The Gift of God's Reign - Mark 9:30-37
Not long ago, The New York Times published an opinion piece by the ethicist, Ari Schulman. In the essay, Schulman explored the new horizons of childbirth, or perhaps better put “child generation,” since the possibility of creating human life and gestating it in an artificial womb is well within reach. Using techniques that can create a sperm or egg from any human cell, scientists are able to design a baby free from congenital defects with all a menu of genetic traits to fit any “parents” desires. While many of us may shudder at such a possibility, tech utopians like Elon Musk are enthusiastic. Musk, evidently, is already an avid donor of his genetic material, all in hopes that the world will be populated with more “smart people.”
In seeking to name the problem with such technologies, Schulman wrote that they change how we understand children in our lives. Such new modes of birth “can unethically turn the arrival of a child, which should be considered a gift, into a project,” writes Schulman. “We undertake projects to realize our own ambitions. We exert control, select useful material to meet desired outcomes and throw out waste.”
That problem of turning gifts into projects has been sitting with me in the days since I read Schulman’s article. It names a propensity deep within us, one that is visible from the earliest stories of the Bible. Adam and Eve turned the gift of paradise toward a project of becoming like gods. And Israel, gave up the gift of freedom for the project of building an Empire. The story of our faith is one where again and again God offers gifts and we turn them toward our own ambitions, all to disastrous consequence.
And as Schulman’s article reflects, this temptation is nowhere more evident than in our relationship with children. We like to say, the “children are our future.” Which is, if you think about it, a lot of pressure to put on a life. Accordingly, we seek to shape that future, layering it with our own ambitions and dissatisfactions. We make our schools into places of preparation—for college, for work, or for some abstract idea of “the world.” All the while we lack curiosity about the giftedness of each child; the ways in which God’s image is present in every person in unique and wonderful ways, right now, just as they are.
I think Jesus understood the tendency to turn gifts into projects when he taught his disciples the most fundamental truth of following him. They had been walking down the road, and along the way those twelve young men who were among his inner circle were arguing over who was the greatest among them. Their minds had been captivated by a project—Jesus was the Messiah, the Messiah was to create a kingdom, and a kingdom would need chiefs of staff, secretaries of state, and generals. Who would take which role, who would be most powerful in this kingdom to come?
Like students whispering in class, unaware that the teacher is standing behind them, Jesus catches the disciples in their dispute. Even though he’d just told them about the way of the cross, that he would give up his own life rather than force his way to power, they still didn’t get it. So Jesus tells them as plainly as he can—“Whoever wants to be first must be servant of all.”
In a culture of strict hierarchy, this was a wild idea. Everyone knew their place, and the hope was to rise through the ranks in whatever small ways one could. To go down to the role of a servant was to place oneself at the bottom of the pile, and yet that is exactly what Jesus calls them toward.
To drive the point home, Jesus sets before them a child. As the biblical scholar Ched Myers writes, “It is remarkable enough that Jesus draws attention at all to children, for they were considered nonentities. It is quite shocking that he would advance them as models for his social program.”
In this move, Jesus is calling his disciples to let go of their hierarchies, organized along the lines of who is important and who isn’t. Jesus wants his disciples to let go of their Kingdom projects, and to recognize that God’s reign is a gift they can live into right now.
The author of the Gospel of Mark did not offer us this story so we could look back at the foolishness of those first followers of Jesus. He knew that in his church and all the churches to come, we would continue trying to turn the gifts of God’s reign into projects of power. Mark knew with Jesus that welcoming children as radical gifts in our lives, and greeting them with wonder, is one of the best ways of keeping the church’s priorities in line with God’s new social order.
As I worked on this sermon, one figure came constantly to mind. In all my earlier drafts, I was hesitant to even mention him. But then, in thinking about how I should live in response to this Gospel, I could find no better exemplar than Fred Rogers, known to us all as Mr. Rogers. If you have not watched the documentary about his life, Won’t You Be My Neighbor, or the biographical film with Tom Hanks, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood then that is your homework for the week. In both, we learn to see that far from a goofy man with puppets, Fred Rogers was a person of profound faith who sought to welcome every child as a gift. To the millions of children who watched Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, he would say:
“You've made this day a special day, by just your being you. There's no person in the whole world like you, and I like you just the way you are.”
This is a truth free from ambition. It is a truth each child among us should hear again and again. It is a truth we should hear in our own hearts as God’s constant word to us—a place where the gift of God’s reign comes near.
“You've made this day a special day, by just your being you. There's no person in the whole world like you, and I like you just the way you are.”
When we can hear those words in our hearts, and echo them back to all those we meet, we will find ourselves moving into the reality of God’s new paradigm for social relations. In the full knowledge of our belovedness, we are free to get down on the ground and play with children or give up our plans to help someone in need. When we learn to recognize that God’s reign is a gift we can simply accept, right now, then the grip of our ego is lifted, and we are able to let go of ourselves for the sake of serving others. It doesn’t have to be extravagant or planned. It is simply a loving attention reflected out into the world and following where it leads. For my part, in the days I’ve been working through this sermon, I’ve found myself accepting more invitations to jump on the trampoline, or join in a silly dance, or listen to a child’s long, elaborate story. In those moments I’ve sensed the reality of God’s reign, a gift to which I must simply say yes. Amen.