Other people's children

 

Mark 9: 30-37
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
September 19, 2021

Last month, when Olivia and I traveled to Los Angeles, we only used public transportation to get around the city. One afternoon we traveled the whole length of the Metro E or Expo line, which runs from 7th St. and Flower St. downtown, past the University of Southern California, all the way to downtown Santa Monica and the world-famous Santa Monica Pier.



After we’d been to the pier and had dinner, we rode the subway back to our hotel. Everyone is required to wear a mask and sit apart from other passengers. I had noticed this one young woman who was speaking Spanish and talking on her phone rather loudly to be heard through her mask. A few minutes later a rather tall young man got on the train, shuffled his way down the aisle, and sat next to the young woman. There were plenty of other seats which would’ve allowed him to remain physically distant. The young woman was visibly anxious as she looked sideways at him while she continued to talk on the phone.



When the next stop was announced, the young woman got up, scooted past the young man and made her way to the door. The young man followed her and stood right next to her, towering over her slight build. He kept looking at her shoes, saying they were untied, and mumbling could he tie them for her. Olivia noticed that he was carrying a tall can of Budweiser, which explained some of his behavior. As the train slowed down, the young woman looked frightened, like she was going to run as soon as the doors opened.



So I called out to her, “Hi, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. I’m glad you’re doing okay.” I carried the act a little further, briefly pulled down my mask and said, “Hey, it’s me.” She looked at me almost in tears and stumbled toward me. The young man was disoriented as if he didn’t know whether he was getting off the train or not. The doors opened and he halfheartedly stepped through them. I reached out to the young woman and invited her to sit down. The doors decided for him and closed behind him. As the train lurched forward, she burst into tears and kept repeating “thank you”, her whole body shaking. Olivia and I reassured her that she was okay and told her we would get off at the next stop with her and stay with her until she could get the next train that would take her back to her stop. It turned out the next stop was her stop. She was so anxious to get away from the young man that she was going to get off one stop early. We told her to go straight home and to please call someone the moment she got there.



Four years ago, not long after the wrongful Muslim travel ban, there was a graphic circulated on social media about being an active bystander when witnessing Islamophobic harassment. I remembered most of what it said, about approaching the person being harassed rather than the person doing the harassing. I know that to a degree I was being naïve, I mean, anything could’ve happened, but the look of fear in her eyes was one I hoped to never see with my own children and that a stranger would come to their aid if they ever needed it.

We encounter other people’s children every day. Some of them are close to their parents, some of them are estranged or were cut off or had to do it themselves. Some of them are living with their parents, some have become parents themselves. Some are caregivers for a parent, some are grieving the loss of one or both parents or a stepparent. Some have more than two parents. All of us are somebody’s child. Hopefully we all have people in our lives who knew us when we were younger. All of us have people of all ages who loved us into who we are now. All of us can think of one person, at least one, who for even just a moment, disrupted their lives and put our needs, our lives ahead of theirs.



What we know of Jesus’ life, his entire ministry was a disruption of whatever quiet life he could’ve had away from the politics and power that were in Jerusalem. Yet in this morning’s gospel lesson he knows that he cannot escape what appears to be his inevitable fate, because empire always deals with its enemies ruthlessly. His disciples do not want to face it because they are hopeful that liberation is near, that they have finally found their people’s anointed one.



Ironically, they argue amongst themselves who is the greatest among them, which seems rather gruesome given what Jesus had just told them about his impending death. Jesus then plays out what would be a familiar scene from the pages of empire. In a Roman household it was the oldest living male, considered the greatest member, who welcomed the newest child into the family. The midwife would place the newborn at his feet and if he picked it up and embraced it, only then would it become a formal part of the family. Otherwise, he could disown his children and even sell them into slavery if he wished. And of course, male children were more desired than female children so that the eldest son could take his father’s place.



Instead, Jesus takes a child (presumably they were guests in a house) and puts it among them, then takes it into his arms and says that whoever welcomes one such child welcomes him. He tells them that whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.

It seemed that Jesus knew that if he wanted to see God, to know God, all of who God is, the best place, the only place to be is at the bottom because then we only need to look up and look around us to find God everywhere and in everyone. To be last of all and servant of all is where radical empathy begins. Author Isabel Wilkerson writes, “Radical empathy…means putting in the work to educate oneself and to listen with a humble heart to understand another's experience from their perspective, not as we imagine we would feel. Radical empathy is not about you and what you think you would do in a situation you have never been in and perhaps never will. It is the kindred connection from a place of deep knowing that opens your spirit to the pain of another as they perceive it.”



Incredible as it sounds, right now in some evangelical circles there is a debate as to whether empathy is a sin and that we can actually be too empathetic, especially if someone else’s suffering is due to their own sinful behavior. Strangely enough, Jesus never let that stop him from showing compassion, healing another’s wounds, or offering mercy and forgiveness. It wasn’t tough love that Jesus extended to the woman caught in adultery but unconditional love. Jesus regarded everyone as a child of God and loved them accordingly.

Even that young man on the subway is someone’s child, is a child of God. After we said goodbye to the young woman, we got on the next train. A few stops later the same young man also got on the train, still carrying his beer, still approaching other young women, most of whom got up and moved away from him. At one stop I noticed a couple of police officers on the platform. The thought of signaling them to deal with this young man would’ve been reflexive, part of what we used to consider the normal social order, something we wouldn’t have usually questioned.



Can you guess why I didn’t signal them? The young man was Black and not only intoxicated but also behaving erratically and yet he wasn’t hurting anyone. Adding police to that equation may have done more harm to that young man than any help he might have received.



I don’t tell you this story to signal my virtue or to paint myself as a hero of any kind or to instruct you to do the same. I tell this story to get us to think, to feel, to imagine as the song says, that we are the world, we are the children; that everyday we are making choices that affect other people that might also save our own lives. Some are calling this ‘the pandemic of the unvaccinated’ but right now our children are bearing the wounds of that trauma. We can’t afford to be passive bystanders when it comes to parents who have effectively placed their children in the midst of this virus and left them there.

What if we wrote letters and notes of encouragement to school boards, to teachers and staff to share with their students, thanking them for all the safety measures they are taking to keep everyone healthy? What if we contacted our respective governors telling them that we need to keep the physical and mental health of our children front and center?



One of the most dangerous side effects of this pandemic is how easy it is to dehumanize another human being for one reason or another and thus dehumanize ourselves in the process. And yet we are all children of this universe. May we have the courage to find and follow the path that Jesus found, that of belovedness, that we are all kindred. Amen.

Benediction – enfleshed.com


Let us give each other flowers
while we are together on this plane of existence –
Lavender, poppies, mint from the pot on the stoop.

Let us write odes to each other’s belovedness –
a guitar solo for your grin, a ballad for your boldness,
a whole symphony for the texture of your hair.

Oh, beloveds, in our love for each other,
may we go forth, dancing ourselves to the kin-dom of God.