Church of the Incarnation

If you've ever sung in a church choir, then you've heard that "he who sings... prays twice." Living with the words of our hymns and anthems, most of which come directly from scripture, can be a very prayerful experience.

Painting a scene from scripture must be equally prayerful. Imagine the listening and waiting involved as you become so familiar with the story that you can plan out the scene and capture the exact expression on each character's face. This is why paintings are one of the ways God speaks to me about the scriptures.

Most paintings I've seen of today's gospel story look about the same: perfectly plump, angelic little babies bouncing happily on Jesus' knees or reaching out their pudgy little hands for him as their adoring mothers beam with pride over their precious little ones. But then I came across one by Nicolaes Maes, a Dutchman who studied with Rembrandt before painting his Jesus and the Children in 1652.

Let me describe the scene. Jesus sits on a tree stump to one side looking, well, like Jesus. Long brown hair, beard, rough brown robes. And his face is bright with light. Peeking out from behind a tree is one of the disciples, looking a little put out by the whole scene. The rest of the frame is crowded with parents, all dressed as contemporaries of the artist. A housewife with her hair a twist of braids on her head balances a grumpy-looking baby on one hip while shoving a toddler toward Jesus. Another woman pushes her child out of the way and glares up, ducking, as a father thrusts his child over the heads of the crowd toward Jesus. The child has on so many clothes he can't move his arms, and his shoulders are up around his ears. He looks miserable.

While the parents are all pushing and shoving, jostling to get their child a minute with Jesus, the children look either miserable or bored or preoccupied. The parents all look toward Jesus, but the children are focused elsewhere. One little girl stands in front of Jesus as he places his hand on her head in blessing. But Jesus' other hand is firmly clamped on her elbow, as though she's struggling to get away. And while Jesus looks lovingly down on her, she's staring intently at something out of the painting's frame, one finger in her mouth as she tries to figure it out. The adults in the painting have it all wrong, as they fight over who will be first to receive Jesus' favor.

But the children don't know why they're there at all. They didn't choose to come into Jesus' presence, and they aren't all that focused on him while they're there. They're utterly powerless: powerless to know their need, powerless to get to Jesus, and powerless to fully receive him once they're there.

I think this is what Jesus had in mind when he told the disciples to receive the kingdom of God as little children.

We're going to spend October talking and thinking and praying about Stewardship. Now I'm betting a lot of you just thought, "oh, they're asking for money again," and tuned out. Well, come back. Stewardship, real stewardship, isn't a fundraising campaign. It's a chance for each of us to remember that we're just like the children in Maes' painting: needy, dependent, helpless, completely clueless about our condition, and blind to the fact that Jesus is right there with us, his hand upon us in blessing.

Everything we have, everything we are is a gift from God. We may earn a salary, but it's because we use the skills God gave us and the training God made available to us in a job God provided for us. Without God's hand on us in blessing, we're - well - bugs, cockroaches on our backs, unable to flip ourselves over.

And because we're bugs, our first step is to pray. Please join me in praying again the collect for today found on your yellow bulletin insert.

Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things for which we are not worthy to ask, except through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ our Savior; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.