Sunday, September 23, 2012

A Prayer for Children

Mark 9:30-37

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them,“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”



You know, it really all seems so petty, these inane arguments that the disciples always seem to have among themselves. They have been following Jesus for quite a bit now, listening to him, watching him, asking him, simply being with him. After all of this time, how do they seriously not get it, seriously not understand? He has been telling them about the kingdom, about what is waiting out there for them, but they just completely ignore it time and time again. You would think they would be talking about Jesus’ message of salvation, of love, of grace for all, but instead they are in la-la land, arguing about who among them is Jesus’ favorite, the greatest, the best. After all of this time, they are still completely oblivious to what Jesus has been doing in their lives. Instead of doing kingdom work, they are doing the work of the world—wondering who is the greatest

We wonder why they don’t get it. We ask why. But when it really comes down to it, don’t we do the exact same thing? Don’t we find ourselves arguing in petty, endless, inane ways? Don’t we belittle and compare and miss the point, just like the disciples did? We argue among ourselves about who is the greatest, who is the best. We argue and bicker, especially in this seemingly endless political season, about who is best equipped to lead, best able to cure our ills. We argue among ourselves about who has the best education, the longest experience, the most friends, who amassed the most stuff, who has made the most money. In so many ways, these are our measures of greatness. Who is the greatest, we also ask? We do the same thing.

We are just alike, the disciples from so long ago, and all of us today. We strive for the greatness of the world, and in doing so, fail to recognize and celebrate the message of Christ’s kingdom. We fight for the things that are finite, the things we can never take with us. We argue about the silliest things, completely ignoring what Jesus tells us to do and who Jesus calls us to be. And we do all of this somehow thinking that Jesus will never know what we are whispering to each other behind his back, trying to figure out who is the greatest among us. But he does know. He always does. And he is always ready to ask, “What were you arguing about along the way?”

Jesus is always ready to teach us once again, to turn things upside down, in his own topsy-turvy way; always ready to turn our long lasting arguments and long held notions on their head. You might waste your time whispering and arguing about who is the greatest, but my kingdom is about something else, Jesus says. You ask about who is the greatest, but in my kingdom, “Whoever wants to be first must be last and servant of all.” And then he takes a sweet child in his arms and continues: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” 

You see, in this biblical world, in this time, children are certainly the least of these; they are property, the lowest of the low, persons who really aren’t yet persons, those who are left out of the margins , those who are really never taken into consideration, possessions, really. These babies are really what the kingdom is about, Jesus says.



You are arguing about who among you is the greatest, but instead I give you the least of these, the least of these who are really set to inherit the kingdom. These children, the ones whom you would never really take into consideration for your arguments about who is the greatest, these are the ones to whom the kingdom belongs. These are the ones that I have lived for, the ones for whom I will die, Jesus tells them. 

I love that Jesus speaks of children when talking about the kingdom, and I see his point in a couple of different ways here. When I think about the child in this passage, I think about the sweet, funny, smart, innocent kids I was able to spend last weekend with. I think about my niece and her friend who came to my house for her 11th birthday spend the night party—how we did Auburn up in a few short hours, eating ice cream at Toomer’s, cheering with the band at the pep rally, buying out Claire’s jewelry store at the mall the way in the way that any 11 year old girl should, pigging out on way too much cheese dip at dinner, getting our hands dirty and sticky making a birthday cake, spending way too much money on barely drunk drinks and melty ice cream at the football game—giggling and smiling all along the way. I think about all of the kids who squealed at Toomer’s Corner after the game. As the adults fretted and worried about our football team who had barely won, the kids didn’t have a care in the world. All that worried them was grabbing the nearest roll of toilet paper, how high up they could get it in the trees. I think about last Sunday and the beautiful three year olds here, about Branson and Ella and Sarah Caroline and Noah and Madelyn, about how they stood up so proudly to get their Bibles, about how that was the most important thing in the world to them, about how one of them squealed, “I want my Bible!” 

In a lot of ways, I think this is what the kingdom of God is all about. I think we are called to come to Christ with open arms, with child-like wonder and awe, as children who giggle loudly instead of being weighed down by the adult pressures and expectations of the world, as children who never want to miss a thing in this world, as children who don’t yet know prejudice and certainly don’t let it get in their way, as children who would rather get a Bible over anything else in the world. You know, I think it probably made Jesus pretty happy to hear someone yell, “I want my Bible!” I think we are called to be the faithful ones who don’t let the expectations of the world, the needs and desires of the world, the petty arguments about who is the greatest, get in our way of serving our Lord.

But I also think this passage tells us something about how Jesus reaches out to the least of these in the world, about how he stands in solidarity with the children of the world who are never given a second thought, the ones who struggle to know where their next meal is coming from, the ones who are abandoned and sad and lonely and know way too much about the brokenness of the world at way too early an age. I think about the children in Atlanta whom we met on our mission trips there—the ones who were standing in lines for food at homeless shelters, whose clothes were torn and ripped, the ones who already had dark circles under their eyes from malnutrition, lack of sleep, sadness. I think about the kids in our own community who are hidden from the happiness of pep rallies and tree rolling because their parents are working a 3rd job just to make ends meet and have no time for frivolous celebration. I think about some of the beautiful children we met in Haiti this past May—about Carline, a young woman who was hit by a car that damaged her physically and mentally, about how she was left on the streets of Port-au-Prince to die, probably sexually assaulted and used before she was finally discovered and taken to Wings of Hope for some healing. I think about Franc, whose body is so riddled with disease that he spends most of his days lying on his stomach on the porch of Wings, waiting for some to feed him and talk to him and play ball with him. I think about the sweet baby I held for three solid hours at the babies’ hospital, about how she laid on my chest trying to sleep, about how I could feel the congestion in her chest against mine every time she tried to take a breath, about how I tried to put her down only to hear her cry simply because she wanted to be held, about how she might not be able to get the medicine she needs although she could get it at the drop of a hat here in the states. These are the ones with whom Jesus walks in solidarity and grace and love; the ones whom Jesus welcomes, and calls us to do the same. These are the ones to whom the kingdom of God belongs.


Whoever welcomes these children, Jesus says, welcomes God into their midst. The kingdom is not about our inane arguments and the petty things that we so often let get in our way. It is about those whom we welcome and love in God’s name. The kingdom isn’t about how much stuff we can get, how much money we make, and it certainly isn’t about how great we think we are. It is not about the first and the greatest, but the least and last. The kingdom isn’t about how great we think we are, but it is instead about how much of a servant we are. The kingdom is about how we reach out to God with the wonder of a child, about how we squeal with delight, about how we live this life God has given us to its fullest. The kingdom of God is about a Lord who stands with the least of these on the margins, about how a Lord who walks and welcomes the most vulnerable, about a Lord who welcomes and loves and turns our expectations and beliefs and long-held notions upside down. “Whoever wants to be first must be last and servant of all . . .Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Thanks be to God.

Our prayer today is a lovely poem written by Ina Hughes in her book “A Prayer for Children.” It is so important for us to hear, especially as we hear about the children who are welcomed in Christ’s name. Listen again for a word from God:

We pray for children 
Who put chocolate fingers everywhere, 
Who like to be tickled, 
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants, 
Who sneak Popsicles before supper, 
Who erase holes in math workbooks, 
Who can never find their shoes. 

And we pray for those 
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire, 
Who can't bound down the street in new sneakers, 
Who never "played tag,," 
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead  in, 
Who never go to the circus, 
Who live in an X-rated world. 

We pray for children 
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions, 
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish, 
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money, 
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink, 
Who slurp their soup. 

And we pray for those 
Who never get dessert, 
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them, 
Who can't find any bread to steal, 
Who don't have any rooms to clean up, 
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser, 
Whose monsters are real. 

We pray for children 
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday, 
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food, 
Who like ghost stories, 
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed, 
Who get visits from the tooth fairy, 
Who don't like to be kissed in front of the car pool, 
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone, 
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry. 

And we pray for those 
Whose nightmares come in the daytime, 
Who will eat anything, 
Who have never seen a dentist, 
Who are never spoiled by anyone, 
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep, 
Who live and move, but have no being. 

We pray for children 
Who want to be carried 
And for those who must, 
For those we never give up on 
And for those who never get a second chance, 
For those we smother. 
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind 
enough to offer it. 

We pray for children. Amen.