Family Life

My oldest Godson, Jackson was about 18 months old when he and his sister, Tamara, were sleeping over while their parents coped with a cancer diagnosis. I dropped Tamara off at school, and Jackson and I headed to one of my favorite hang out spaces—the outdoor labyrinth of a nearby church. I entered the area with my usual sense on sacred “awe.” Jackson entered the space with wide-eyed wonder. I always paused at the entrance of the labyrinth in reverence for the Holy that I encountered there and, quite frankly, to settle myself from the rush of carpooling, breakfast preparation, children gathering and the like. I took in a deep breath and before I could exhale I heard the Spirit say, “Today, he is your teacher.”

I think of her often. The mother nursing two babies living in a hut in West Africa. The mother from Mongolia who left her baby bundled tightly on the bed while she tended to other things around the farm. While the rooster, and dog, and toddler tended to her infant.

As I pondered the parables of faith that children have been for me, two images immediately came to mind. The first parable was embodied by my grandson, who is three, as we spent a day at an amusement park. I watched in amazement as he would ride the same ride over and over again, each time an infectious joy radiating from his face, and a quickness to his step as he ran excitedly through the exit at the rides conclusion just to get back in line for the very same ride. In fact, in some marvelous way his delight and joy seemed to be increased, not diminished by the repetition.

Recently I was doing lectio divina on Matt 18:1-5 where Jesus sets a child in the middle of the disciples who had been squabbling over who would be the greatest and tells them, “Be like this!” (Mark 9:33-37). I liked how instead of chiding them for their egotism, Jesus distracts them with the absurd idea of becoming like children, who were very lowly creatures in that culture, quasi-servants, in many cases. Why should these guys—gatekeepers to the latest and greatest prophet (Mt 17:24)—be like humble children?

One Saturday when my daughter Mara was six I was being a “good dad,” watching TV with her. At one point, an Ad Council public service announcement came on. It talked about the dangers of cigarette smoking and how it had been found to cause cancer.

I was a smoker at the time, and I happened to have a cigarette lit when the announcement came on. Mara turned to me and asked: “Is that right, Dad? Is cigarette smoking bad for you?” “Yes,” I admitted. Next, Mara asked: “Then why are you smoking?”

I love it when great people write great things. I love it even more when great people write great things on a topic that we at Conversations are talking about. For a wonderful meditation on lies and laughter, inspired by a conversation with his son Wyatt, click on over and read Winn Collier’s excellent article on breaking the cycles of self-violence.

I met Brandon when he was a 6^th-grader. He and his parents attended the church I pastored in Southern California. Brandon came into the world with Down Syndrome. I learned at the Monday morning ministry team meeting that several older boys had ganged up on Brandon in the schoolyard the Friday before. Almost a half hour passed before one of the yard attendants noticed him lying on the ground in the fetal position. If there were ever a person that least deserved that kind of treatment, it was Brandon. He did not have an evil bone in his body.

People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” – Mark 10:13-15

The snow is falling here in Colorado, at the rate of inches an hour, and many schools in the area have called a snow day. Snug indoors, I’m working away on the edits to the Spring/Summer 2012 issue of Conversations Journal, Welcoming the Stranger, well aware that I’m a few days behind on introducing February’s blog topic to you, and wondering how to channel Bill Murray’s incessant do-overs from the movie “Groundhog Day.” Can I start February over?

Hymn: Help us to Accept Each Other

Help us to accept each other

As Christ accepted us;

Teach us as sister, brother,

Each person to embrace.

Be present, Lord, among us,

And bring us to believe

We are ourselves accepted

And meant to love and live.