove north with the windows up and the AC on to keep them fresh and unfurled for the drive. I wonder about the Syrophoenician woman’s walk toward Jesus. What was her intent? Did she want healing, the kind that turns things back the way they were to a daughter running in play, or did she just want acceptance and understanding for the way things are for a daughter who will never play? What did she carry, a drawing of her daughter on the slide, or the description of her disease, or memories that sat with questions unanswered? What did she bring to Jesus’ door?

Arriving at my his office building, I carried each plant. First was Grumpy, his favorite, who never liked me much after the day I tried to put him in the sun because I think sun heals everything, and he wilted, never looking the same. Then two at a time I brought the vine one that sat in a giant brown coffee cup and saucer, along with the pretty variegated one of which I was most proud, it having looked the worst on stringy stalks now having sat in direct sunlight for a year blooming full with dozens of new leaves. Finally hefting in the now giant coffee plant in its neon pot shaking with oncoming tears I made my last trip. I wonder if the Syrophoenician woman also made several trips around the place where he might be. Did she leave the drawing of the daughter and the slide, or the description of the disease, or walk the perimeter with the stories of her daughter, noting them as they circled around her memory. Each time, carrying plants, I walked passing his darkened office window and around through three hefty doors, feeling their and my heaviness. I arranged them like a display just outside the door and if you had walked up it would have been a mis-en-scene of beauty and bounty. 

Respecting the silence of the unanswered e-mailed, and perhaps the unanswered door -with my walks past and the sound of potted plants clinking to set on the tile ground, I looked at them about ready to leave. I wonder if the Syrophoenician women too tried to leave it up to chance. If I see him I see him, if I don’t I don’t, and thought of simply leaving Jesus that drawing, that description, that memory spoken to the wind, but in the end she came and bowed down at his feet, and I knocked on the door. I see both as a sign of respectful boundaries, no one has to answer. I see both as women with nothing to loose because everything is already lost, and the only thing to be gained is a little healing for the present. 

He looked at me, crying, sliding the mis-en-scene precariously into the office - a mess of overflowing plants. “You okay?” “No, but I am going to be.” I said. “I needed to bring them, for me. Since you are here can I ask a question.” At this point it was the match of wits, two people with counseling backgrounds, knowing the rules, 

He said, “I didn’t think it would be helpful, often questions aren’t and they just create more questions and continued hurt.” He might as well have said, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Both were the responses of a tired man who didn’t feel he had more to give.

I said, “They are not that kind of questions, and I realize you don’t have to answer but I can also ask.” We leveled off. Likewise, the Syrophoenician woman answered Jesus, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” They were the responses of women equally tired but with nothing to loose. And I asked one question, and then another, and then two more and I was done. They were things I was too afraid to ask before because I didn’t want to know the answer. Now I just needed to know that I already did. In the asking, and hearing I felt resolve and I wonder too if in articulating what her daughter deserved the Syrophoenician woman also felt resolve. Resolve that told her the answers that she already knew but was afraid to ask. That sometimes people get broken, but that healing can come through accepting the brokenness and moving on.  The daughter deserved a mother who sought her healing in understanding. Then Jesus said to the Syrophoenician woman, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 

So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. It didn’t cure the girl, who still remained on the bed, but the demon was gone, the demon that hoped for a healing of a different kind, that wanted things the way they were, a child running and a play and a future that matched the bouquets of plants at the door. But I imagine the mother looked with new eyes, there was still possibility and future even with a daughter who could not run, there would be other ways to play. There was a daughter and a future, and new eyes. We hugged, I said, “I never intended to knock,” He said, “Its always better to say goodbye.” and I got out to the car, and rolled the windows down and felt the hot sun on my face because it heals everything, and I felt myself beginning to grow a new leaf.