“What were you talking about on the way?” Jesus asked the disciples in the gospel passage. He was a curious man, our Lord, – curious about what’s going on in people’s lives and not just in matters of religion. Jesus didn’t ask his disciples this question after they just attended worship at a synagogue. He could have done that. He didn’t ask them this question after they had listened to the Sermon on the Mount. He could have done this. He could have gotten a lot of wonderful, deep, insightful answers and comments about what his students had learned.
But he wasn’t interested in their religious grades. Instead, he wanted to get in on the regular, free-flowing conversations of his group. What are you talking about these days? What’s moving you? What’s keeping you up at night? And so, we may begin this Sunday’s sermon reflection by asking ourselves: what have we talked about lately? What have you talked about? In some of your conversations this week there may have been frustration and even anger and venting involved about things that upset you. In some conversations you may have talked about bigger things, the state of our country ahead of the midterm elections, the people in North Carolina, things like that. In some conversations you may have shared your excitement about a wonderful upcoming event in your family. Or just silly things, fun things. You were messing with someone. Whatever it was, whatever moved from your heart to your lips, be sure that Jesus is interested in all of that. Because it is a reflection of who you are and where you are in your life right now. God doesn’t need to know religiously correct answers from you; he wants to know the real YOU. What are you talking about these days?
Jesus directed the exact same question to the twelve young men in his orbit, his disciples. Of course, before that happened, he must have overheard a few things, because he seemed to have a pretty good idea of the content of their conversation. We are told that the disciples, on being asked by Jesus, suddenly kept quiet. Why did they push the mute button? One, they were talking amongst themselves, as in whispering and keeping a secret. Two, it was because of what they were talking about – a subject that would have embarrassed them in front of their spiritual leader who always taught humility. On their way, which means on their journey back home, through their home region of Galilee, to Capernaum, the town where of them were from, they had had a typical adult conversation. A not so humble adult conversation…
Have you ever noticed that the word “adult” is not always flattering, and is by no means always used as a symbol for a mature human being? I mean when people refer to “adult movies,” or “adult stores,” those are usually places they keep quiet about in front of their children. The disciples had an adult conversation, according to this passage. And it was not a terribly mature conversation. It was not their brightest and best moment. The had argued about who was the greatest among them.
Annoyingly to the disciples, their spiritual leader knew exactly what they had been discussing. You can’t keep that stuff from Jesus, the gospel seems to tell us. Sooner or later your thoughts, your words, your conversations, your way of thinking, your attitude, your character will shine through, as much as you may try to hide some of it. And then Jesus, upon giving them another reminder about his core values – humility ranking at the very top – asks for a child. He takes the child and holds the little one; and he says to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” And we might say, “That’s very nice and cute how Jesus welcomes and honors children.”
But there is more to it. I think what he is saying and teaching here is this: “When you have those high-flying adult conversations, or even if you have low-flying adult conversations as in this case, you may want to think about how your words and intentions may be received by children and how they may affect the next generation. “This child,” Jesus says, is your litmus test. This child, Jesus says, is me. When you talk about important things, do not forget the children among you!
Some of the worthiest causes in this world have been triggered by children and youth, either by children and youth themselves or by adults paying more attention to them. Let us keep that in mind.
In our synod we celebrated the installation of our new Bishop, Patricia Davenport yesterday afternoon. I was unable to attend but I trust that it was a wonderful celebration. I mention that because it reminds me of a story I recently read about the installation of a Bishop in Africa. Pay attention to the role of children in this story.
Since 1999, John Baptist Odama has been the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Gulu in northern Uganda, a region that has often been terrorized by rebels burning villages, killing civilians, and abducting children as a means of recruitment for their fighting ranks. Over the last 20 years, more than 23,000 children have been abducted. It was at the height of this insurgency that Odama was installed as first Archbishop of Gulu, in 1999. An installation of an Archbishop in a country like Uganda is very serious business. At installation, he is given instruments of power: miter, staff and pallium. In attendance were: a papal representative, the president of Uganda, bishops, ministers and a host of others. All serious stuff. Lots of adult conversations and lots of powerful people there.
At his installation, Archbishop Odama took a child in his arms and asked the child, “Do you like war?” The child turned his head from side to side to signify “no.” He then asked the child, “Do you like peace?” The child nodded enthusiastically with a “yes.” Then, still holding the child in his arms, he turned to the audience and said, “This child has defined for us our pastoral ministry. I commit myself to work for the future that this child has defined, to eliminate war, build peace for the sake of this child, … so that the full humanity of this child might grow and flourish.”
Thankfully, we live in a place and time that is much safer and much less terrifying on a day-to-day basis. But we too would be wise to ask this question in our busy schedules, in our busy schools, on our busy sports fields and in our family lives: what do our children need? What do they need most? Because the children are our litmus test. The children, Jesus says, are me. What you do to one of these children, you do to me, he said.
When I officiate at funerals of people in the older generation, I often ask about their childhood. Family members remember what the diseased told them about their childhood, what it was like. It usually involves wonderful stories and memories of free play with kids around the block and safe neighborhoods where you could walk over to a friend down the street and such. When I hear those stories, it always strikes me how much the world has changed. Is the world we created the best we can do for our children? To ponder this question might be the stuff that is worthy of a good adult conversation, one that our Lord would love to hear us talk about, one that is relevant from Uganda to the Unites States and across the world. Is the world we create one in which, in the words of the Ugandan Archbishop “the full humanity of (a given) child might grow and flourish?” Let’s talk, with Christ in our midst, with love in our hearts, and the next generation on our minds! Let’s have some good adult conversations! Amen.