Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.
Jesus is again trying to explain the new way of thinking and being to his disciples, who he finds arguing among themselves about who’s the best. He picks up a child and offers this explanation. A little later in these short 11 verses, he explains to them that they shouldn’t stop others who are casting out demons but not following Jesus, explaining “whoever is not against us is for us”.
This section about Jesus taking up the child was selected as the reading for a liturgy my parish priest pulled together when we welcomed our daughter into our home, initially as a foster child. She’d come from another foster family, where the placement hadn’t worked out, but they loved her too. She was an undersized 4 year old at the time, and sat like a gangly kid on my husband’s hip.
With my whole faith community and family, we welcomed her into both. Her previous foster family was there too, and there were ample tears from everyone. She looked so little, and had an air of both defiance and vulnerability, a look she can pull off to this day.
On that day, I was absorbed in the idea that I was welcoming a child into my midst, and that there was something inherently good about that. Upon reflection, I’m struck that inviting a child into your home is a lot like inviting Jesus into your home. It’s not predictible. It’s not always easy. In fact, sometimes it would be a lot easier if Jesus left me alone.
I’m also thinking about the idea of welcome. I know that in some circumstances, a welcome is rescinded. I know of people who’ve welcomed Jesus into their lives, only to change their mind, and uninvited him. In my faith tradition, we believe that the bonds of baptism are indissoluble, cannot be broken. There’s nothing that will break the bond between a person and Jesus, at least from Jesus’ perspective. I guess that means that regardless of the intent of the person to walk away, Jesus remains. He’s the guest who’s welcomed once, and will never leave. To me, that’s oddly comforting. I have loved ones who’ve taken that path, been baptized, loved God, now see no point. But God is still present in them, and Jesus’ love still surrounds them. That’s nice. So welcoming Jesus, I believe is forever, regardless of whether we know it. As Carl Jung is attributed as saying, “Bidden or unbidden, God is present”.
And with children, I’ve heard of people disowning children, effectively unwelcoming them. I cannot imagine. My adopted daughter, sitting on my hip at 4, formerly abandoned by her birth family, is my sick loved one. To suggest that it would be easier sometimes if she weren’t in my home is an understatement. But I cannot imagine unwelcoming her, any more than I can imagine unwelcoming God.
This morning, I’m thinking about how difficult it is to welcome God into our lives. How disruptive. How permanent. And ultimately, how comforting.
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