Mk 10:13-16

8 October 2006

“To Completely Speak Well”

            In years past, I have had a debate with Banu on my reaction to some (though not all) so-called “chick flicks.”  You know what they are—they’re like the movies they show on the Lifetime Network?  Not that I watch that channel!  I’m talking about the times she’s dragged me to the theater to see such masterpieces as “Notting Hill,” starring Julia Roberts, and “Maid in Manhattan,” starring Jennifer Lopez.  (By the way, I readily admit that the male response, so-called “action movies,” tend to have a similar artistic value!)

            When I’ve pointed out scenes of utter absurdity in such films, she’s accused me of not being romantic.  My response has been:  to the contrary, I am romantic—at least, I would like to be romantic!  What I am not is sentimental.  Understanding that words have different nuances for different people, allow me to elaborate.

To me, “romantic” suggests something deep, something well below the surface.  Likewise, to me, “sentimental” is something that is shallow and superficial.  It cues the music and tells us when to laugh and when to cry.  Synonyms that come to mind include “maudlin” or “syrupy.”  Let me use an analogy.  “Romantic” is to “sentimental” as a novel is to a greeting card.

            I must confess that this is the first time I’ve even had a desire to preach on the story of Jesus blessing the children.  It’s almost been ruined for me by all the saccharine sweet imagery in which many people have cast it.  It’s been “sentimentalized,” in both words and pictures.  (One of which appears on page 11 of our worship bulletin.)  It’s the impulse that says, “Isn’t it charming how he welcomes the little children?  Isn’t it adorable?  Isn’t it cute?”

            I’m sorry, but I do not believe that Jesus is cute!  Nothing he does is cute!  Jesus is not a fuzzy little teddy bear.  Is he awesomely loving and incredibly patient?  Definitely!  But, to me, “cute” and “sweet” are insults to our Lord and Savior.

            I’ve begun with these comments about being overly sentimental because we tend to read into this story some of our own preconceived notions.  In the first century, children were held in very low regard.  One writer has presented some comments that express the general opinion:  “A child acts like a fool.  A child is inclined to naughtiness and needs sharp discipline.  It is a waste of time for a scholar to spend time with a child.”[1]

            The picture that’s often presented of happy, giggling children may be far from the truth.  Verse 13 says that “people were bringing little children to [Jesus] in order that he might touch them.”  That usually indicates people who are seeking healing.  It’s been said that a more appropriate image might be that of “a pediatrician’s waiting room—or the emergency room at a children’s hospital.  Jesus is surrounded by sick children—and all the problems and smells that come with that:  runny noses and dirty faces; diarrhea and smelly diapers; nausea and its unpleasant eruptions; crying or whimpering that just won't stop.”[2]

            Perhaps that explains why the disciples speak “sternly” to those bringing the youngsters.  They just chew them out!  “What’s wrong with you people?  Get these kids out of here!”

            It’s hard to say exactly what’s been going before this.  Mark, along with Matthew, locates this event after some Pharisees come to Jesus and, “to test him,” they ask him about the legality of divorce (v. 2).  They’re not really interested in the truth; they’re more interested in maintaining male privilege.  Luke, however, places the story after Jesus tells the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector—a comparison in the two very different ways they pray.

            In any event, some people have said that the reason the disciples get so upset is that Jesus is speaking with the Pharisees, the big shots.  The last thing he needs are these people clamoring for his attention—forcing their snot-nosed brats on him!  He has more important things to do.

            The point is, we don’t know what the circumstances are.  What we do know is Jesus’ reaction to his dear friends.  He is not, as they say, a happy camper!  Verse 14 says that “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.’”

            The Greek word translated as “indignant” (aganaktew, aganakteō) is used later on in chapter 10.  There it’s rendered as “angry” (v. 41).  Jesus is quite displeased with his disciples.  While they view the little kids as nothing but a nuisance, or worse, Jesus sees in the young ones nothing less than those to whom the kingdom of God belongs.  That’s quite a contrast to the way most people deal with them!

            Then he says something that’s proven to be a bit of a head-scratcher.  “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (v. 15).  What could he possibly mean by that?

            Is Jesus saying that we should behave like children, that we should be childish?  Does he mean that we should have the simple, unquestioning faith of a small child—who believes whatever he or she is told?  It seems a bit far-fetched to think Jesus encourages either of those options:  immaturity or blind faith.

            Some light can be shed on the matter if we look at the world in which Jesus lived.  It’s been noted that, in ancient times, the child “was radically dependent upon…the father, [who] decided whether the child would even be accepted into the family.  Children belonged to their father and remained subject to his authority even as adults.”

            Taking that into consideration, Jesus “warns the disciples that they are radically dependent upon God’s grace—they cannot set the conditions for entering the kingdom.”[3]  Those who would be disciples of Jesus can’t mimic the Pharisees, the big shots, nor can they turn away the little ones, the powerless ones.

            In verse 16, we come to the source of my sermon title.  It says that Jesus “took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.”  The word translated as “blessed,” kateulogew (kateulogeō), literally means “to completely speak well.”  It can also be seen as “claiming their eulogy.”[4]  Jesus eulogizes the children.  We usually think of “eulogy” in connection with funerals, but “eulogize” literally means “to speak well of.”

            It seems clear that Jesus is doing more than simply saying nice things about the kids.  He backs up his words with actions.  It’s entirely likely that he is providing healing for them.  And he does something that the disciples seem to find irritating:  Jesus actually pays attention to the children.  What an outrage!

            What does it mean to completely speak well?  In my humble opinion, it would seem to suggest something pretty comprehensive, something all-inclusive.  How do we, as a church, completely speak well?  How do we bless?

            October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month.  The primary focus of this month is the abuse of wives and girlfriends by their husbands and boyfriends.  This abuse exists along a wide continuum, from sexist comments and jokes all the way to extreme violence and death.

            Of course, domestic violence also includes children.  We in the church would like to think we’re immune from this plague, but we would be sadly mistaken.  The Bible even offers some parental advice that would land you in jail—and quite justly so.  Consider this little jewel from Proverbs 23:  “Do not withhold discipline from your children; if you beat them with a rod, they will not die” (v. 13).  Fortunately, there are very few people who take the Bible that literally!

            What does it mean to completely speak well?  I would say that a major part of it is found in establishing a safe place, a haven.  Our country is becoming increasingly hostile to children.  Two recent events help illustrate our disregard of children.  There’s the case of former Representative Mark Foley’s pedophile emails, as well as the murders at the Amish school in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.  These are symbolic of two prevalent forms of child abuse, in both sexual and violent ways.

            Then there’s the meditation by Fr. Jim Hasse I’ve included on page 2 of our worship bulletin.  It says, in part, that we feed our children “garbage TV images, unhealthy fast foods, obscene musical lyrics, glorified violence, greed, and power.  We destroy the environment, finance war—but not peace—and pass our national debt on to them…and we say we love them.”[5]

            That’s quite a laundry list of societal ills!  Taken in all at once, it can be somewhat paralyzing.  What can we as the church—what can we as a church—do?  How can we establish a safe place, a haven?

            Today’s Old Testament reading comes from the book of Job (1:1, 2:1-10).  In his remarkable book of spiritual reflections on Job, Richard Rohr has some excellent observations.  When Job’s friends tell him that he must have done something wrong to cause all the tragedy that’s befallen him, Job mounts his defense.  However, as Rohr puts it, “Job is defending not so much his own perfection as his humanity.  He’s saying, ‘Darn it, I’m a human being, I’m somebody.’”[6]

            Rohr continues, “The first permission we have to give a little child when it comes into the world is the—unspoken or spoken—permission to exist.  Many people have never been given that permission.  No one has looked into their eyes and said, by whatever means of communication, ‘I am excited and happy that you exist.  Your very being is good.’

            “The whole Book of Job can be read in that context:  a human being demanding his rights as a human being.  ‘Someone, tell me it’s okay that I exist,’ is the message between the lines.”[7]

            Can we do that for each other?  Can we let each other know, by whatever means, that we are excited and happy that the other person exists?  To me, that is the fundamental part of completely speaking well.  It’s the most basic component to blessing.

            How can we as a church do that for people beyond our bounds?

            Perhaps it does begin with each other and with our church.  Some will not continue the journey with us as we move to Lakewood.  Is it possible for each of us to completely speak well of one another and of this church?

The danger always exists of being excessively inward-looking, but our gospel reading provides a corrective for that.  Welcome the little ones; welcome the unwanted ones, because of such is the kingdom of God.

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