SERMON PREACHED BY

THE REV. PAUL MULLEN

AT

SCARBORO UNITED CHURCH, CALGARY

DECEMBER 30, 2007

    “Who Do You Welcome?”

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        A young artist, part of a Sunday School class, is asked by the teacher to draw the "Flight to Egypt", the title often given to the story we read today.  One little boy comes back with a picture of an airplane and several persons inside it. The teacher asks him to explain his picture.  He says: "This is the flight to Egypt. Here is Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus."  "Who's that in the front?" the teacher asks. "Oh, that's Pontius the Pilot," he replies.

    A child in a Sunday School class, when asked to draw a picture of the Holy Family, produces a drawing in which Mary and the baby sit on a slightly recognizable donkey, led by Joseph. On the ground nearby lies a small black blob.  "What is that?" asks the teacher.   "The flea," answers the young artist. "What flea, dear?" asks the puzzled teacher. "The one the angel told Joseph to take," the child replies.  Puzzled, but not wanting to challenge the imaginative child, the teacher checks out her Bible.  There it is, Matthew 2:13 …"an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said: 'Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt..."

    Children are precious to us now and are essential for the future of humanity. They seem to have a wit and a wisdom all their own – a combination of intelligence and naiveté.

    As we age we seem to lose too much of both.

    Witness King Herod, hearing through the Magi that a new king is born, immediately feels threatened and determines to be rid of this potential threat by having all the Jewish children living in and around Bethlehem who are two years old and under, slaughtered. Being a king in those days had its powers and privileges. We have no record of Herod losing any sleep over this – in fact he probably slept more soundly knowing that he had one less usurper to deal with later.  These were violent, dangerous times.

    Having been warned in a dream, Joseph, Mary and Jesus had already become refugees and were on their way to Egypt.  We can only imagine what the story would be like if Herod had been more welcoming. What if he had, acting out of a Jewish sense of hospitality instead of fear, welcomed Mary, Joseph and their new baby into the palace and ensured that he had a regal upbringing? We can only wonder but we might not be sitting here in Jesus’ church wondering about it.

    When it comes right down to it isn’t the lack of hospitality, the  lack of welcoming, the root cause of many of the wars and the unstable situations that make refugees in the first place?

    I am not just saying we all need to learn to play nice. That would be helpful but it doesn’t go far enough. True hospitality has more to do with profound empathy – the ability to put yourself in the shoes of another and get a sense of what they are going through and then treating them the way you think you would like to be treated. If that sounds like the Golden Rule it is. But it also means taking on the inconvenience of acting it out in real life at the worst of times. It means letting go of status and place and just doing what is right. This is a story that has been circulating around the internet for a while so you may have heard it.

    His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kind of profound and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students but are not sure how to go about it.

    One day Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, his jeans, his T-shirt, and his wild hair. The Service has already started and so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat. By now people are looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Bill gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet.

    By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick.

    About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair and is wearing a three-piece suit. A godly man. He is very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and, as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves that you can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor?

    It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy.

    The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane.

    All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do.  And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with emotion.

    When the minister gains control, he says, “What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget.”

    Anna Murdock, a lay member of Broad Street United Methodist Church, Statesville, NC, tells of her own welcoming experience received from a child. She writes:

“Several years ago I was asked to give the day's message (no, I'm not a pastor). The message took a lot out of me because of the nature of it (child abuse... it was Children's Sabbath and they wanted a message that challenged us in a way that only one who knows first-hand could offer.  That would be me.). 

    The following Sunday morning I found myself quietly slipping into the back pew of the chapel when our children were having their Sunday School time.  I really didn't want to be in the middle of them or noticed by them for some reason.  The subject of my message the week before brought me to a place where I just wanted to hear little voices singing and joy-filled.  And so I sat in the dark corner of the last pew. 

    They stood to sing.  Little heads were bobbing as they sang.  Then, one little girl on the second pew from the front turned and saw me sitting in the shadows.  In the middle of the song, she squeezed her way out of the pew and walked down the aisle toward me.  I couldn't have told you her name or her parents' names.  She stopped at my pew and held out her hand.  I smiled and whispered: ‘No, that's OK, I'll just sit here.’  She leaned over and said:  ‘Come up here and sit with me.’  Once more, I smiled and said:  ‘No, I'm OK. You go on back with your friends.’ She slid in the pew and sat down beside me with her little shoulder on my arm.  She whispered: ‘I don't want you to be alone.’ Tears began to stream down my face.  I stood up and asked her if we could sit with her little friends.  She took me by the hand and we walked up the aisle together until I was in the middle of the other little children.

    I was the subject of a welcoming heart, and for me, her little outstretched hand and her smile were what I needed most for that moment.  Perhaps that is what it is to be ‘welcoming’.  It is a heart that smiles in welcome and whispers: ‘I don't want you to be alone.’ It's the shoulder that touches an arm.  It's saying: ‘Let's sing to our Lord together.’ “

    When the world is safe for children it will be safe for all of us. When our communities are safe for children we will thrive. When the church is safe for children . . . The church is basically safe for children. There are cases of abuse obviously, and feelings do get hurt. Beyond this, however, I wonder if we extend our hospitality to children? In every church I have attended or have been part of, when they have a fellowship time after the Service, I have rarely seen an adult engage in a conversation with any child who is not their own.

    Emerging Spirit challenges us to extend holy hospitality to newcomers – and rightly so. But we also need to look within. When the prime mover of our faith did not hesitate to set aside whatever prestige and status he had to welcome children, then we might be wise to follow his example.

    If you do try, don’t expect it to be easy. First, you will need to catch one. Kids need to burn off a little energy after being in class for a while. Secondly, they won’t believe you want to talk to them because they are so used to being invisible in our midst. Thirdly, don’t be surprised if they react like you are angry with them – too often that is why adults speak to them. But try anyway. And keep trying. It will become more comfortable the more you try.

    We can’t always do a lot for the suffering children in Darfur, Iraq or Afghanistan besides contribute money to those who work with them. At the very least we can pray for them and for all children, including the child within each of us. Poet Thom Shuman writes:

    for the innocence

    for little girls

    who play with dolls,

    and for those

    who are treated

    like playthings;

    for little boys

    who bounce balls

    against a wall,

    and for those

    who curl up fetally,

    longing for the comfort

    of a womb;

    for those

    who do not see

    another's color,

    but a child of God,

    and for those

    who laugh

    at another's accent;

    for those who play

    in safe backyards,

    and for those

    whose playground

   is potholed by bombs;

   for those who pray

   before climbing into warm beds,

   and for those

   whose bed

   is a cardboard box;

   for those

   whose hearts are broken

   by the suffering

   they see on TV,

   and for those

   whose lives are shattered

   by indifference;

   for all your children,

   for the innocents

   in their innocence,

   we would not only pray,

   but act.

                           (c) 2007  Thom M. Shuman

Amen