The Questions of a Child
Mark 9:30-37; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8
I am always surprised by how many questions my kids have for me. Sometimes they are questions about how things work. “Mom, how does money come out of that plastic card?” or “ How do bones heal after they are broken?” Sometimes they want to know what’s next—to frame the day, and plan things out. “What’s for dinner?” What’s happening this weekend?” Sometimes they are questions of permission–Mom, can I buy a pocketknife?” or “Can I have a sleepover with my friends?” Sometimes, they are asking questions to push the boundaries—“Why can’t we watch TV on school nights?” “Do I have to practice my instrument?”
Often the questions can come at exactly the wrong time—“Mom, what’s the worst song you’ve ever heard?” comes just as I’m trying to talk on the phone, check my calendar online, and make dinner.”
But, in my heart, I’m glad for the questions. I’m glad they are still asking, and wanting to know how things work. They are still curious. They are still trying to seek understanding. At a certain point, it stops being a good thing in the minds of kids to ask questions. At some point, asking questions of clarity may seem to their peers like they are not paying attention, or aren’t’ smart enough to figure out how things work. This is—of course—not true. But, the questions—the curiousity—fades over time, and as children develop into adulthood a sense of certainty creeps in.
In the gospel of Mark, we hear a series of vignettes from Jesus’ ministry. First, Jesus told the disciples the disturbing truth; that “the son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.”
The disciples did not understand this news. They couldn’t process what Jesus just said to them. They wanted to ask questions, but “they were afraid to ask him.” Instead, as they walked along towards Capernaum, the disciples argued about who was the greatest of all disciples.
Jesus must have put his head in his hands, wondered why God called him to such a group of disciples, before he told them to sit down. Here, sitting on the ground, Jesus pulled a child into the conversation , and said, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not only me but the one who sent me.”
Jesus addressed the immediate issue—the arguement about who was the greatest disciple—and he addressed it with a confounding statement. If you want to be first you must be last. You must be a servant.
When I was in my Christian elementary school, I remember a particular incident where this statement was invoked. My classmates were scrambling to get in line for the water fountain. I hung back a little—the tussling over the water fountain never made sense to me. I knew we’d all get a drink eventually. The teacher most have noticed this, and citing this text, “whoever wants to be first must be last”, she had us reverse the line. The person in the back of the line (me), got to be first to the water fountain. And I really enjoyed it. I recall taking a long slow drink from that water fountain, looking at my peers sideways as I drank. I savored the feeling of being first, while self-righteously rubbing it in to my thirsty classmates. I don’t think that’s what Jesus had in mind for the use of this text.
The disciples were self-seeking, pursuing ambition instead of serving the least of these. In fact, Jesus’ disciple, James, says in our other text today that “where there is jealousy and ambition, there is also disharmony and wickedness of every kind.” Today’s text proved it to be so among to disciples. I makes me wonder if—when James was writing these words—he wasn’t thinking about his fellow disciples and this particular disagreement, on this particular day.
While Jesus was calmly addressing the childish debate over who among the disciples was the greatest, I think he was also saying something about the other behavior of the disciples—I think he was reflecting on the disciples’ inability to ask important, clarifying questions to Jesus’ disturbing words.
Maybe Jesus’ words don’t sound so shocking to you right now. Perhaps you’ve heard them enough that they don’t upset you. But imagine hearing this for the first time, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.”
This is the second time the disciples have heard Jesus say this so far in the gospel of Mark. It’s a lot to take in. They certainly had questions and concerns, but unfortunately, they were too busy worrying about who was the greatest, that they could not humble themselves and ask a simple question. “Jesus, what does this mean?”
And if the disciples were going to ask any questions about Jesus, his work and his ministry, this might be a good thing to ask about. “The son of man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.”
At my middle schooler’s school back to school night this week, several teachers encouraged the kids to ask questions. “Just because you are a smart kid doesn’t mean you know everything. Asking questions is how we expand our knowledge.”
Jesus brought a child into the midst of the disciples that day. It was a reminder to focus on the least instead of the greatest. But, it was also a reminder to them that they must humble themselves—and like a child—ask questions.
And what greater quality do children bring than their curiosity? Children’s desire to learn is encouraged when they ask questions. They learn by answering the questions that they develop as they interact in the world.
But that curiosity has potential to be squashed out of children by folks like the disciples who are so certain, so together, so positive that they are right. I recall the moment it happened to me.
I was 12 and I wanted to join the church. So I met with the Pastor and he explained to principles of the church and the particular holiness tradition to which we belonged. I remember this moment so vividly—I can still picture the basement Sunday school room, the musty smell of the damp room. I can picture my pastor, very stern and serious, all business.
And I remember asking questions about holiness—“Can we really be so holy that we become perfect? I thought that God was the only perfect one.” “We are sinners—how do we make ourselves perfect?”
I think my questions were getting on his nerves. Or maybe he was surprised that I was asking them. Or that I was persistent, or that I cared that much. But, he said to me, in a clearly irritated way, “Listen, if you don’t believe in this, don’t join the church.”
I had a choice to make—fit in and be a joiner, or persist in asking the questions, and be relegated (in this particular community) to the edges.
And while kids are curious, they also want to feel like they are part of something. Like they belong. So, I joined the church. I set aside my questions to belong.
It might be fun to question the motives of my pastor at that time, but it doesn’t seem especially fruitful. (Or maybe I’m a little sensitive about judging pastors, being that I am one.) What I took away from that as an adult is that there needs to be space to ask questions. There needs to be a space where questions from everyone can be heard, reflected on, discussed, challenged.
Jesus words and use of the child imagery reminded the disciples of the radically egalitarian nature of the movement and the ministry, but it also challenged the culture of silence around children. Serving the little children was a radical idea, but it was not just stooping to their level, but listening to their questions, engaging them where they were.
Perhaps we know this idea too well, and this is preaching to the choir. So maybe this is a sermon to just me. But, I’m aware that the curiosity, the enthusiasm of children, their insistence on asking a question—with persistence—is exhausting. I don’t always want to take the time. I’m tired. I’m on a single minded path and don’t want to take a side trip somewhere. We do not always want to be bothered with questions. We don’t want to stoop. We have an agenda—we are certain of what we are to do.
Jesus suggests something much different—instead of seeking greatness, let us ask questions. Instead of worrying about our ambition, let us stop to listen to everyone—from the least to the greatest. Instead of rushing around, Jesus asks us to take our time.
Maybe we’ve heard these things enough that it doesn’t seem so radical. But, even in the urgency of sharing the good news, Jesus is calling his disciples to slow down, to sit on the ground to listen. And perhaps even to learn from the child-like, the curious, and the questioning.
Even though the timing of my kid’s questions are not optimal, I’m so glad they ask them. It means they haven’t lost their curiosity, their child-like questions, their desire to make sense of the world. I hope they never do. I hope we never do. I hope we always make space for questions—even in the midst of our agendas, our busy lives, and our adult certainty.
For in welcoming the questions, the curiousity, the uncertainty and the wonder, we welcome Christ into our midst. AMEN.
Review of “Laughter is Sacred Space” by Ted Swartz
Ted Swartz, a first time book author, is not unaccustomed to writing. He has simply transferred his skills from the stage to the page.
I read the book in one sitting. I was fascinated by Ted’s life. It’s not a glamorous life–he did not paint his family life and life on the road as idyllic, but as real, thoughtful, and very human. Ted wove his work–his characters and sketches, written with and without Lee–into his writing. It was a reminder that our life and work all intersect, sometimes more personally than we like.
In Laughter is Sacred Space, Ted opens up about his relationship with former acting and business partner, Lee Eshelman. Ted and Lee’s relationship seemed as much like a brother or marriage partner as it did a business and acting partner. It was a beautiful, fraught relationship, full of things left unsaid. I could relate to this relationship–pieces of it look like my marriage, my sibling relationship, and the dynamics with my closest friends.
As I read the book, I could hear Ted’s voice, his inflections, even his laugh come through. It was like reading a book of David Sedaris’ short stories–they are good, even if you don’t know what his voice sounds like, but knowing the author’s voice enhances the experience.
The chapters were short, reflecting Ted’s self-described personality, temperament, and ADD tendencies. Because of these short chapters, the reader is left to wonder what the point is. But, just like Ted’s sketch comedy, the pieces come together. What you think is superfluous become essential and pivotal information later.
I did have a few issues with the book. First, the publisher (I assume) bleeped out the curse words, creating a puritanical feel. Given the nature of the book, I’d assume that the targeted audience is adults. We all (even me, a pastor) say the words. We know what’s being said. It is not necessary to replace the “bad words” with asterisks.
I worry that the book will not get read outside of the Mennonite community. The book’s subtitle, “The not so typical journey of a Mennonite actor” could limit the audience, which would be too bad. This is more than a memoir of a Mennonite actor; it’s the memoir of a actor, writer and Christian, and it address issues of faith, doubt, friendship and mental health.
I appreciate Ted’s openness and honesty, sharing a difficult story, and his journey to a new place in his life and career.
What’s in the Heart
James 1: 17-27; Mark 7:1-23
This month, we’re embarking on a sermon series—a conversation between the gospel of Mark and the book of James. Sometimes in the lectionary, texts coincide for a reason, but mostly that’s during lent and advent. During the rest of the calendar year, the texts are not necessarily designed for a conversation. The lectionary texts are designed so we get a broad look at the Bible over the course of the lectionary’s three year cycle.
But—in the month of September—it does seem like Jesus’ words and stories speak to the words from James. Jesus and James both have something to say about religion and faith.
In the gospel of Mark, Jesus was on a bit of a rant against the religious leaders. It was observed by the religious leaders that Jesus’ disciples did not ritually wash their hands before eating. It was a tradition in some—but not all—Jewish communities, to ritually wash ones hands, to ritually cleanse food and to ritually clean all pots and pans before and after eating. And these disicples did not adhere to these particular religious traditions. And the fact that they did not do this ritual cleansing, caused some eyebrows to raise among these religious leaders.
So Jesus—using Isaiah as his starting point—tore into the religious leaders. “The people honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me. The worship they offer me is worthless; the doctrines they teach are only human precepts.”
Jesus ended this portion of the text by getting to the heart of what he’s saying—“It is what comes out of us that makes us unclean. For it is from within—from our hearts—that evil intentions emerge.”
So, religion doesn’t make us better people. Our rituals and traditions don’t make us better. The external things we do don’t make us more holy. Our external influences don’t matter much either. The focus on our traditions—the external ways our faith plays out—is a distraction from the real stuff; it’s a distraction from what is in our hearts.
James, on the other hand, is concerned about the behavior of the faithful. “Pure, unspoiled religion, in the eyes of God is this; coming to the aid of widows and orphans when they are in need, and keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world.”
Didn’t I tell you these two texts are in conversation? Although it feels more like an argument between Jesus and James about what matters—the state of the heart and our actions.
Truthfully, the books of James is a bit of a controversy. Scholars can’t figure out who wrote it—though tradition holds that Jesus’ brother, James, is the author. Scholars can’t figure out when it was written either. But, what we do know is that James is a letter of advice to his “brothers and sisters”.
This book was very upsetting to reformers in the 16th century. In fact, Martin Luther argued that the book of James should be removed from the canon. He argued that because it did not mention the death and resurrection of Jesus—or anything about Jesus for that matter—that it wasn’t gospel, or truth. He also was troubled because the theology was contrary to other texts—mostly the rest of the greek testament. And the idea that “works” or our actions determine our heart—well, this was guiling to Luther. This is what Luther argued was a central problem with the Church—that people were so bent on actions determining faith, that their hearts were empty of faith.
So then, what is faith about—is it about our hearts or our actions?
This is one of the tricky parts of preaching—we have some texts to work with, texts that often feel plucked at random—and from these stories and words of faith, the preacher must determine a truth, a thing that has meaning for us today, that reaches to our context, and gives us a new view of Jesus and faith.
The problem with this is that when we preach the part of the story or text we’re given, it is not the end of the story. It’s never the end of the story. It’s a snapshot of a moment in time. And it’s rather unfair of us to determine what Jesus is saying unless we actually pull back, and see what Jesus does next, after he gives this exhortation to the religious leaders. How do his words of exhortation manifest themselves in what happens next?
After Jesus, in utter frustration, explained to his disciples, to the crowds and to the religious leaders, that one’s heart is the issue, Jesus took off. He went to the territory of Tyre and Sidon, a largely Gentile and Samaritan region. He intended to hide there. To take a break, a little sabbatical.
But unfortunately for Jesus, he was recognized by a Gentile woman, who approached Jesus, begging him to heal her daughter of demon possession. But Jesus, trying to hide, and probably a little unsure of this Gentile woman, said some hurtful words—“Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food, and throw it to the dogs.”
Yes, Jesus just said this. He compared this woman to a dog. Now, I’ve heard a lot of theological justifications for what Jesus said in this text and why. It could be said that Jesus was talking about his people—the Jews—as children (children of God), and that may be true. But no one has ever been able to convince me that Jesus meant anything but slander by calling this Gentile woman a dog.
This Gentile woman called Jesus to task—in a gentle way. She replied to Jesus, “Even the dogs under the table get to eat the children’s crumbs.” Jesus rewards this woman for her bold words. He said, “For saying this you will go home happy; the demon has left your daughter.”
After Jesus spoke to the religious leaders, the crowd and the disciples about faith and belief being rooted in the heart and not the actions, Jesus’ words were put to the test.
This woman—not from his Jewish flock—exposed what was in Jesus’ heart. Here in this personal moment between Jesus and a Gentile woman, he admits that the gospel was not intended for her, that she was not worthy of the bread of life. Jesus’ heart was exposed—in it, he found the prejudices of his own culture, of a world in which he had been steeped.
Perhaps you think that I’m skating on thin ice here, that I’m getting too comfortable with the idea that Jesus was human. I get it—it’s a frightening place to be, when we think that Jesus should be a certain way, and he doesn’t act in accordance with our beliefs. But, walk with me down this path for a second.
Jesus said something very human here—but his response to the reprimand is what reminds us of just how amazing Jesus is. His response was to, in effect, shine a light onto his own flawed views, and to be changed by the exposure. Jesus wasn’t going to help this woman. But, when she exposed his own limiting view of the gospel, his very heart, he was changed. And, he offered her daughter the healing she desired. And in doing so, he experienced his own healing. He was healed of his prejudicial views, and the gospel was made more expansive.
Jesus railed against the religious leaders for making religion about a set of traditions, about the things we do, about a correct way to do things. And he was right. We spend too much time worrying about the right way to do things, and in doing that we miss the heart of the gospel. Even us Mennonite—who are pretty casual about worship and tradition—can be pretty staunch in our view of what is right and correct.
But Jesus also learned something important in his encounter with the Gentile woman—Jesus learned that our words and actions expose what is in our hearts. And we don’t always like what we see.
Jesus warned people to watch out for what is in the heart, and not worry about what we do. James, on the other hand, warned us against listening to the word of God, but not putting it into action. Perhaps these words seems contradictory, but they really are two sides of the same coin. And we see that in the story of Jesus and the Gentile woman. Jesus put his beliefs into action, and when the truth of them were called to task, Jesus had to change. He had to change both his heart and actions.
What resulted was a change in his ministry, a change in his heart and a change in the way he interacted with those around him. This courageous woman changed Jesus’ heart, and in doing so, made the gospel an invitation for all of us.
May we, like Jesus, have hearts and minds that are willing to change, and actions that reflect our deepest convictions. AMEN.