My sermon is only a few days old, but it feels like a lifetime ago, thanks to my implant surgery. I finally felt up to doing some work today, so here you go.
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One of the many joys of being in New Orleans last week was I had the chance to see our nephew’s children. (Well—we got to see the parents as well.) Ben and Jenny, his wife, have three kids: Gabriel, or Gabe; Galena, or Lena; and Anastasia, or Ana. They are six, four, and one.
We met at a Cuban restaurant that had a big outside play area so the kids could run around when they got tired of the adults talking. Ana was quite the explorer, but a pattern quickly developed: when she came back to the table, she came to me, arms raised, ready to be picked up, and she would sit in my lap until it was time to get down again. As the afternoon passed and she got tired, she put her head on my shoulder. I sang softly to her and she began to pat me on the back.
She had never seen me before, but somehow knew I was someone who loved her.
As I turned to the scripture this week and read Mark’s description of the children coming to Jesus, I couldn’t help but see Ana running to me, so trusting and joyful. She didn’t have to know me, she trusted the love that she knew connected us.
I don’t mean she went through some logical, philosophical thought process. I mean she trusted the love that has not yet been taught not to trust. She knew that she and I were connected. She knew if she put her hands in the air, I would pick her up. And I was offered the gift of affirming what she knew by pulling her up in my lap.
I got to reinforce the love that connects us.
When I first read our passage for today, it felt like a bit of an odd choice for World Communion Sunday, but as I thought about Ana and I reflected on the scene Mark described where the disciples scolded Jesus for playing with the children instead of doing whatever adult thing was more important, I changed my mind. This is a beautiful text for today.
If you grew up in church, you may have heard some version of this story: God created the universe and then created human beings. What is often underlined is humanity is sinful from the start. They couldn’t stay away from the fruit they weren’t supposed to touch and sinned by eating it, damning all of humanity who came after them, which is why Jesus had to come and die to pay for our sins.
That story has had a great deal of influence, but it’s not true—at least, not according to Jesus and Ana.
The first words God said about every aspect of creation—including humanity—were, “That’s good!” We were born in original love, not original sin. It is life, not God, who too often teaches us otherwise.
Love is intrinsic. Love is where we start and where we are going, if we follow God’s story. We learn division and separation. We learn prejudice. We learn selfishness. We learn fear. We learn shame. And so, Jesus said, we have to re-learn how to welcome love like a child, arms up trusting that love will embrace us.
We can’t do that work alone. We need each other to find wholeness, to remember that we are made for love.
In one of her books, Madeleine L’Engle tells the story of her young granddaughter who, when her new baby brother was brought into the house, was determined to get close to him, so much so that one afternoon she climbed up into the crib as the little one was sleeping. The little girl was about four. Her mother saw her go into the room and stood at the door for a moment before she intervened. The girl stroked her brother’s head and said, “Tell me about God. I’m forgetting.”
Each time we come to this Table together we repeat Jesus’ words to his loved ones: “Whenever you share this meal, remember me.
We are saved, made whole, not as individuals but as a collective community, a body imbued with a living Spirit of life, the pulsating energies of love. . . . The universe is unfinished, we are unfinished, the earth is unfinished, and, much to our amazement, God is unfinished, as well. . . . We are saved by our reconciliation with God within and without, by making a conscious option for the whole. As we are brought into wholeness, God, too, is made whole.
A couple of Thursdays ago, the most important thing I did was attend to my grandniece. It may seem like the world was not changed by what we did together, but Jesus would say otherwise.
We call today World Communion Sunday because several denominations agreed to mark the day together. The name is a bit audacious because only a small fraction of the world’s population will take part. Our sharing the meal together, may also seem like the world will not be changed, but—again—Jesus would say otherwise.
As we prepare to feed one another from God’s Table, we are going to sing the song I wrote this summer, “The Belong Song.”
you belong and I do too
we belong yes me and you
everybody sing the song
everyone belongs
take a look around this place
we’re short on shade and we’re long on grace
risking hope with open hearts
that’s how revolutions start
you belong and I do too
we belong yes me and you
everybody sing the song
everyone belongs
we are not alone
we are not alone
we are not alone
our hurt has helped shape who we are
but we are more than battle scars
our broken-hearted harmony
unleashes love and sets us free
you belong and I do too
we belong yes me and you
everybody sing the song
everyone belongs
Though I didn’t write it as a Communion hymn, it works pretty well. Some of you asked to sing it; thanks for the suggestion. We are here today to remember ourselves in Jesus’ name, to help each other not forget that we are all wonderfully and uniquely created in the image of God and worthy to be loved, to continue becoming the people we were created to be when we were born in original love. Amen.
Peace,
Milton
Thank you for these beautiful thoughts! We were born in original love. Amen, brother!