THE FRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BAG
Matthew 18:1-5
Jill CifelliMy greatest junk food weakness is French fries, specifically McDonald's French fries. When they're made right--crispy, on the hotter side of warm, and with just enough salt, I find them irresistible. And the greatest of these fries are the unexpected ones. You know, those ones that wiggle their way out of their pouch and wait expectantly at the bottom of the bag, hoping to be discovered. These fries are one of life's little unexpected treasures that always surprise me and make me smile.
It's those fries at the bottom of the bag that I'd like to talk about today. (And if French fries aren't your thing, feel free to substitute your preferred junk food here.) For me, these fries represent the unexpected little treasures of insight that I sometimes glean from sharing benign, everyday experiences with children, including my sons Tommy, who is 7 1/2 years old and Joey, who's 5. Everyday times, such as sharing a meal, taking a walk, or playing a game with kids or even simply while watching children from afar, can remind us that God is at work.
This morning's scripture passage from Matthew 18 is a familiar one to many of us. The disciples come to Jesus and ask him, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He invites a child to come to him and says, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."
It seems clear that Jesus places a high value on children here. Of all the ways he could have answered the weighty question of who is the greatest in heaven, he responds, those who become like children, specifically humble like them. Yet, what does Jesus mean by this? How do we as adults become humble like children again? What does that look like? I believe that Jesus is suggesting that the manner in which children naturally live their lives make them wonderful examples for the rest of us on ways to live a humble and fruitful Christian life.
Kids often think they know all the answers, and they're convincing, which seems to run counter to being humble. And yet for most of them, they seem to understand that parental influence is essential and accept that they're not in charge, even if they fuss about it. They need love, acceptance, understanding, encouragement, nourishment, and boundaries from caring adults to flourish. They absorb attention and direction from influential adults in their lives like a sponge. And don't we all still need those things? Shouldn't we sometimes consider our spiritual lives through the eyes of a child with an overriding sense that we need a lot of nurturing too, that we don't know it all and that we're not ultimately in charge? Can we consider looking to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as our parental influence and willingly depend on them to guide our lives? It's often challenging for me to bend an ear towards God's will versus my own. In the warp and woof of my days I find it easy to lose sight of who's in charge. I frequently need to remind myself there is a higher power at work that is far greater and more powerful than I could ever comprehend. It's important to remember that my life does not unfold exponentially by how much I will something to happen or not happen. I don't have all the answers. I often slam head first into this reality when my sons stomp up the stairs from the playroom teary-eyed, after having slammed into each other. Each one jockeys for position in front of me to plead their case and seek justice. They each look at me earnestly, and their versions of the crime unfold with deep sincerity and defiant objections, neither feeling they did anything wrong. And I find myself at a loss for words, needing help to sort through the evidence and mete out appropriate justice. God's way of keeping me humble perhaps and helping me remember who is ultimately in charge? Situations like these remind me that our lives can be enriched if we consciously invite God in to our everyday experiences, take a deep breath, and move forward together.
Another trait of humility that children naturally exhibit is wonder. They are full of questions, about God, people, the world. Their natural curiosity seems to imply an acceptance that there is a great power at work in the world, greater than themselves. Through their questions they are willing to acknowledge that they don't know it all. I have a book called Children's Letters to God, complied by Stuart Hample and Eric Marshall that I just love. It's filled with letters that kids have written to God, from the funny to the profound. I'd like to read a few that to me shed light on kids' capacity to wonder. "How did you know you were God?" Love, Charlene; "Did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident?" Love, Norma; and "Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday. That was cool," Love, Eugene. Trips into the world of wonder with my kids have included splashing through an enormous puddle just because, trying to figure out how an escalator works, wondering what it would be like to fly like a bird, watching Joey's vegetable garden flourish, and talking about what we think God looks like. Another memory of experiencing childhood wonder unfolded a few years back with my nephew, Zachary, who was about five at the time. We were walking up the street to the park and passed a ground hog that obviously hadn't crossed the road fast enough. He asked me what it was and I said a dead ground hog. Awhile later he posed the question, "Well, if it's dead, how come it's on the side of the street and not up in heaven?" A child thinking and wondering.
Unlike children, however, many of us forget how good it feels to wonder. Inertia sets in because we have learned a particular way to do things and rarely vary from it. Our routines get comfortable. At this restaurant we like this dish, that way is the best way to get to the doctor's office, this is the best way to solve the problem. Or perhaps wonder gets lost in the pace of our days where there can often be little time to slow down. There are certainly times when we need to be focused and goal-oriented, but what if we allowed time for wonder too? I wonder what that dish would taste like, what's down that other road? I wonder if maybe there's another way to approach the problem? What if we made time to occasionally stop and smell the roses like children, even for a brief pause?
Another aspect of humility that kids readily show is that of forgiveness, both the ability to apologize to someone and to forgive someone else. Even if an apology is mumbled, not always heartfelt, and is pushed by an adult, children usually at least try. They have an amazing capacity to let things go and move on. Wouldn't it be refreshing if we could do the same? Yes, our lives as adults may be more complex and serious, and the issues of forgiveness more nuanced. But try to tell that to a child who has had sand thrown into their eyes, has searing pain in them, and is being nudged by his/her parent to say, "I forgive you," to the offender. We could do well to remember that it's not easy, but it's important, no matter what age we are, to clean the sand out of our eyes and try to forgive the thrower, or say we're sorry if we threw it. Then move on and get back to playing.
Another way in which we might consider how we could become humble like children involves risk-taking. Children naturally take risks all the time and often don't give it a second thought. They're not afraid to look silly or fail. When they're babies, they try to stand, and then fall, many many times. When they're learning to ride a bike, they get on and then fall, many, many times. My husband Tom and I have recently been reminded of this, more often than we'd like at the pool, where our son Tommy has become determined to do a flip off the diving board. We watch from nearby, hoping he remembers our safety lectures. He runs down the board, jumps at the end, leaps out, and inevitably lands flat on his back on the water with a sickening slap sound that makes us wince. Yet, he wants to try again. And after a couple of weeks with a red back, he's been landing those flips more often than not, and we can see the pride of accomplishment on his face. Kids naturally take risks, even when they learn it might involve some pain along the way. They often try something new, stick with it, and enjoy the taste of success when they finally get it. This resilience may be rooted in child-like na•veté, and a youthful sense of hope and trust. Yet, couldn't that be what God is looking for in us too in a sense? For us to try and shed our grown-up layers of wisdom, importance and knowing better that often build up? I'm not saying this is easy. It's often very difficult for me to push out of my comfort zone and try something new, because I wonder what other people will think, fear that I'll look foolish, not like it, or worst of all, fail. Or I believe with every fiber of my being that I'm right about something, and discover there's another way to look at it. I believe it's important for us to take risks, both trying something new and not always being right. These efforts help us stretch, learn, and grow. When was the last time you took a risk?
Children also risk being themselves. They don't know any different. They're authentic, spontaneous, live in the moment and speak their mind. I remember teaching the kindergarten Sunday school class one day a couple of years ago. It was near Christmas and I felt confident that I had adequately prepared the lesson for the day. Well, we zoomed through it and I found myself wrapping up, and then realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach that there was still twenty minutes left until church let out. I'm sure I had some kind of vacuous look on my face and tried to think quickly about what to do next. I came up with the idea of having them draw a picture of what Christmas meant to them, which I thought was pretty good off the cuff. And I was silently congratulating myself for making the transition from planned to unplanned fairly seamlessly. Well, one of the kids was staring at me intently throughout this whole process and she looked me straight in the eyes and knowingly said with a wry smile, "We're done with the lesson already, aren't we?" And I laughed because she had seen right through me and wasn't afraid to call the truth as she saw it.
Children are authentic. While they're growing and changing each day, at any moment they seem to be able to tune into what they like and don't like. And they're honest about it. They haven't been jaded yet and filled with other people's ideas of what they should like or shouldn't like. We as adults are evolving and hopefully growing spiritually too. Yet if we were to take an honest look inward, could we claim that we know what's there? Do we express to the outside world our authentic hopes, beliefs, or passions? Do we even know what they are? Or are we clouded by other people's expectations of who we are?
Jesus encourages us to become humble like children so that we may one day enter the kingdom of heaven. They instinctively understand that they don't know it all and need parental guidance. They wonder and ask questions. They forgive and ask for forgiveness. They are risk-takers who try new things and live authentically. The beauty is that we all have access to their humility no matter where we are on life's journey, for we are all children of God. It just might take a little digging to find those fries at the bottom of the bag.
August 13, 2006
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