Hands of Death, or Arms of Love?

sermon by Carrie Eikler
Mark 9:30-37
20 September 2009

This Monday we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo for the first time. It was a wonderful family outing and for the first time since Alistair was born, we had a pretty good ride home. Usually around Waynesburg he has completely lost it and begins sobbing close to hyperventilation. Probably why it went so well is that Sebastian actually played with Alistair in the back, something that is only beginning to happen…something we are extremely grateful for. But a couple times Sebastian’s play got a little rowdy and we had to threaten that there would be bedtime immediately when we got home, no bath, no story. Once I almost resorted to the response we have likely all been victim to as children: “Stop right now or I’m going to stop this car. I’m not joking, I’ll do it!”

I like to picture the disciples as children in the traveling caravan with Jesus, meandering through Galilee. The topic, however, is not one that many children need to deal with—the fact that Jesus says, for the second time in their journey together, that he will be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again. And they didn’t understand. It says they didn’t ask anymore and were scared. I don’t really fault them…it’s a pretty unusual prediction for anyone, especially the one that they believed would be an earthly king, the messiah.

But as they approached Capernaum, it appears there may have been whispers, bickers, taunts. Jesus doesn’t quite say “Stop right now or I’m going to sit you all under that olive tree there until you stop! I’m not joking! I will do it” He waits until they are at their destination and asks “Now, what was all that about?” The disciples know that what they were arguing about was petty—at least they knew it would probably upset Jesus: it says “they were silent, for they argued with one another who was the greatest.”

Can’t you just see Jesus rolling his eyes and sighing. He let’s them in on this big secret and all they care about is who is better than the other, maybe trying to establish who would be in charge when Jesus does die. “Kids” he might say.

But “kids” is essentially what he does say. Instead of rolling his eyes, he calls a child to him, opens his arms, and embraces this unknown little one to himself. “This is greatness” he implies—“to do this. To open your arms and welcome a child, in my name. This is greatness because you are embracing me, and not only me, but embracing God.”

He embraces a child…. We have often romanticized this image, thinking who wouldn’t welcome a child into our lives, or even into our church, or even into our worship (as long as they are quiet enough and mind us when we “shush” them and don’t draw out the children’s story too long so we can get to the sermon and finish up on time). Really, who wouldn’t welcome a child??

But that’s not how the disciples would have seen it. In fact, in antiquity, children weren’t seen or treated as we see and treat them today at all. To even say they should be seen and not heard doesn’t even begin to describe the place of children during Jesus’ time. According to social research, children in antiquity were seen as “non-persons.”

Pheme Perkins reflects, “Children should have been with the women, not hanging around the teacher and his students. To say that those who receive Jesus receive God does not constitute a problem….But to insist that receiving a child might have some value for male disciples is almost inconceivable….This example treats the child, who was socially invisible, as the stand-in for Jesus.”[1]

This wasn’t Jesus exhorting the disciples to look at a child’s innocence or reverence for mystery or wonder or abandon, as we celebrated in our recent Children’s Sunday. This is not Elspeth, or Sebastian, or Lily, or Axel running around the sanctuary with glee. The child was a non-person.

In the midst of dwelling in the knowledge that he will be delivered into the hands of death, Jesus reaches out his arms to embrace a “non-person,” saying this is what the kingdom of God is about.

Maybe because children are treated differently these days, maybe because many children can expect to live through childhood into adulthood…for whatever reason, it is hard for us to recognize the radical comparison Jesus is making. It’s hard for us to imagine children as non-persons. This doesn’t mean that parents didn’t love their children, but in the eyes of society they had no worth. We can’t imagine Jesus using a child today as an example of someone without worth in society. We don’t feel uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this, but the disciples were very likely uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this.

So what might we feel uncomfortable with? Who do we feel is without value in our society? We might we consider one not worth redeeming?

“ Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a meth-addict and put it among them…then he took spouse abuser and put it among them…then he took, not a child, but a child molester and put it among them…and taking it in his arms he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such “non-person”-one without value in the eyes of society-whoever welcomes them in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

There are non-persons in our society, those who we believe have so little value that there is nothing embraceable about them. Jesus didn’t just embrace innocent, but powerless children. He also embraced sex-workers, murders, adulterers, and executioners--even his own. Who might you consider the least of these--and I'm not just talking about who you think society considers the least of these. I'm talking about the people you yourself find it difficult to believe that Jesus could embrace, that you yourself couldn't imagine embracing?

When I re-read the scripture and thought of him embracing, say, a child-molester, who in my eyes constitutes the lowest of the low, I have to stop. No way. No way. There is no comparison between embracing a child, and one who hurts a child. But I guess when I think “no way” I am getting a little nudge from those disciples sitting around, like they are whispering in my ear “see, who feels so great now. That’s exactly how we reacted.”

But it doesn’t feel quite the same does it? The small, the powerless, the innocent children, versus the grown, exploitative, and guilty offender? I found it even feels different for me than welcoming, say, the poor, the prostitute, or needy. They all feel pretty benign and easily fit my framework of the “least of these.”

In 2002, Ambler Mennonite Church in Pennsylvania faced this question when a man named Joe began attending worship. Joe was a convicted child sex offender under court supervision. When his status became known, the church leaders met, as well as the congregation. They met to discern how, or if, Joe could be incorporated into the church life, at least, in worship. The leadership believed that with discussion and supervision, Joe could safely worship with them. But some in the church didn’t see it that way. And they weren’t to be blamed, really. Some were survivors of sexual abuse. Even the parents of one of Joe’s victims attended the church. And some were parents who wanted to welcome the least of these, but felt that this went too far.

A special support group was formed for Joe. A separate evening adult worship began specifically for those who wanted to support Joe in a worshiping environment. A listening and support group for those who were victims of sexual abuse began in order to make sure the feelings of those who have faced the crime Joe perpetrated were taken into consideration. A sexual abuse task group formed, and people from all perspectives were represented. As part of this process, some survivors even met with Joe to hear his story as a child victim of sexual abuse, and later as a perpetrator.

But some left the church, both because Joe continued worshipping with them. On the other side, some left because Joe wasn’t allowed to more fully be a part of the community. Everyone grew tired of the long process of trying to faithfully incorporate Joe in the church. After five years, Joe decided to withdrawal his participation. The pastor, Scott Eldredge, wrote that “[eventually] another survivor, initially opposed to Joe’s attendance, expressed her readiness for Joe to attend our worship service. I see God at work as others continue to heal." Scott reflects, "Healing may not mean for everyone an acceptance of Joe in our worship, but I trust God for his work of healing individually and among us. I know some still hurt from this experience in our church, and we all mourn for those who have left.” He ends his reflection: “We did not find any easy answers. What would your church do?”[2]

The disciples show us that we can understand to an extent what Jesus was talking about; of course we should visit the imprisoned, forgive the adulterer, even forgive our enemy. But welcoming them in our worship? Getting to know them? But until we can wrap our minds that the least of our society, the lowest of the low, the unforgivable…even those who may seem as unredeemable is welcomed by God--until we can understand that to the point of enacting it ourselves, then we too are like the disciples…we don’t get it.

And I’ll admit, I’m there. I don’t get it. I guess can’t imagine Jesus embracing the lowest of the low. I take that back, I can imagine him doing it. But I can’t see myself doing it. And when I can confess that, I hope that Christ isn't dissapointed with me. I hope he'd forgive me for joining the disciples in “not getting it,” and remind me that there is still a lot of work I have to do on myself. And that can be the hardest part of answering the call to discipleship there is.

Helen Prejean, a Catholic nun who began ministering to inmates on death row, has walked with six men as they have been delivered into the hands of death. The movie Dead Man Walking shows the beginning of this ministry. Sr Helen later wrote that on death row, “I encountered the enemy--those considered so irredeemable by our society that even our Supreme Court has made it legal to kill them. For 20 years now, I’ve been visiting people on death row, and I have accompanied six human beings to their deaths. As each has been killed, I have told them to look at me. I want them to see a loving face when they die. I want my face to carry the love that tells them that they and every one of us are worth more than our most terrible acts.”

She has reached out to perpetrators and victims families, visiting those families who want to be visited, and has started a victims support group in New Orleans. She reflected “It was a big stretch for me, loving both perpetrators and victims’ families, and most of the time I fail because so often a victim’s family interpret my care for perpetrators as choosing sides—the wrong side. I understand that, “ she says, “but I don’t stop reaching out.” (3)

Each time I start getting on my high horse, proclaiming that others just need to start welcoming those people I think are excluded or unjustly treated-single mothers, homosexuals, the homeless-- Jesus asks me, but can you welcome the one that you think is without worth? Will you deliver this person into the hands of death—into isolation and suspicion --or will you open your arms to embrace them? And like the disciples, I fall silent.

Do you fall silent? In this time of meditation, I invite you into a brief guided visualization and confession. Let’s begin by closing our eyes and taking three deep breaths:

The Sufi poet Rumi wrote this poem:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoingand rightdoing there is a field.I'll meet you there.

In your mind, what type of person is the least of these—the lowest of the low—the irredeemable--the non-person. Visualize a body that represents that type of person? It doesn’t need to have a face, or a gender, although it may...

Now, visualize yourself standing in a field.

Recall to mind the non-person. Imagine you are meeting that person in the field, face-to-face.

Visualize yourself opening your arms wide. Ask yourself honestly and without judgment: “Can I embrace this person?” If so, visualize yourself doing so, and let your mind rest on that image, giving thanks to God for moving you into a place of embrace. Pray for that person you are embracing.

If you honestly feel you cannot embrace them, feel Jesus standing beside you in this field. With your arms held stretched out, imagine Jesus beside you, embracing the non-person. Dwell in the power and knowledge that while you cannot yet embrace this person, Jesus is embracing them for you.

[pause]

God who stretches out your arms,
we confess that there are some we cannot welcome.
When our best intentions for justice, and our political correctness are challenged,
We confess that we, like the disciples don’t get it.

Help us see what lies in our way.
We know it is not enough that you embraced the lowest,
you call us to do
and you know it’s hard.

We pray that in this work of faith we can embrace those you embraced.
Forgive us when we fail.
Encourage us when we take small steps.
Guide us into the field, beyond right and wrong
And meet us in a place where there are no non-persons,
but only full spirits, loved by you.
may it be so, AMEN



[1] “Commentary on Mark.” New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville, Abingdon Press) 1995.
[2] Eldredge, Scott. “What would your congregation do?” The Mennonite (vol 12, No. 8, April 21, 2009)
3. Sr. Helen Prejean, "This I Believe" NPR, January 6, 2008.