Matthew 18.10-14: “Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven. What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.”
My friend Caroline got a kitten while we were in seminary. She named it “Mikra,” which is the Greek word used for “little ones” in these verses from the Gospel of Matthew. I thought Mikra was cute for a kitten but wouldn’t work for a cat who could, for all I know, weigh 20 pounds and resemble a furry rock more than a kitten these days.
I don’t know much about naming cats – Ike and Reggie just seemed like, well, Ike and Reggie when they entered my life. But I remember feeling the same way about them as Caroline did about Mikra: even if you’re not a cat person, it’s hard to resist a kitten. I remember the day my girlfriend brought Ike home; he was a yowling ball of fur, hiding in the back window of her car and scared out of his wits, but once he got used to my little one-bedroom apartment, he became my best friend. To this day, Ike is still “my” cat, even though his kitten days are long gone and the girlfriend who brought him home is now my ex-wife.
As much as I like thinking about the cute, fuzzy days of kittenhood, that’s not what Jesus was talking about here – it’s not even close. The love of God is not the warm, oogly mush of fuzzy kitten sentimentality: it is the raging, protective, all-encompassing love of a benevolent parent for a child. If Ike or Reggie had wandered through an open door or window and been lost, I would have been truly sad, of course, but not for long. Growing up on a
Last Saturday we had a house full of family in town for my installation and to celebrate Ainsley’s first birthday. I’d been working on a few odds and ends around the house, and my tools were kind of all over the place, so as Kristin and my Mom headed off to check into the hotel where my parents were staying, I was running up and down the stairs putting wrenches back in the tool box and other stuff. My Dad was watching my nephew Zach and our Ainsley, but kids are quick and distracted parents make mistakes. I made a big one. I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher when I heard a loud thump on our basement stairs, followed by another, then another, then nothing. My heart dropped right into the pit of my stomach as I realized that I’d left the door open and Ainsley had just fallen down the stairs. I raced downstairs to find her wedged against the gate at the bottom, startled and trying to breathe. I scooped her up and checked her from head to foot for any serious injuries while she caught her breath and proceeded to scream at the top of her lungs for a couple of minutes. We’re talking serious crying here: she was scared, hurt and not afraid at all to let the whole world know about it. And me? I felt like the worst parent in the world for letting something like that happen to my little girl. I would have gladly taken the fall on myself if I could have, and in the days since that fall I’ve been hyper-vigilant about where my little girl is and whether the doors are shut or not.
This is the kind of care the Father has for us – His “little ones.” You see it over and over throughout the Bible: God the Father is in anguish when we are hurt and scared because we’ve fallen and cannot stand on our own. The prophet Hosea was given a glimpse of this love when he wrote,
When
2The more I called them, the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols.
3Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
4I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love.
I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.
8How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel?
…
My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender.
9I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.[1]
This is the love Jesus described when He told his disciples, “It is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.” You are God’s little ones, the ones for whom God’s heart is yearning. This is the love of Christ, so powerful and passionate that even the prospect of crucifixion was not enough to cause Him to renounce His “little ones.”
Lent is about the journey of Jesus to the cross, but we know that we cannot walk the road with Him; we stumble and fall and find ourselves gasping, out of breath, terrified by our own mistakes and the misfortune of suffering for someone else’s sin. But the love of God for us, His “little ones,” is the love that stoops down, picks us up, caresses and soothes until the terror is gone, peace reigns in our hearts, and we are able to walk once again. Little ones, be assured that this loving God is yours, tonight and forever. Amen.
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