Sunday Sermon: When Children Are in the Know

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Text: Luke 10:21
Lenten Series: “The Prayers of Jesus”

Cynthia Copeland is a New York Times bestselling author who has done quite well with books she’s written on the things she has learned from the most surprising teachers, teachers like dogs and cats and little children. For example, in that last classroom I mentioned, the classroom where children are the teachers, Copeland talks about such lessons as our need to be open-minded in life, given how there is always more than one way to get to the top of the jungle gym, or the importance of living fearlessly, because it’s always best to jump right into the water lest you change your mind about swimming and miss its joy, or the gift of being kind to yourself, since sometimes you need a Saturday on a Wednesday. 

All of these lessons of course stem from the fact that children see the world in ways we adults either can’t or choose not to see. Because, as Copeland writes, children experience life as one exciting surprise after another, they jump at the chance to try new things and they are capable of celebrating even the smallest of successes. They look for reasons to laugh out loud and to dance with abandon. To a child, simply seeing the sun come up in the morning is a reason to cheer (Really Important Stuff My Kids Have Taught Me: Workman Publishing Company, 2015, p. 1).

So, what happens to us as the years go by? Life happens. We lose our innocence. We face defeats and disappointments. But we also have our share of successes, which, if we are fortunate to do in significant measure, causes us to think more highly of ourselves as if we don’t need any help from beyond ourselves, not from family, not from friends, not even from God. Or as my mother used to tell me when I was teetering on the verge of such arrogance, “Be careful; you’re getting too big for your breeches.” I bet your mother used to tell you that too, and like I did, you often forgot. We all do.

So, maybe that’s why Jesus was moved at one point to pray with exceedingly great joy over how in the midst of his ministry he was seeing God move in ways wherein His good pleasure was to show His deepest truths only to those who would be humble enough to know their need of them. “I praise You, Father,” prayed Jesus. “I praise You, Lord of heaven and earth, because You have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.”

What was it that moved Jesus to pray such a prayer? According to Luke’s gospel, Jesus had just been moved to take his message of God’s coming kingdom from Galilee to Jerusalem, where everything would culminate there in his death and resurrection. Think of it, therefore, as Jesus’ own Lenten journey. Previously in Galilee, he had sent out his twelve disciples to expand his ministry efforts in that part of the Holy Land, which they did successfully. Now, he sends out seventy-two other disciples to cast the kingdom net even wider; and when they return from their mission to report the wondrous things God had done through them, they are filled with joy, which is a characteristic response in Luke’s gospel whenever ordinary, everyday people are on the receiving end of God’s revelation of His redemptive purposes.  Remember Zechariah at the news of the birth of his son, John the Baptist, who will be the forerunner of the Messiah (Luke 1:14).  Remember Mary upon her receiving the news that she would give birth to the Messiah (Luke 1:47). Remember the lowly shepherds of Bethlehem who learned from the angel of the Lord the glad tidings of great joy for all people as to how in Bethlehem a Savior had been born, who was Christ the Lord (Luke 2:10-11).  And their joy is so contagious, so palpable, that Jesus himself becomes filled with the joy through the Holy Spirit and breaks out in praise for how God has seen fit to honor Jesus’ ministry by working through and revealing Himself to a segment of society no one would guessed God would ever choose – not the “wise and the learned,” but “little children,” people who would be dependent enough and receptive enough and full of enough wonder to open themselves to the possibilities of what God’s Holy Spirit might do in them and through them. 

There are a couple of things about this text I find surprising. One, it’s the only time in any of the gospels where we are told that Jesus was filled with joy. Yes, there’s that passage in Hebrews where we’re told that “for the joy that was set before him,” Jesus endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2). But nowhere in the gospels is such an emotion mentioned. No doubt, therefore, Luke recorded it as a precursor, or a sign, as to one of the benefits that come from being filled with the Holy Spirit, a reality that would take on more importance in his second volume of the Jesus story, which we know as the book of Acts. 

And secondly, the source from which we receive this story is surprising to me. Luke was a doctor, as he is described in Paul’s letter to the Colossians (Colossians 4:14), and doctors are “wise and learned” people. No one becomes a doctor by chance or by osmosis; it’s by design and much training. So, why would Luke be moved to record this story? I see it as a form of confession on Luke’s part, which in this season of Lent we are all invited to do. I see it as Luke’s way of sharing with believers how in his own life he had come to see that sometimes we do have the tendency to be “too big for our breeches” and anyone who thinks he is smart enough to fix his own life or make his own way in life is hardly ready to draw near to God and be used by Him.

So, I ask myself on this first Sunday of Lent, “Where do I stand with respect to these two ‘revelations?’” And I invite you to join with me in that reflection. Are we willing to be so filled with the Spirit? Is there sufficient room in our lives for God’s presence to work in us and through us? And are we willing to humble ourselves to the point that we can rip off layers of pride and skepticism and hardness in order to return to a spirit of childhood where we are in a better place to discern the power of God, give ourselves to it, and teach others through our witness the difference that humbling oneself before God always makes?

In the Protestant Cathedral in Copenhagen, Denmark there is behind the altar of the cathedral a statue of Christ produced by the 19th century Danish sculptor. Bertel Thorvaldsen. The story of this statue is a quite interesting one.

Thorvaldsen originally made the form of Christ in clay with arms outstretched and raised high in gesturing command, his head held high in triumph. But when Thorvaldsen left the figure to harden for a few days and then came back to finish his work, he couldn’t believe what he saw. Because of a heavy rain storm that had taken place, the dampness in the air had invaded his studio and changed the Christ figure entirely. Instead of head held high, it had bent downwards, and the arms were no longer outstretched and raised high, but had fallen low. Thorvaldsen felt his statue of Christ was beyond repair. He grabbed a hammer and was about to demolish the statue but he just couldn’t do it. In remorse he simply fled from the room.

For some time Thorvaldsen couldn’t go anywhere near the room where the statue stood, but one day he finally went back to the studio accompanied by a friend, and when they opened the door, they stood in awe. Bathed in light, the lowered arms no longer depicted defeat to the sculptor and his friend. They saw in them instead the truth of God’s compassion. They saw them as sympathetic arms encircling the sorrowful and needy. The head was now bowed with lowly humility as if to say, “I understand your pain. I sympathize with your suffering.” Some greater power had breathed meaning into what Thorvaldsen assumed was a ruined statue. This was no defeated Christ; instead this was a compassionate Savior.

But what’s most interesting about the statue is that while you can see those inviting hands from nearly every place in the church, you can only see the eyes of Christ from a kneeling position, which is why at the base of the statue is an inscription that reads: “Come to me,” taken from Matthew 11:28. But from face on, the face of Christ is unremarkable and even disappointing, but for the person who kneels down and looks up he or she sees something entirely new. They see how the face of Christ is now attractive and gentle. 

So, what makes the difference? It’s the position of the observer. Thorvaldsen carved the face in such a way that its true beauty can only be seen, appreciated, and venerated by those who bow before it.

God does not reveal His sovereign purposes to those who do not understand their need of Him, who think themselves to be too wise and too learned for their own good. God reveals His purposes only to those who are willing to become as innocent and as dependent and as awe-struck as little children. 

So, look around and see what a child can teach you. It very well could be a lesson that will bring you closer to the power of God in your own life and as a result to be filled with great joy, which is a lesson that Jesus is even now praying for you to learn.