Children

Transcribed from the sermon preached October 29, 2006

The Reverend Max Lynn, Pastor

St. John’s Presbyterian Church

2727 College Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94705

Telephone 510-845-6830    Fax 510-845-6837

office@stjohns.presbychurch.net    http://www.stjohns.presbychurch.net

Scripture Readings: Psalm 27: 7-14 Matt. 7: 7-12

This morning I just want to address three things in reference to children, the children inside each of us and the children among us. First, I want to lift up childlike grace as an example of faith. Second, I want to lift up in prayer the need to create a nurturing, safe space for children and all of us, so that we retain some of the god-given grace into adulthood. And third, I want to charge the Church to be such a nurturing, safe place.

"There is something so graceful about a huge unwieldy person who has found a way to glide," says Ann Lemott in Traveling Mercies. I remember Marlon Brando ice-skating a few years ago in the Freshman, massive and shy and full of grace out there on the rink. ... And there is something so graceful about a skinny little kid with poor coordination who's running in a gangly, goony way, arms akimbo, knees knocking - this hopeless little kid who will always be picked last in school-yard games but who's just so happy to be running so fast, running the exact way she's running."

Such child-like race was found in the movie, Forrest Gump. Forrest liked to run and, as it turned out, it came in handy. The movie helped us see through Forrest's eyes, that wishing you were somewhere or someone else doesn't leave you much time for making the most of who you are now.

In one scene, Jenny Curran, Forrest's life-long love asks: "Do you ever dream, Forrest, about who you're gonna be?"

Forrest: "Who I'm gonna be?

Jenny: Yeah.

Forrest: Aren't - aren't I going to be me?

Forrest had a mom whose simple, grace-filled love empowered him to do his best and enjoy life. And even if the movie is overly simple, we do hope and pray our children, and we ourselves will absorb this message of love well enough that we develop what some are now calling "emotional intelligence", which for several thousand years the church has called spiritual wisdom. Too many children become preoccupied with how others will judge them and wind up lashing out or wishing themselves away. Like beautiful, intelligent Jenny, Forrest's girlfriend, when hiding in a cornfield from her violent father, we pray, "Dear God, make me a bird. So I could fly far. Far, far away from here."

Jesus said, "The Kingdom of God is at hand." Now this could mean that God was about to arrive and fly us far, far away. And surely there is too much injustice, abuse, neglect and downright evil in this world to totally deconstruct this powerful hope for a time and place, as Isaiah puts it, where no one will make us afraid. "Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not grow faint."

But surely Jesus also means that here and now, it is time to start living as if the God of love where King, Father and Mother of us all.

"Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me," sings the psalmist. And Jesus, "If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him."

Right now God wants the frightened child within you - the one who was made fun of in school, or who had to run and hide in fear, the one who acted out and was punished - God wants you to know you are loved and cared for, you are forgiven for any real or perceived crimes, and He is calling you to be born again. By God's grace, the chain of abuse can be cut by you. No more.

I'll never tire of repeating the motherly advice given to my friend Roger Crawford when he was trying to hide his abnormal hands in his pockets as a group of kids walked past them on the street: "Roger, take your hands out of your pocket, stand up tall and be proud of who you are" Roger says, " You can see my handicaps, but I cannot see your yours." We walk down the street, with perceptions received in childhood that we are abnormal or deformed, and wanting to hide. But God wants us to focus not on hiding our negative attributes, or on avoiding the negative perceptions of others, and instead focus on displaying our faith in a God who loves us as we are. God calls us to stand up tall, love ourselves, and use our many blessed gifts to serve and love others.

Thus the Church, whether we are biological parents or not, we are parents to all the children before us. It is not just our duty, but our privilege and blessing to love and care for one another, especially the children. "Let the children come," Jesus said, "for to such as these belongs the Kingdom of God."

I started to like kids in Guatemala. In my late twenties, it could have been my biological clock. That, and different ages and groups are not as compartmentalized as they are here; there are children all over the place. Moreover I chose to work at an orphanage and the kids grew on me. Children came to the orphanage for a myriad of reasons. A couple of the children simply showed up unannounced and unaccompanied at the orphanage door in the city, apparently dropped off by a desperate parent. Others were taken away from abusive parents. Still others had witnessed their parents murdered or taken away from them by the military or death squads. One month at the orphanage, we had a nasty go round with giardia, microbial parasites which, fed by dehydration and malnutrition, are the leading cause of death in children under five. Just as several of the staff went away for the weekend, seven young children contracted the parasites, causing severe diarrhea and high fever. One dark night, lit only by a flickering candle and lightning from the thunderstorm, I shared diaper changing, bathing and coddling with a very special woman. She had an almost mystical gift of peace that calmed and comforted the dangerously sick orphans, and, I might add, me. As I worked with and watched her in the flickering light, I had the sense I was watching God, incarnate. I remembered the Psalm, "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you." And surprisingly, amidst the storm and choir of sick cries, she had the audacity to laugh and make fun of my diaper changing skills. I had other plans, but darned if I didn't fall in love, with the kids and the woman.

Care for children, orphans and widows has always been the mandate of the Church, with the irony that the widows have always made the church go round. The big picture of our faith - we can talk about the need to provide enough jobs, with high enough wages that no parent feels the need to drop their child off at a strange door, or the need to struggle against the injustice and violent brutality of governments and the greedy, but that will never replace the need for hands on, face to face love and support for vulnerable human beings. Social justice without a doubt, but first and foremost the church is called to be a family, which provides a nurturing and safe environment, a home.

Marin resident, Anne Lamott, in her book, Traveling Mercies, tells us why she makes her son go to church:

Sam is the only kid he knows who goes to church - who is made to go to church two or three times a month ... You might wonder why I make this strapping, exuberant boy come with me most weeks, and if you were to ask, this is what I would say.

I make him because I can. I outweigh him by nearly seventy-five pounds. But that is only part of it. The main reason is that I want to give him what I have found in the world, which is to say a path and a little light to see by. Most of the people I know who have what I want - which is to say, purpose, heart, balance, gratitude, joy - are people with a deep sense of spirituality. They are people in community, who pray, or practice their faith; they are Buddhists, Jews, Christians - people who banding together to work on themselves and for human rights. They follow a brighter light than the glimmer of their own candle; they are part of something beautiful. I saw that something once from the Jewish Theological Seminary that said, 'A human life is like a single letter of the alphabet. It can be meaningless. Or it can be a part of great meaning.' Our funky little church is filled with people who are working for peace and freedom, who are out there on the streets and inside praying, and they are home writing letters, and they are at the shelters with giant platters of food.

When I was at the end of my rope, the people at St. Andrew tied a knot in it for me and helped me hold on. The church became my home in the old meaning of home - that it's where, when you show up, they have to let you in. They let me in. they even said, 'You come back now.'

My relatives all live in the Bay Area and I adore them, but they are all as skittishly self-obsessed as I am, which I certainly mean in the nicest possible way. Let's just say that I do not leave family gatherings with the feeling that I have just received some kind of spiritual chemotherapy. But I do then I leave St. Andrew.

Let us pray and work to sustain St. John's as a place where isolated parents and children can be connected and feel at home. May we be a place where, by the grace of God, the chain of abuse and shame is broken, and we are liberated to enjoy ourselves and focus on our blessings and strengths. May we express the unconditional love and freedom we received through Christ by embodying that love for other in the Church and in the world. And by all means, let's have some fun!