The second stained glass window in the gallery on the far side of the church depicts a relatively common scene from the Gospel stories – the disciples are gathered around, and Jesus is holding a child in his arms.  The image conveys the gentleness, the kindness, the care that Jesus was so often depicted extending to children.

 

We like the stories of Jesus’ interactions with children.  We sing songs about how he took them on his knee, how he told the disciples not to prevent them from coming to him, how his followers were to follow the example of children in order to catch a glimpse of the type of spirit and the type of faith that was necessary to experience the kingdom of God.  “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

 

We have all heard the old clichés about how Christ’s command was to have a childlike faith but not a childish faith; and we have all pondered his sometimes harsh words about the consequences that would accrue to anyone who hurt or caused a child to stumble.  Any who causes hurt or harm to a child – well, better a millstone would be tied around their neck and they be cast into the depths of the sea, he said.  Difficult words, indeed.

 

Today’s suggested reading from the lectionary seems, at first glance, to be one of those “Jesus loves the little children” type of stories.

 

But I am not sure that it is.  I am not sure that this story is really about Jesus’ care and love for children, as so many of those other stories seem to be.

 

And I wonder if a close reading of this passage from Mark 9 suggests that there may be a more significant message – and challenge – in these words, a message and a challenge that may, in fact, have the power to change our entire perspective on the world.

 

But more about that in a moment.

 

The scene is clearly set.  Jesus and the disciples were moving through Galilee, and Jesus had begun to tell his followers about what was going to happen to him when they eventually arrived in Jerusalem.  And he seemed to be going to great lengths to try to convey, to his closest friends and followers, that the road that lay before him was not going to be an entirely enjoyable one.  The Son of Man would be betrayed, killed, and – yes, after three days rise again – but the good outcome would not negate the pain of the betrayal and death part of what he knew was about to happen.

 

While Jesus was offering these important words about what the disciples should expect, however, the disciples did not seem to be paying much attention.  The text informs us that the disciples were not only unable to understand what he was saying, and afraid to ask, but instead became rather preoccupied with a different topic – that being which of them was the greatest of his followers.

 

It’s actually quite a scene – Jesus, walking along the road, speaking in serious and solemn tones about the painful experiences that lay before him; and the disciples were off to the side, arguing with each other about their relative claims of power and greatness.

 

“I was the first one he called.”

 

“Yeah?  Well I was the one who found those five loaves and two fish.”

 

“Yeah?  Big deal — he let me come with him when he brought that little girl back to life.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Of course, when they arrived in the little Jewish fishing village of Capernaum, on the Sea of Galilee, and Jesus asked them what they had been talking about, the disciples seemed to realize how ridiculous they would seem if they actually admitted what had preoccupied them, so they, rather wisely, remained silent.

 

While he had been talking about his impending loss of any degree of power, they had been fighting about which of them was the most powerful.

 

“’What were you arguing about on the way?’  But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.”

 

Perhaps he sighed.  Perhaps he shook his head in exasperation.  But his response sought to use that moment to instruct them, and to guide them, rather than to judge or to condemn them.

 

“Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all,” he said.

 

Which is when the child appears in the scene. “Then he took a little child and put it among them, and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’”

 

Into this discussion of power and powerlessness, into this discussion of the nature of greatness and the call to servanthood, Jesus picked up a little child, in his arms, to show them where they should look to find the powerful presence of Christ, and to experience the true greatness of the presence of the living God.

 

Which means that maybe the issue was not simply the age or the cuteness or the adorableness or the innocence of the child who Jesus held in his arms, or the way that children should be respected in the community of faith.  The child might very well have been all those things – cute, adorable, innocent, deserving of respect.  But that was not the issue.

 

Rather, the issue was about power and greatness were to be understood in the Church of Jesus Christ.

 

And how it was to be understood stood in stark contrast to the world in which Jesus and the disciples lived.

 

After all, power was a significant dynamic in that ancient society.  In the ancient society in which this scene is set, and in which these words were first written, the lines of power and authority were clearly demarcated in a clear and often hierarchical manner – every knew their status, from the emperor all the way down through the levels of Roman citizenship to the household slave.  Those who were without status, or those who were not Roman citizens, or those who had as much claim to power as did vulnerable little children on the margins of the Roman Empire in little Jewish fishing villages like Capernaum – well, suffice it to say that such people were pretty far from having any great claim to power or to greatness in the eyes of the world.

 

Concepts of universal declarations of the rights of children or the idea that children had a particular legal status were a long time – in fact, a few thousand years yet to come.  Instead, in that ancient society, some unnamed little child in Capernaum would have not basis, whatsoever, for any great claim to power, or prestige, or greatness.   They just didn’t count.  They were powerless. They were easily overlooked.

 

Except, perhaps, in the eyes of Jesus.  Because, as he held that powerless child in his arms, the words on his lips were these — “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

Which set before his disciples – and all of us — a rather intriguing way to view the world.

 

After all, there is very little that is different in this world from the world that we glimpse in this text.  We still live in a world in which we are preoccupied with the words and actions – and failures and mistakes – of those with power.  We read their books, we follow their twitter posts, we pontificate about what decisions they make or how they should phrase their words, we line up to catch a glimpse or snap a selfie when they show up to attend the premiere of their latest film, we debate their moral failings, we talk about them and argue about them and hold all manner of positive and negative opinions of those with power.   In politics, in culture, in religion, in economic status, in influence – we pay a lot of attention to those who have power.

 

And yet, into this world that is so preoccupied with power, and the pursuit of prestige, and the quest for greatness, Jesus came walking – humbly – and modelled for his followers the way that he wanted them to live.  He came walking – humbly – toward Jerusalem, all the while knowing that a cross awaited him.  And along the way, he tried to help his followers to see this world differently – to take their eyes off of those with power, and instead welcome those who had no power; and in fact, to cultivate the ability to seek, and to see, in the presence of those without power, the presence of God at work in this world.

 

So who is the child without power?  Is it the bedraggled stranger who comes in for a meal in the Out of the Cold program?  Is it the mentally challenged person who is stigmatized and shunned?  Is it that person in your workplace or your community with “a reputation” that makes associating with them uncomfortable?   Is it the person whose skin tone, accent, body shape, age, or intellectual ability tends to exclude them from respect, from dignity, from social acceptance, from power?

 

Who is the child without power that Jesus is inviting you to actually “see”, even as he set that unnamed child in the presence of his disciples, so long ago?

And who is it that Jesus is referring to, today, when we, like the disciples, find ourselves preoccupied by ridiculous disputes about power and greatness, in the affairs of this world, but suddenly hear his words, yet again reminding us that “whoever welcomes one such child welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

Of course, this sentiment, this lesson was not confined to this passage that we read today.  It is, instead, woven throughout the Gospel texts.  With the poor and the poor in spirit, the kingdom of heaven was to be found.  With those who mourned, comfort would be experienced.  Any act done to help the powerless in their times of need — the naked, the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the imprisoned, the sick – were acts done to Christ himself.

 

This text, therefore, is a passage that calls us both to vision and to action.

 

In terms of vision, Jesus’ words invite us to see the world differently – to take our eyes off of our own quests for power, and prestige, and greatness; and instead to place them on the presence of the God who has promised to be revealed to us when we transform that vision into action, and find ways to use what power we have to serve those who are powerless and vulnerable.

 

In so doing, not only do we risk catching glimpses of the presence of Christ, alive in this world, but we risk placing ourselves in the very presence of the One who sent him.  Which is dangerous and glorious because in that presence, we not only expose ourselves to the love of the One who gave himself in the ultimate act of servanthood, for all of us; but we experience the death-defying power of the One who would not allow Christ to be conquered by death.

 

Are we willing to risk exposure to the presence of such love?  Are we willing to experience to that death-defying, life-giving power?

 

Well, if so, we are wise to listen carefully.

 

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

Amen.