Rev. Maureen Frescott
Congregational Church of
Amherst, UCC
June 7, 2015 – Second Sunday
of Pentecost
Children’s Sunday
Isaiah 11:6-9; Mark 10:13-16
“Children’s
Church”
In
the summer of 1948, my parents, Ruth and Gus, decided they needed to escape the
heat of NY’s Long Island and travel to some place exotic.
So
they got in the car and drove to Ohio.
My
mother’s sister, Alice, lived in Ohio, in farm country, and my mom and dad were
hoping the fresh air and wide open space would do them good.
My
dad was 26 and my mom was 22.
They’d
been married for just over a year and as my Catholic grandmother would say, the
Lord had yet to bless them with children.
They
were starting to worry that something was wrong.
My
mom was one of eight children herself, and her older sister Alice had already
started a family of her own.
So
with concern and apprehension in their hearts, my mom and dad spent a week in the
Ohio country air, giving themselves space to breathe and pray.
Nine
months later my sister Mary was born.
And
then along came Ruthie, Nicholas, Virginia, June, Robert, Brian, Suzanne,
Maureen, and Lawrence.
My
mom had her 10th child at the age of 41.
By
that time she was praying to NOT have any more children.
In
fact, when she was carrying my younger brother she was in denial that she was
expecting yet again.
My
older sisters like to tell the story of how mom wore my dad’s shirts for months
to conceal her condition, claiming that she was just putting on a few extra
pounds. When she finally went to the doctor who confirmed the obvious, she came
home that afternoon, slammed the door and shouted for all to hear, “From now
on, your father is sleeping on the couch!”
My
mom may not have been ready for child number 10, but the truth is she loved
every single one of us….and my father loved saddling up to strangers with a big
grin on his face and saying, “Guess how many kids I have?”
Jesus
said, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to these
children that the kingdom of God belongs.”
Our
children are precious….every single one of them.
Whether
they are our own, our neighbors, or born to an enemy on the other side of the
world.
Which
is why we give so much of ourselves to ensure all children are well cared for,
nurtured, and loved.
We
send them to school, we mentor and coach them, we welcome them in our religious
communities - in the hope that they will become well-formed and well-rounded
human beings - emotionally, intellectually, physically, and spiritually.
We
do this in the knowledge that everything we do today will shape our children’s
tomorrow.
We
ALL were children once.
We
all know how much of an effect a word of encouragement, an imparted bit of
wisdom, or a much needed hug had on us when we felt small and vulnerable.
We carry
these tiny moments in time with us wherever we go, and remember them for the
rest of our lives.
As
we do the harsher moments - words said in anger or criticism, a withheld or
unwanted touch, the sting of being forgotten, neglected, or ignored.
As
we rightly concern ourselves with the condition of the world that we are
leaving for our children, we also need to concern ourselves with the condition
of the children we are leaving for our world.
Jesus
said, “The Kingdom of God belongs to children.”
To
live in God’s world we must be as trusting and as loving as children, but this
was also Jesus’ way of saying this hurting world is not going to heal itself
overnight.
This
Kingdom of God here on earth that we keep talking about – this utopian
existence where all will share equally in the bounty of creation, where death
and suffering will be no more – this is not something that we can expect to experience in our lifetime.
This
is a long-term planning project if there ever was one.
The
Kingdom belongs to the children.
The
children who will live in this world long after we’ve gone.
And
these children of our children of our children will carry the impression that we impart upon them today.
If
we want to leave our children a world that is compassionate, kind, and just,
then we must raise our children to be compassionate, kind, and just people.
To
do that we must be compassionate, kind, and just people ourselves.
When
we speak negatively about our neighbor or our enemy,
when
we seek to hurt or demean those whom we think have done wrong, when we look
down on those who ask for help and call them moochers and drains on society,
our children are listening and learning.
If
we carry judgment, fear, and hate in our hearts it’s likely that our children
will as well.
If
we see the world as a scary place full of people who wish to harm us or take
what we have, our children will see the world that way as well.
Likewise,
if we see the church as a place to hide away from the world,
where
time and tradition stand still and the messiness of conflict, social issues,
and human fallibility have no place, then our children will see the church this
way as well.
And
more often then not, we’re noticing that the stagnant and detached church is not
the church our children wish to be a part of.
This
Kingdom that Jesus is asking us to build with the help of God, has nothing to
do with avoiding the messiness of the world and everything to do with digging
our hands into that mess and doing what we can to make it less hurtful, less
harmful, and less prevalent.
All
while keeping in mind that sometimes the most treasured and beautiful things
are found in the midst of mess.
I’ve
been spending some time these past few months traveling back and forth to my
parent’s home on Long Island. As many of you know, my mom passed away last
July, and my father preceded her in death 13 years before that.
So
my siblings and I – all 10 of us - have been hard at work renovating our
childhood home in preparation for putting it on the market to sell.
As
those of you who have done the same know, this is NOT an easy undertaking.
There
are boxes to pack, clothes to donate, furniture to clear out, walls to paint,
and carpets to replace.
In
my parent’s case, there’s 65 years of accumulated treasures, personal items,
and sentimental knick knacks to sort through and parse out amongst the
children, grand children, and great grandchildren.
This
in itself can be an overwhelming task.
Suddenly
the dusty angel figurines and chipped tea cups in the china cabinet take on new
meaning when you hold them in your hand and contemplate whether to keep it,
donate it, or throw it away.
With
each item that passes through your hands – treasured or not - it’s hard not to
feel like you’re letting go of a piece of your mother or your father, a piece
of your past, a piece of yourself.
It’s
also hard not to think that the things your parents lovingly collected for
years will somehow turn out to have value to someone else.
As
you look at the antique vase your dad kept his spare change in or the
mid-century modern end table your mom coated in Pledge, and imagine them fetching
top dollar in an estate sale.
But
more often than not those perceived treasures will end up being donated to
Goodwill or the church rummage sale, and hopefully someone else will treasure
them for years to come.
But
the most treasured items my siblings and I found after each of my parents died
had value only to us children.
For
my dad it was a piece of worn and yellowed paper he kept in his wallet where he
kept track of the money he lent to the men he supervised at work.
Many
of them were immigrants or unskilled laborers who came to my dad when they were
behind in rent or needed a few extra bucks to put food on the table for their
families.
My
dad always obliged, even though he had 12 mouths to feed of his own at home. He
never asked to be repaid but the men insisted he keep track of their debts and
he diligently marked down the amounts they repaid, no matter how small.
The
men used to call him "The Bank of Gus". Of course the main branch was
located in our house, but to us it was known as the "Bank of Dad".
My
father did the same with all of his children.
Giving
generously when we asked and recording whatever we could give back in return
without ever asking us to do so. Mercy and grace.
That
piece of paper my dad kept in his wallet speaks to me of the Kingdom of God. And
the impression it left on us children will continue to ripple through the
generations to come.
Similarly,
after my mom passed last July, while cleaning out her dresser drawers I found
an envelope that she had obviously tucked away for safe keeping. In it were
several hand written pages of lyrics to popular songs.
My
mom didn’t own a computer so she obviously transcribed the lyrics herself after
listening to the songs on her cassette player.
Many
were modern pop tunes that I never dreamed would have been of interest to my straight
laced 88-year-old Irish Catholic mom.
One
of the songs was “Imagine” by John Lennon.
In
her shaky cursive penmanship, my mother wrote:
Imagine
there's no heaven
It's
easy if you try
No
hell below us
Above
us only sky
Imagine
there's no countries
It
isn't hard to do
Nothing
to kill or die for
And
no religion too
Imagine
no possessions
I
wonder if you can
No
need for greed or hunger
A
brotherhood of man
Imagine
all the people
Living
life in peace...
You
may say I'm a dreamer
But
I'm not the only one
I
hope someday you'll join us
And
the world will live as one
If
that is not a description of the Kingdom of God, I don’t know what is.
And
the fact that my mom took the time to write it out and tuck it away for safe
keeping says a lot about the hope she carried in her heart and the dream of a
better world that she impressed upon her children.
The
world we leave for our children tomorrow will be shaped by how we choose to see
and live in the world today.
The
church we leave for our children tomorrow will be shaped by how we choose to
envision and BE the church today.
If
we welcome our children in worship,
nurture
them in the faith, love and accept them just as they are,
and
inspire them to not shut out the world but to go INTO the world and live as
Jesus did, then regardless of what form this changing church will take in the
future, we will know the seeds we’re planting now will blossom
…for
many years to come.
Thanks
be to God.
Amen.
