For of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven

Love in the Time of Corona #5

 

Then little children were being brought to him in order that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples spoke sternly to those who brought them; but Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.’ And he laid his hands on them and went on his way. ~ Matthew 19:13-15

I remember the mural so vividly. The blue sky. The kind eyes of Jesus. The open faces of the children, "red and yellow, black and white." It was on the wall of Mrs Missplay's Sunday school room and I think it may be the cornerstone of all I believe about Jesus' life and ministry. When everyone with any sense said, "Stay away!", Jesus said, "Let them come to me."

Believe me, I know how lucky I am. Here, in the time of corona, I can still go to work, not because I'm essential, but because essential people need a safe place for their kids while they are working in emergency rooms and ICUs. I learned years ago, I am not important, but God has allowed me to do important things. It is a burden and a blessing for which I will always be grateful.

The kids? Yeah, red and yellow, black and white, just like the song says. They are short and tall, thin and fat. Some have special developmental or medical or emotional needs. There are girls who will very soon be women, and boys who are already practicing how to behave like men. Some need a nap in the afternoon. Others never, ever, EVER shut up. They all love the pool. And nearly all of them break the no-running-in-the-hall rule when their parents or grandparents come to pick them up. Hell, they run to the nurse to line up and have their temperatures taken every 2 hours.

This is not really my demographic. In ordinary times, I spend my days with people who are old, who have been sick, who have looked down the tunnel and seen death's dark train coming, but are determined not to climb aboard just yet. But these? These little children see life waiting and they run toward it, whether it's a swimming pool, a swing set, a soccer field, or the weary arms of a mom who has just spent 12 hours drawing blood and swabbing noses. They are wearing me out. And they are teaching me lessons of life that I somehow forgot.

It's scary, too. During my quiet moments, "What If" haunt me. What if I say something hurtful? I know how much I like to run my mouth. How hurtful I can be without meaning to. What if I make a joke that stings them for years? What if I'm distracted while guarding the pool and one of them slips under the water? What if I miss them? These thinks probably help me to stay vigilant, but they wear on my spirit, as well.

And, God forbid, what if I come in one morning with a fever? What if I test positive? What if the whole program is shut down and all the kids and staff are quarantined because of some precaution I missed or forgot to do that lead me to a positive test?

I think about that way too much. Especially at night. And I cannot imagine what it is like for a dad who spends his days in a mask and gloves, touching people who are coughing and sweating and weeping and sometimes dying with this bug in them. What's behind his loving smile as his daughter runs down the hall to him and throws her arms around his legs?

Every adult I meet has the look. We all know it's out there. Some of us are terrified. Some are angry. But all of us think about it way too much.

But the children? They don't see death. They see life. They play kickball and make mermaids out of paper plates and take turns diving to the bottom of the pool. They are relentlessly, gracefully, irresistibly alive.

I'm sure there are stories I don't know about. Some of them have probably been hurt. Some know too much and have seen far more than they should have. They have tearful moments and some of those tears come from deep places that most adults can't even remember.

They make me want to scream, sometimes. And they are so very easy to love. 

No wonder Jesus' needed them around. 

God became flesh to learn what it was like to be a human. The children were his teachers. They are what we could be at our best. 

They are alive.