What was he doing in the house where they stopped in Capernaum? What was he hoping to see or hear or receive? When Jesus drew him out, pulling him into this circle of adult men, did he go eagerly? Was he shy to accept Jesus’ extended hand? Did his heart beat wildly in his chest? Did his eyes grow wide with anxiety and anticipation? As Jesus wrapped his arms around him, did he want to hide? Or was all that attention welcome?
Children are often referred to in Scripture. Jesus keeps telling us to welcome them and to receive God’s Kingdom like little children (Mark 10:15). He keeps pulling the children out of the shadows, or from behind tall adults, to be the center of attention. But I can’t think of a text where we get to hear the story from the child’s perspective. They are voiceless characters, nonpersons, or not-yet-persons according to beliefs of the day. Within the community, children were the smallest and most vulnerable. The ones, Jesus says, we are to emulate.
Brené Brown defines vulnerability as the core – the heart – of meaningful human experience. Being vulnerable means being engaged with others, dropping the fears and facades that keep us apart. Vulnerability is also the key to meaningful work. In the introduction to her book, “Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead,” Brown reveals that the same core problems of fear and disengagement plague business executives, teachers and parents alike. “If we want to reignite innovation and passion,” Brown writes, “we have to rehumanize work. When shame becomes a management style, engagement dies. When failure is not an option we can forget about learning, creativity and innovation.”
Throughout our Gospel passage for this Sunday, the disciples exhibit fear and disengagement. In the first couple of verses, Jesus teaches his disciples how he will be betrayed, killed and then rise from the dead after three days. The disciples don’t understand. They have questions. But they’re too afraid to ask, too afraid to engage Jesus further, too afraid to reveal their confusion. So they stay quiet. Later, Jesus catches the disciples arguing with each other about who is the greatest. When Jesus asks them about their argument, they stay silent again, too ashamed to confess how they were jockeying for status. They retreat emotionally from Jesus in fear.
This is the moment Jesus chooses to welcome the child and flip the power paradigm: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
The preacher can take this text in lots of directions. This week I’m drawn to the small, fragile, vulnerability of the child and how that vulnerability is welcomed and cherished by Jesus. In today’s COVID-19 context, when our problems and our human fragility are overwhelmingly on display, I need to hear this Good News. In order to not retreat emotionally in fear, or disengage from important conversations and meaningful relationships, I need to feel Jesus’ arms around me, telling me I’m okay, encouraging me to stay present, to keep asking questions when I am confused, to keep trying, knowing full well that I am going to make mistakes and fail. I need to remind myself that the small and vulnerable are seated in the lap of God.
Questions for reflection:
- How did this passage intrigue, disturb, challenge, comfort, encourage or inspire you?
- When have you experienced vulnerability as a strength?
- What might change about your school, your workplace, your home or your church if people felt free to be more vulnerable?
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