Last Sunday we ended our worship theme called “Things that Go Bump in the Night,” as Andy invited us to face into our fear of the scariest of all the things that go bump in the night: death. We celebrated All Saints, grieving our own necessary losses and trying to recover in some measure from what was then the latest outrage and violence in the tsunami of sorrows that is our world’s daily bread– while also acknowledging, experiencing body and soul, our profound gratitude for the sheer beauty of life itself. All this joy, all this sorrow.

Last Sunday also was one of those days we are having…you know the ones, that are coming too often. Days filled up with poignancy and anxiety, yet, also, oddly blessed, dizzingly laden with gratitude and beauty. Day after day of outrage and mourning—people speaking in anger and hate, people getting shot while at the grocery store, at school, at work, at worship, at yoga, so many people wondering how to change things and how to stand together in the face of such as that. So much fear prevails, too, as folks try to make meaning, try to think of something new and hopeful to say. And alongside that, there are kindnesses more often than not, pets that make us laugh, lives of abundance and the chance to share with others, to know blessedness and to feel the aching beauty of being alive. All of it, happening at once.

Somedays it feels like whiplash, like the character in the old Exorcist movie. Remember her? Her head spun around on her neck, and in an odd way, I feel like that, sort of vertigo-ish and removed from my body while still being achingly, acutely present to it all in a soulful way while at the same time, trying to keep body and soul together and healthy, however known. Do you know what I mean?

So, last Sunday, the interfaith clergy had agreed that those of us who could would go to the synagogues on Sunday to stand in solidarity at their special services of mourning. Blessedly, Andy and Talia carried on the work here so ably as always, so I could go. Many of you were there, too. Thank you. They entoned ancient Hebrew songs of mourning sung century upon century as these people press onward through pogroms and camps and ovens and shooters in the pews. Afterward, feeling heavy, I walked from my car around the block when I got back here for the 11:15 service and there were our children, joyous and beautiful in their Halloween costumes on the playground as our youth, kindly and full of fun led them in a carnival. Then I went to the sanctuary where our musicians sang and played a Prelude to break down the grinchiest heart with its beauty and the choir sang “Seasons of Love,” calling us to recall such seasons, such love, and at the end Tane played the theme from Schindler’s List for those who’d died, and we observed All Saints and we all filed forward carrying the names and photos of loved ones who have passed into that place where they live in our hearts and in the infinite world beyond this one. In his sermon, Andy reminded us–love and gratitude are greater than the grave. And then, I went into the UCG library to plan the 9:15 service with Devin Smith-Lopez’s parents. The baptism of a child of this congregation, a child of these four parents, in this unique family who became church members, spouses, and parents and baptized in the arms of this family of faith. It was in my meeting with them when I paused from feeling dizzy from the onslaught of the juxtapositions, though God knows they are still there and will be. But I needed the reminder, the anchor, the grounding that is this worship theme, Fantastic Feasts and where to find them and this Scripture that reminds us to remember the child.
While I was at both synagogues, something extraordinary happened that illustrates our Scripture for today with its reminder to us to learn from the children. In the midst of each of the memorial gatherings, two different people—teenagers from the center of their community, rose to their feet to address the crowds. At Shir Shalom, the young woman said, “I am a child of this community and of this nation and we are grieving and we are afraid. We say enough. We have to change the gun control laws in this country. We have to act.” At B’nai Israel, Rabbi Kaiman said to the congregation, as a teenager approached the microphone, ”I don’t know what Lauren plans to say, but she has asked to speak.” She too expressed her grief and solidarity with her people, and then she said, “And so, thank you for being here today in support, but we young people say, you must do more than mourn. Go out and vote and resist what is happening. Act and vote as if our lives depend on it, because they do.” The crowd erupted in applause. In this worship theme we are considering fantastic feasts of life and where to find them and I believe that one of the many places we may find feasts of hope in these days is at the kids’ table.
This story in Mark is so important to the Gospel writer, that he puts it in twice in this short little book —and each time it is bracketed by starkly contrasting narratives. One bookend is Jesus speaking about his own violent death and the other is the disciples arguing about who has the most power among them, who is the greatest. Jesus says the power will be discovered, the blessing of the realm of God is becoming like a child, welcoming the child.

In the Hebrew Bible, God calls men and women to be prophets, to speak truth to power, but also, and powerfully, God calls children. When God calls Jeremiah, he responds, “Dude, I’m just a kid. I don’t know what to say to the powers that be.” But God responds, “Speak. Don’t say, ‘I am just a kid.’ You will have to persist, but go and go to the ones I send you to, and they will listen.”

You know the courageous work of the Parkland High School students and of other students around the world, working for justice, peace, change, and safety and do you know about the lawsuit, Juliana v. US, also known as the children’s climate lawsuit? After years of persistence and moving through lower courts with innumerable road blocks by the powers, this suit has reached the Supreme Court where it is stalled, not surprisingly. It includes 21 plaintiffs between the ages of 11 and 22. The case argues that the US government has failed to curtail fossil fuel emissions and protect natural resources in public trust, violating the youngest generation’s rights to life, liberty, and property. As relief, they want the government to pursue policies to keep global warming in check. The arc of justice is long, but no matter the end result now, the young people’s resilience in the face of years of adversity and the arrogance of the government is a delicacy to savor in the fantastic feast of hope. Up in Alaska, Richard Nelson, a longtime environmental activist, said as tears poured down his face as he watched the plaintiffs at a rally, “I’m not crying out of sadness — but out of joy, out of hope. That’s what all these young faces give to us older faces, I think. What I found as I grew older is that the antidote to the pain I was feeling was action.” Victoria Barrett, one of the plaintiffs wrote, “I look forward to having the world see the incredible power my generation holds.” All around us, in the midst of the pain, there are feasts of hope at the kids’ table.

You know how at holidays sometimes the kids’ table is out in the living room or someplace away from the rest of the feast? We tried to symbolize that a bit in our sanctuary today. All this joy, all this sorrow inside, outside the circles. And consider this, in the face of all this sorrow that is in the world, the teaching says, “Remember the child.” And so, the fantastic feast we marked this day in the early service, as we are blessed to do so often, the hopeful baptism of a child is a revolutionary act. Gathering in this place and teaching what we do and opening our doors with courage to all says, “Life is a holy gift, given and blessed by God. And baptism happens in the center of community. And community nurtures children and women and men—and cares for the Earth and blesses us all for abundant life. We have another baptism of a child coming up on the 18th, a child who is 9, who is coming to proclaim his faith in the center of this family. Two baptisms in one month! Baptized in the arms of this family of faith. Behold, God is creating a new thing, say the old Scriptures—do you not perceive it? In the children—yours, mine, ours, theirs. Our baptismal vows—we vow to the child and to the parents, that we will make certain that they will be “inspired with the strength of faith, the joy of hope, and the reverence of love—so that they may meet the Holy One in the likes of us.” That is our baptismal vow to children, youth, and adults, to one another, to this world. What a feast of love is that!

In the Scripture reading, people brought their children to the center of the community for Jesus to bless them, but the disciples wanted to push them out. But Jesus said—”Listen to the child, become like the child. This is what the kin-dom looks like! This is what the kin-dom looks like!”
In these difficult days, we have profound loss still to mourn, and more ahead. In these beautiful days, we have blessings yet to discover. In all this joy, all this sorrow, know that change is among us and strength and power within. Know that Spirit is alive in the world and in us. May we celebrate at our fanciest, most beautiful fantastic feasts of our lives and enjoy, but let us remember to join in feasts of justice and joy that we will discover anew at the kids’ table. Amen.

November 4, 2018 Shelly Wilson