“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes
me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” (Mark 9:37)
I
love Raelyn. She’s the great-granddaughter of one of our faithful members at
Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia. She’s just started preschool, and she loves to
come to church. She gets to sit with great-grandma in the Praise Team chairs,
and she sometimes accompanies our singing with percussion instruments—under
great-grandma’s strict supervision, of course. But, as four-year-old little
girls are wont, she often likes to scamper around the worship space to sit with
her auntie or to retreat to the adjacent nursery room when Pastor is giving his
boring sermon.
I
don’t mind. There was a time, you’ll recall, when children were to be seen and
not heard. A certain large, Evangelical denomination was known for insisting
children under twelve years of age be sent to “Children’s Church” and not
permitted in the main worship space while services were being conducted.
Remember when a crying baby or a fussing toddler in church would provoke
blood-freezing stares of indignation from the sedate elders of the
congregation? An inappropriate squeal was tantamount to a crime against
humanity. I sure hope we’ve gotten past that. Ever since COVID-19 decimated our
church Sunday School, I am grateful when anyone young enough to still
have their own gall bladder comes through our doors. Of the many crimes
Christians—with all good intentions, I’m sure—commit is sending the unspoken
message that children are not welcome in church.
When
I was younger, I never really had time for little kids. I spent a number of
years in the Los Angeles Unified School District teaching adolescents, but I
never had the gift my sister Lorraine has for reaching the real little ones.
But now that I’m in my sixties, a very curious thing has happened to me. I’ve
started to find little children charming. Perhaps because I’ve never had any of
my own. I never had to change diapers or lose sleep with a cranky baby or ferry
a kid to ballet or Lettle League. I never had to do the dirty work of parenting,
and yet, I find myself thinking about kids more and more.
Did
you know that, according to the Children’s Defense Fund, over eleven million
children in the United States are living at or below the poverty line? What’s going
to happen to them? What effect will global climate change have on our kids? Do
you realize that children now engage in “Active Shooter” drills in public
school? And what kind of economy are we leaving them? How can we make future
generations our priority?
In
the world of our gospel lesson for Pentecost 18, Year B ((Mark 9:30-37), it’s
pretty clear kids weren’t a priority. Jesus uses a little child as an object
lesson, an illustration of the weakest and least important in the society. The
Greek word used (piadion[i])
does not identify the gender of the child, but I always imagine this is a
little girl. Girls were valued even less than boys and considered to be the
property of their fathers until they were of age to become the property of
their husbands.
Jesus
challenges us in this passage—as Jesus always does—to think beyond ourselves. His
numbskull disciples are busy arguing about their status, but Jesus wants them—and
us—to deny ourselves and start thinking about our brothers and sisters who are
in need. I wonder if young people have deserted the Christian Church in America
because they’ve seen or heard only an emphasis on individual salvation or self-actualization.
I wonder if the Millennials and Gen-Z’s aren’t starving for a relationship with
the Savor whose primary concern is for the weakest members of society. Do they
look into the future and see a freight train of disaster or injustice coming at
them and ask what we’re doing to derail it?
If
young people want a church at all, I suspect they want a church in mission.
Granted, there’s not a whole heck of a lot a little chapel like Faith Lutheran[ii] can do to change the
world, but we can still change part of it. We lost a lot when the COVID
pandemic changed the model of ministry which allowed us to shelter the
temporarily unhoused in our basement during the summer. Recently, however, we’ve
received an overture from our Lutheran food bank and advocacy ministry Feast of
Justice. They’re asking us to put together a team to greet and supply some of
the 2,000 neighbors who come to their door each week because of food
insecurity. Yes, nice church folks can always write a check to help the needy,
but it’s a whole different thing to look them in the eye. Jesus warns us that
his mission isn’t always going to be smooth and convenient. It might even be a
little uncomfortable[iii],
but I’m praying this ministry will be meaningful and impactful for all
who participate.
And
I don’t think anyone would mind if we brought little Raelyn along.
I’m
glad you dropped by this week. Take a chance and get a little more involved,
won’t you?
[i] In
fact, even the personal pronoun (auto) is neutral. Our Bible translates
the pronoun as “it” as our Greek Bible authors had no distinct pronouns for
“he” or “she.” Still, I hate to think of a child as an “it.”
[ii] We’re
down to about 30 in-person worshipers per Sunday, and half of them are over the
age of 70. Sound like your church?
[iii]
Like the cross was.
