October 16, 2005: Children's Sabbath
Matthew 18:1-5, Matthew 19:13-15, Psalm 103
Eileen Parfrey                 Springwater Presbyterian Church

In other words, we were privileged. Not every child in the world has parents and circumstances like mine. Nor even in this state. Nor even in this town. Which is why the Children's Defense Fund, for fourteen years, has provided resources for an interfaith Children's Sabbath. Not "Sabbath" in the sense of worshiping children. But "Sabbath" in the sense that all faiths can bring to worship the needs of children. Because it is worship that shapes us. It is in worship that God becomes present in the concrete human world. This weekend, Protestants, Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Ba'hai, Unitarians, each in their distinctive faith tradition, listens in worship for God's call for justice for children.

Sticking up for children isn't a Johnny-come-lately concern in faith communities. Christians base their understanding of child advocacy on faith in the One who came to bring good news to the poor, who blessed the children, healed the sick, and welcomed the last, the lost, the least. We think of justice for children in terms of Jesus' commandment to welcome children as if they were welcoming him. Which was his answer to the question, "Who's the greatest?" His followers can't be "great," he says, unless they are humble like children, unless they welcome small and vulnerable and not-valuable ones as if they are really welcoming him.

"Welcome." The Middle Eastern idea of hospitality is extravagant. Today, as it was in Jesus' time, hospitality isn't limited to clean towels and perfumed soap in the bathroom. Hospitality is protection for the guest, giving honor, providing for guests as if their very presence is gift and joy for the host. My Uncle Stan was in Saudi Arabia when it was hospitality that saved his neck-or at least his arm. The local sheik's son broke his arm falling off my uncle's truck, which ordinarily meant, at the very least, breaking his arm in retaliation. But the sheik viewed my uncle as a guest, and as long as he was accepting the sheik's hospitality, Uncle Stan was safer than if he'd had heavily-armed body guards.

As Americans, we might hear Jesus' commandment to welcome children, not as hospitality, but as political statement. Jesus isn't talking No Child Left Behind. This isn't initiatives and legislative reform or stable school funding. If it's any kind of politics, it's the politics of God's Reign. Ever since God began giving humans advice about how to live together (think Leviticus and Deuteronomy), God has measured faithfulness in terms of widows and orphans. What got God's people into so much trouble in the 8th century and leading up to the exile into Babylon was their abuse and neglect of widows and orphans. Both government and religious establishments were essentially ripping off widows and stealing outright from orphans, swindling and enslaving them in the name of reducing national debt. This maltreatment of the poor and vulnerable was proof positive that Israel's was dissing its relationship with God.

When Jesus tells us to welcome children, he isn't saying this so we feel good about ourselves. We might experience deep joy in working with and advocating for children who need protection. But our joy may have to transcend the children's circumstances. For instance, there are over 11 million AIDS orphans in Africa alone, with 20 million expected by 2010-five short years from now. Closer to home, the Children's Defense Fund says our "rich" nation has 13 million kids living in poverty. That means they are "food insecure" (they don't know what and when they'll get to eat again). Besides being hungry, these kids are without healthcare (no annual check ups, no immunizations, no penicillin for strep throat). They will be undereducated and likely to experience one or more permanent disabilities. But a person doens't have to be young to be treated like a child. More often than not, people with disabilities and chronic mental illness are treated as if they are children-expected to be seen but not heard, without a voice in their own care, living arrangement, or occupation. They, like children, are expected to consider themselves lucky to get what they've got. Closer to Springwater, 40% of homeless people in Clackamas County are children.

All of which means that, even as advocates, it's going to be hard to feel good about what's happening to children. Even knowing that it's cheaper to prevent problems, to be pro-active in intervention, advocacy for children is a hard sell, what with dwindling resources and short tax dollars. It's an act of hope to advocate for children-as if there will be a future. It's an act of subversion to do what Jesus did-to work against power over the least of these. For some kids, it's already too late to be proactive. Their health and development are already compromised. When we value kids, when we show them God's unconditional love (regardless of whether they'll contribute anything noticeably productive to the economy, regardless of whether they are already compromised), when we value kids, this is an act of faith.

Educational psychologists tell us that the least effective educational method is to simply hear about the subject. More effective is hearing and seeing. But hearing, seeing, and doing is the most effective educational method. God sent Jesus to show us what faith and trust look like. If we just hear about Jesus on Sundays, we'll learn something, but not as much as if we hear on Sunday and see or experience for ourselves the gift of God's unconditional love. But as followers of Jesus, we promise to be like him. Doing. When Jesus overrides the folks who won't let kids come to him, he doesn't just send a check. He draws the children close to him and takes them in his arms. He gets personally involved. When we get personally involved, when we do our faith, we're really going to learn something. We'll really grow.

An occupational hazard of being a pastor is that people email you touching stories. My hairdresser sent me this. A man walked down a road holding the hand of a small child. Maybe the child had a limp or couldn't see, but the man realized the road they were on was leading to something like heaven! Behind a set of beautiful, locked golden gates was a luxurious marble mansion. Sure enough, there was a tall desk next to the gate, and a bearded gentleman sat on a tall stool holding a feathered pen over a scroll. Just what you'd expect. The man with the child asked if this was heaven, and the bearded man said he was welcome to enter and see for himself. But he had to leave the child outside. The man looked at the child holding him by the hand, looked back at the grand mansion and the locked gates and said, "I think we'll move on." "Suit yourself," the bearded man said and went back to his scroll.

The man and child moved down the road, coming eventually to a humble cottage. There was a gate here, too, but it had never been closed. A man puttering in the garden smiled invitingly at the man and child, so that they asked if they could come in to rest. The gardener welcomed them graciously, gave them a place of honor, and brought some bread and wine. The man with the child asked where they were, and the host said, "This is heaven." The man was startled. "But I thought that was heaven down the road, with the big house and fancy gates!" His host smiled and said, "Did you really think it would be heaven if children were not allowed?"

The Daily Devotional Guide for the week before Children's Sabbath says that, in living out our love for God in others, we have a glimpse of the coming kingdom. It reminds readers that "No on can do everything, but everyone can do something." Springwater is engaged in a mission study, wondering who are we and what God calls us to do. We can't do everything. We can't be everything to everyone. But we can do the most faithful thing of all. We can do the best we can, with what we've got, where we're at. That's all we're called to do. That's all God expects. Thanks be to God!