The Little Ones
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

We had lots of playground rules at the country school I attended in Indiana. Sometimes we broke those rules. And, as the reading from Romans says, “I did not understand my own actions.”  I knew I shouldn’t do some things. I knew I might get in trouble but sometimes I broke the rules anyway.   A BIG rule was “no swinging the swings without someone on the swings.”  The swings were made of very heavy pine boards and very massive chains.  At morning recess one day, another kid and I were swinging a swing back and forth to each other with no one on it.  The corner of the swing seat hit me right in the middle of the forehead and I began to bleed profusely.  I ran up behind the teacher on playground duty and tugged at her dress, sobbing, “Teacher, Teacher!”  I was a little kid with a little voice.  She just ignored me.  She continued to ignore me. Finally, she turned around impatiently and looked at me. She looked at me with horror on her face.  Then she fainted dead away.

Needless to say, that incident gained me both a lot of shame and a lot of fame in one single day.  First, I ended up in the nurse’s office and then the principal’s office.  But then at lunch, my brother Steve walked by and dropped his precious chocolate Hostess cupcake in my lunchbox.  I still don’t know if he was saying he was sorry that I got hurt or if he was telling me he was proud to be the brother of the girl who made the teacher faint dead away!

That long forgotten experience was triggered by the words from the gospel which painted a picture of children playing in the marketplace and calling out: “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance, we wailed, and you did not mourn.” I remember the teacher ignoring me much more strongly than I do the actual physical injury. I remember the precious gift because it came from my brother much more than I remember enjoying that cupcake.

Jesus said, “To what will I compare this generation?”  He used the analogy of children being ignored both in their joy and in their sorrow.  Who, in that generation was doing the ignoring and who was being ignored?  To answer this question we need to look back at the events that preceded this passage.

John the Baptist had delivered a no-nonsense message of judgment.  His message was very threatening to many of that generation.  He softened nothing and in fact punctuated his words by his own bare-bones lifestyle. How could anyone with long dirty hair who ate locusts dipped in honey possibly have anything important to say?  He was not one with the sophisticated, educated generation of the day. He was written off as being crazy, of being possessed by a demon.  And he ended up in prison and was finally beheaded.  He was ignored. His message was denied.  In a sense he was a child who was wailing and those of his generation did not mourn his message.  They totally discounted it. They ignored it just as they ignored him.

Jesus had just concluded a preaching and teaching mission to several Galilean cities. He had not been well received by most of that generation.  He didn’t fit the mold of a successful leader. He was not impressed by the capable, smart and economically well off people. In spite of Roman occupation, those Jews were still functioning reasonably well both in their economic and in their religious institutions.  They thought they needed neither Jesus nor anything he had to say.  They were outraged by his association with tax collectors and sinners. Jesus didn’t eat locusts dipped in honey but he ignored all the major social rules when he freely associated with the perceived losers of that generation.  He was labeled a glutton and a drunkard.  He was ignored by many.  His message was ignored by most. He came with a message of unconditional love and forgiveness. He ignored no one but he was ignored by many.  He came not with power but with meekness unvalued by that generation.  He came like a child playing a little wooden flute. There was no dancing to his tune.  He was ignored.  His message was ignored.

If John and Jesus were ignored by many in their generation, there were many “little ones” or “infants” as Jesus called them, who, in the eyes of the so-called wise and intelligent ones, didn’t matter.  They had no status, no power and not much in the way of worldly possessions. Yet, Jesus said it would be to them that the truth would be revealed. It was to them he said, “Come to me all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

There are many “little ones” in our generation.  And not all of them live in third world countries either.  Lots of them live right here in Carroll County. And when they play their flute for us, we don’t always dance.  When they wail, we don’t always mourn.  Sometimes we turn away and ignore them. Yet, the good news is that it doesn’t have to be that way.  We are all called to be Christ’s hands and heart in this world and by God’s grace, we are given whatever we need to do that.

This past Tuesday Clifford and I were the cooks at the Flint Street Food Pantry. We arrived at 9:30 to begin baking the pizzas I had made at home. We propped the doors wide open so the smell would drift out to the street.  The pepperoni pizzas were covered with roasted sweet red and green bell peppers and green onions grown by a local farmer. Clifford made a pot of coffee and we set out real coffee cups—no Styrofoam for our guests!  We also served homemade cookies at 10 a.m. with the coffee and lemonade.  Those cookies were baked by someone in our congregation.  We tossed a big salad with ingredients from local farms.  We buttered and toasted Italian bread donated by a local grocery story.  For dessert we served ice cream floats. We were all kids again choosing between root beer and cola floats.  The Pepsi driver has been stopping by each Thursday donating soft drinks.  If one can is dented or the box is torn, he can’t sell them so he thought of us and is donating them. He made those ice cream floats a possibility for our dessert on Tuesday.

Many of the guests we know by their first names and we know their stories. Some are mentally ill or suffer from addictions.  Others are seriously ill with physical problems. Some stop by once and then move on.  They all are hungry.  Some are homeless and dirty. Some of them have broken the rules of society.  Some of them have done things that they wish they had not done—just like me and maybe you! Many of them are not used to be being treated well—gently and kindly.

All of them are God’s children.

When I listen to the news on television or read the newspaper, sometimes I feel powerless.  There is so much that is wrong and unjust in our world. What can I do about war and the price of gasoline and the cost of groceries?  What can I do about all the little children in Africa who have AIDS and are starving to death?  What can I do about child abuse and the cycle of poverty right here in the Ozarks?  What can I, one little person, do about all those who have lost their homes and their livelihoods in natural disasters such as the recent floods in Illinois and Iowa and Missouri?

I believe with all my heart that we can change some things even if we can’t change the whole world.  If we open our eyes and our hearts, we will see ways that we can make a difference to the “little ones” in our world.

I am very proud to be part of this congregation because I see so many of you making a difference. In our work with Flint Street, for example, there are many unsung heroes.  There are those from St. James’ who bake delicious main dishes and lovely desserts for our meals and those who come to serve and clean up as they offer kindness and respect to our guests.  There are those who put groceries in the basket in the narthex even though their own grocery bills are rising.  There are those who contribute money for the pantry on a regular basis, often in spite of their own tight budgets.  We’ve been able to purchase a considerable amount of peanut butter and tuna recently because of the generosity of St. James’ people. You have done so much; together we can do so much more.

When someone tugs on our dresses or our shirt tails because they are hurting from the pain of this broken world, I hope we will turn to them, rather than turning away. When they play their flutes, I hope we will turn and dance with joy. When they wail, I hope we will be Christ’s hands and hearts to them. I hope we won’t ignore them.

And as for me, I promise to do my best… never, ever to faint—dead away.

Amen.

The Rev. Betsy Porter
St. James’ Episcopal Church
July 6, 2008

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