Like Children

Job 28:20-28; James 3:13-18; Mark 9:30-37

The Bible talks about Pharisees and it talks about children. Jesus knew about both. And the very religious people of Jesus' day didn't like to hear what Jesus had to say about either Pharisees or children. For the Pharisees were the very religious people of Jesus' day. Most of Jesus' disciples were Pharisees. And it is very likely that Jesus was raised in a family full of Pharisees. So, Jesus knew about Pharisees. And he wasn't afraid to say so.

The Pharisees were wonderful people, though. They believed in being pious. Piety was so important that when they came to worship they didn't smile. Rather, they did exactly what they thought religious people ought to do: They went through the motions, they grimly recited the rituals. They detested anything that even remotely looked like fun. Because, for them religion was just too important, and, therefore, too burdensome to be fun. For the Pharisees, looking pious and feeling pious was of the utmost importance. Looking religious, acting religious, feeling religious, talking religiously, wearing religious clothes, being completely separate from non-religious persons: these were of the greatest importance to a Pharisee in Jesus' day.

And, over and over again in Jesus' ministry, he was not afraid to say so. For he knew that it was this overly pious nature of the Pharisees which was making religion look very unappetizing to those who were not religious. And Jesus was not afraid to say so. And Jesus knew that the piety of the Pharisees was totally unnecessary and separated God's people into little groups of first and second and third class citizens. And Jesus was not afraid to say so. And because Jesus was not afraid to say so, he was making a lot of enemies of some very religious persons. And, so, as he was teaching his disciples, one day, he said, "The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise."

I've known several fellow pastors in my time who, while following in the footsteps of Jesus, have made enemies of persons who fully believed in their religious-ness, their right-ness, their piety, and were, thus, so closed to innovation that their hearts simply could not understand nor appreciate the richness, the holiness, the authenticity, the spirituality, and the beauty of what was being given to them. Jesus survived three years in ministry to such people and they crucified him. He knew they would. And he wasn't afraid to say so.

In the few years I've been a pastor there's something I've noticed about myself. I've noticed that the things that I expect to hear, and want to hear, and am accustomed to hearing don't make me grow as much as those things I didn't expect to hear, didn't want to hear, and wasn't accustomed to hearing. And, unfortunately, it is the habit of human beings like ourselves to insist upon having things our way, never considering for a moment that perhaps God's way may be much different from our own. But, then, that's what a rut is made out of. And we complain about ruts. We complain about being closed in. And, yet, while we hate our ruts, we are afraid of what may await us just beyond these beloved grooves.

There's the story of a college guy who kept noticing a cute girl in one of his classes. They kept passing each other. And then one day she turned and saw that he was smiling at her! She smiled back at him! No, he didn't turn away, he didn't disappear -- he looked at her more intently than before!

"Smile like that again," he said.

She blushed and dimpled. And he laughed and laughed.

"Just as I thought," he said. "You look just like a chipmunk."

Six months later they were married.

Indeed, often times, the things we didn't expect to hear, and maybe didn't even want to hear, may be exactly what we needed to hear.

Doctors know this too. How would you like going to a doctor who only told you what you wanted to hear? And how could any psychiatrist, or counselor, or minister ever help a person unless he or she challenged that person with something disturbing?

Jesus knew about Pharisees and other religious people. He knows about us. And the message that he brings to our lives is not always one to make us slumber in contentment. Rather the message of Jesus is one which sometimes brings a sword. It is one which may even bring crucifixion. Indeed, Jesus saw it coming. And he wasn't afraid to say so.

Perhaps one of the things that disturbed the pious religious Pharisees of Jesus' day was his ability to turn things up-side-down. Jesus was able to see the emptiness in things that the Pharisees thought were very important. He was able to see the humor in things that the Pharisees thought were very serious. He was able to see the importance of things that to the Pharisees didn't seem important at all.

Take children, for instance. To the very religious persons of Jesus' day, children weren't very high up in the kingdom of God because the very religious people believed that acceptability to God was directly linked to a person's piety, and good works, and outward appearance. Children, on the other hand, were not pious, tended to be a bit selfish, and cared less about outward appearances. Being religious, and, therefore, acceptable to God was something that took time and a lot of hard work.

But, Jesus didn't believe this, did he? Instead he directly challenged this corrupt piety of the religious people of his day and stood a little child among them and said, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me."

Yesterday, just as I got to this point in my sermon, God was speaking to me. As I sat in my office working on the very sentence that I said, two sentences ago, the doorbell of the church rang. In fact, it rang twice. I got up out of my chair, walked around my desk, out of my office and into the southwest entrance of the church only to find that the bell was being rung by this little kid on a bicycle! That's right! There he was -- this dirty little kid on the porch of our beloved church, bicycle and all, pushing our sacred doorbell. And, what's more, he wasn't alone, but was in the company of two other dirty little boys on bicycles! And, evidently, they didn't expect anyone to answer the doorbell, because when they saw me coming they started to ride away.

As I opened the door I could have shouted something like: "You lousy little kids! How dare you interrupt me while I'm working on my exalted sermon? Don't you know how important my sermon is, you heathen little grubs?

But, thank God, I had been reading this little passage from the Bible where Jesus said his thing about welcoming little children. So, instead of yelling, I simply smiled and said, "Do you guys like to play with our doorbell?" If I had had some candy in my pocket, I might have done well to give it to them.

Jesus loved the little children. He even told his disciples, and he tells us, to have faith like little children: trusting, laughing, playful, creative, joyful, vibrant, innocent, daring faith. And this is what got Jesus in trouble with the very pious people of his day. He only lasted three years. They crucified him. But, thank God, Jesus wouldn't have had it any other way. And neither should we. Amen.