••••••• INSPIRATIONAL THOUGHTS •••••••

Suffer Unto Me

“Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them. Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’" - Matthew 19:13-14(NIV)

Some of our church folk watch their grandchildren on occasion. They find it remarkable that they ever had the energy to do it full time. After hearing several verses of this tune I was prompted to look more carefully at Jesus’ admonition to the disciples. They wanted to isolate him from kids.

My chance to reflect on this finally came not long ago on a flight from Chicago to Colorado Springs, and when I was seated I settled in to better understand Jesus’ response. I was looking at the earlier part of Matthew 19—Jesus is talking about marriage and divorce to a Pharisee who wants to corner him—when the stewardess, Christine, placed Shelby next to me. Shelby was a 6th grade boy, towheaded and blue-eyed, heading home after visiting his divorced mother in Rochester, NY. He was accompanied by a 3 foot tall stuffed Ninja turtle in a large yellow sweatshirt.

The question about divorce in Matthew 19 springs from an ongoing Pharisaical debate in Jesus’ day centered on the issue, “When is divorce legal?” Asked the question, Jesus uses the arrival of the kingdom to show that current interpretations of marriage and divorce, voiced by the same Pharisees now confronting him, violate the spirit of the Old Testament.

As I read, Shelby was inventorying candy and gum from his backpack, his pockets, and the sweatshirt of the turtle, whose name, he revealed, was Leonardo. Much of the supply went directly into Shelby’s mouth. I suspected this wasn’t the first dose of sugar he’d had that day.

The Pharisees believe they have Jesus cornered. He’s insisting that divorce results from sin, while they point out that Moses allowed it. Who does he think he is, contradicting Moses? Jesus replies that “Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning” (Matthew 19:8). Since the kingdom is breaking in, a reversal is taking place. Marriage, along with the entire world, can be redeemed.

Christine was standing over me because Shelby had pushed the call button, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why. She reminded him to raise the window shade because we hadn’t taken off yet, and he did—repeatedly—while unwrapping some gum. Shelby was truly a multi-tasker.

Any question about marriage leads naturally to a discussion of children, and the disciples give Jesus his opening. Parents, caregivers, and perhaps a stewardess or two are bringing little kids to Jesus for his blessing, and the disciples are trying to keep them at bay. Evidently children are an irritant to them. With good reason: the social structure in Jesus day counted a long list of people as inferior—even as property. Women, children, slaves, lepers, the poor, Samaritans, and tax collectors were but a few of those whom the religious elite viewed as second- or third-rate citizens. Why spend time with people who can’t do anything for you? Besides, they try to interrupt important stuff like talking to rabbis.

As soon as we lifted from the runway Shelby was on the call button again, and when Christine arrived he asked for a Coke. She said drink service would be soon (“But when?”) (“Soon!”). This conversation provided just the opportunity for him to interrupt my reading and ask me to stand in the aisle; he needed to get out and go to the bathroom.

Jesus insists on being interrupted. Children repeatedly become a metaphor in his ministry for discipleship. They may have no societal worth, but they have precisely the humility required for entrance into the kingdom. Children are all the things true disciples should be: weak, humble, and vulnerable, constantly depending on God for purpose and significance in their lives.

At last, a Coke for Shelby. I thought maybe the two-liter bottle of water in his backpack had run out, but from his viewpoint it was just poorly packaged. He couldn’t gnaw a hole in the bottom of it like he could in a plastic airline cup of soda. Doing so allowed him to suck the contents out from the bottom; he accomplished this while stirring what remained with his finger, disrobing Leonardo, and asking why I didn’t get a Coke. I told him the leaders of my congregation only permitted me to drink Pepsi. He wanted to know the meaning of “congregation.” After I explained, he again was off to the bathroom.

Jesus blesses the children not just for the sake of the children, but for the disciples and the crowd. His prayer is that they’ll remember this affirmation of “kingdom nature” when the crucifixion comes and they find themselves powerless and persecuted. The lesson is memorable. Matthew, Mark and Luke all record it.

Another call to the stewardess. In response to his repeated inquiry—“How long?”—Christine told Shelby that we were still at least an hour away from Colorado Springs. This allowed ample time for him to eat more candy, use his seat as a trampoline, study the height to which a tray table would bounce when dropped repeatedly, and, facing backward on his knees, questioning the passenger in the seat behind him about her destination. Evidently it hadn’t occurred to him that we were all headed for Colorado Springs. Did he think she’d be getting off mid-flight? He also made another trip to the restroom.

Jesus’ actions with the children affirm that each of us is “precious in his sight.” As disciples we are not simply welcomed. We ourselves are expected to welcome all who are weak, socially outcast, or marginalized. It isn’t easy, especially in the church, where our public image might be compromised by doing so.

We were less than a half hour from home. Shelby had engaged in at least three rounds of energetic fisticuffs with Leonardo. Neither looked the worse for wear, but Shelby marked the final round by pushing the call button, again wanting to know our arrival time. Christine responded and said, “Twenty minutes.” After she left he decided there was an opportunity for one last bathroom run. Lacking compassion, I tried to dissuade him.

“Think about something else.”
“Like what?”
This wasn’t one of my finer moments. “I don’t know. Taking a shower.” He groaned.
“Drinking fountains.”
“Uuggh.”
“Niagara Falls.”

He just rolled his eyes and crawled over my legs, headed aft. I guess we’d bonded. But I could see that there was a line, and almost immediately the captain came on the loudspeaker with news of thunderstorms ahead, a bumpy descent, and the need for seatbelts. I waited to fasten mine. I knew Shelby would be back soon, and after we hit the first air pocket he was, eyes wide from the sudden drop. He hopped over me into his seat, buckled in, and told me he didn’t have to go that bad after all.

It isn’t just the challenge of inclusion that faces us in this story about Jesus and the children. Inclusion is sort of a burden. We have to work at it. But Jesus knows we’re also blessed by it. Children, and indeed all the people who aren’t like us, bring fresh perspectives and new understandings of God’s grace. In their innocence, or perhaps in the depth of their being forgiven, they too learn about the nature of the kingdom.

But I suspect something has been left out of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ meeting with these disciples, parents, Pharisees, and kids. I wonder if, when he insisted on receiving them for a while, at least one mother didn’t say under her breath, “Be my guest.”

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