Seeing the Smalls | 8/31/25
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Pastor Marisa shared a childhood story about feeling “seen” in church despite a potentially embarrassing moment. When have you experienced a moment of being truly seen and welcomed as you are?
In the mural story, the pastor noticed the child in the background—forgotten but still included. Who are the “children in the background” in your community or life? How might you be called to notice them?
Jesus said, “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” What qualities of children—curiosity, wonder, trust, playfulness—do you need to reclaim in your own faith journey?
When you think about the “edges” of your community, who is waiting to be welcomed to the center? What would it look like for your church—or you personally—to move toward them in love?
Jesus delights in children and their imaginations. How might you practice delight this week—both in children and in others often overlooked?
Transcript:
Children’s scripture moment
Steve: So I wonder, because you all—many of you have been here on a number of occasions before, so you're familiar with worship. Do you recognize what I have in my hand here [holding a pitcher]? Yeah, I see some nods. And do you know what we use it for in worship here at Trinity?
You might know. We use it whenever we have a baptism. And at 9:30 today, we got the opportunity to baptize a baby who's part of a family that goes here to Trinity. And so we were celebrating with them and remembering that through baptism, not only is that child a part of their family, the Blaylock family, but the child is a part of our family—the Trinity family. And even bigger than that, the child is a part of God's family.
All of the children. And that fits really well with today and what we're talking about. We sang a song at the last service too, and there was a line in the song that really got my attention, where we all sang together: I am a child of God. Yes, I am. And I wondered if you all—and maybe all of you—could join me in saying that.
I am a child of God. Yes. Yes, I am. And one of the things that tells me, and I hope it tells you, is that you belong. We all belong.
And Pastor Marisa has this wonderful book that has some amazing stories in it. And I want her to be able to share one of those stories with you today.
Marisa: So there is a story about Jesus welcoming children in the Bible, and it's so important that it shows up in three of the four gospels.
But adults, did you know that each of those three accounts where the story shows up, there's only two or three verses dedicated to this story? That's not a whole lot of room to tell us a lot about what Jesus was up to with the children. So I have this book. It's called The Book of Belonging, which is a new children's book that helps children and adults alike turn to wonder. So I'm gonna read it for us.
The children stared up at the wall. Like most walls, it was tall. Like most walls, it was wide. Like most walls, it got in the way of some perfectly good romping and running. But unlike most walls, this one was… hairy. And kind of… stinky.
Because it wasn't really a wall at all, but a group of hairy, stinky, grumpy grown-ups. Friends of Yeshua (Jesus) who were using their hairy, stinky bodies to keep the children from Jesus. Because kids are loud and distracting, they thought. Because kids are not as important, they thought. But as often happens, the grown-ups were wrong.
Up. Over. Under. Between. The children leaped and launched and wove and wiggled, and still the wall stood firm. But Jesus knew. His laugh rang out up and over the wall as he called to his friends, Let them in!
Grumbling, the wall broke apart, and the kids tumbled toward Jesus. His eyes warmed and welcomed even the shyest of the group as he crouched down to greet them. And, oh, what a greeting. All the goodness of God wrapped up in a human–can you imagine how that must have felt?
Kindness, peace, humor, safety, trustworthiness—all the things that are best in a person shone out at their brightest. The kids felt their fear melt away and their wonder come alive as they stared at his eyes, which seemed to shine out the same message over and over: You Belong. You are Beloved. You Delight me.
And so they ran to him, full sprint, as Jesus scooped up one of the gleeful, giggling kids. You should always welcome children just as you'd welcome me! Just as you'd welcome God! he told his friends, who had stopped complaining and couldn't help but smile. Haven't you noticed that things are upside down in the kingdom of God? Jesus was showing them yet again. Remember to remember–this is how God always wanted it.
The powerful, the puffed up, first in line for favors? They'll be sent to the back of the line. Those waiting on the edges, watching and learning? They'll be welcomed to the center like a hug.
Jesus motioned to the wiggling, giggling kids–climbing and clamoring–and spoke very seriously. The kingdom of God is seeping through, and these kids know how to live in it. Watch them closely, because if you can't become more like them, you'll never learn how to live here.
Jesus stayed with the children for a long while, making sure to spend time with each one of them. He gazed into their eyes so full of trust and listened to their stories, so full of imagination. He called them by their good, true names, and they answered without hesitation.
And Jesus's friends watched closely.They stared at the children as if trying to remember what they were like when they too were full of questions. When they hadn't been named by anyone but God. When worship and wonder wove together like a braid. Grown-ups like to build walls. Walls like: That's not possible. That's too much. That's not important. They don't matter.
But here Jesus was, laughing as the children wiggled over, under, and through. What else could the grown-ups learn from those climbing in?
The end. What a great story, and what a great question.
Steve: Well, we are grateful for you all being here today and for coming up and joining us for this time. Maybe that's a story that, when you go home today, you can have some more conversation with your families about—and how much Jesus loves you and how Jesus welcomes you, just like he welcomed those children in the story.
Pastor Marisa’s Sermon
Will you pray with me?
God, you have welcomed us into this place like you have welcomed the children. We give you thanks that you are a God who invites us to wonder. By your Spirit, open our hearts and our minds that we might hear what you have to say to us this day.
In Christ's name we pray. Amen.
One of the earliest memories I have of church was maybe the first time my family visited a church in Lakeland, Florida, Saint Paul Lutheran Church. I was maybe five years old. We had just moved to Florida, and my little sister, Katelyn, was probably about three years old. In this church service, there was a children's moment where all the children were invited forward, just like we were a few moments ago. I was equal parts excited and a little nervous. I was excited to be up front where all of the action was happening, but I was nervous because Katelyn was joining me. At this age, Katelyn could be a little bit of a wild card. You never really knew what to expect when she was part of the equation.
The senior pastor of this church was Pastor Goff, and he was leading the children's time that morning. When Pastor Goff stood underneath the stage lights, his head was a bit shinier than average. At this point in time, Katelyn was drawn to shiny things. So no matter how much I tried to keep her still and seated nicely next to me on the floor, she got up, walked over to the pastor, and began to pet his head—just like so. Then I saw the light bulb come on in her brain, and I thought, Oh no. The pastor was wearing one of those lovely microphones, like I have on right now. So she crouched down, got to his eye level, and into the microphone said, “Are you God?”
I can’t remember what Pastor Goff’s response was, but it had to have been divinely inspired, because I, as a five-year-old, was absolutely mortified. Obviously, that was an experience I remember very vividly all these years later. Maybe not fondly—fondly is not the right word—but I remember it. In that moment, though, I don’t remember feeling unwelcome. My family didn’t feel unwelcome. Actually, I remember feeling seen as I navigated life with my sister, who I was discovering interacted with the world a bit differently than the siblings of my friends.
In this church, Saint Paul’s, I began at a very young age to be welcomed into different aspects of worship leadership as a small child, and that laid the foundation for the person God would call me to be today. I wonder if this is how those children felt when Jesus welcomed them in—as they burst through that stinky, hairy wall of adults, squeezing past the sea of no’s.
And then, as the great teacher’s laugh resonated deep, he created a cocoon of joy as he crouched down low, meeting those children eye to eye as he said: You belong. You are beloved. You delight me.
Fast forward a couple of years from that mortifying children’s moment to the time when I was in about sixth grade. I ended up attending the school affiliated with Saint Paul’s—Saint Paul Lutheran Church and School. The summer before my sixth-grade year, a mural showed up in the cafeteria depicting this very moment of Scripture, of Jesus welcoming the children.
I invite you to just take a few moments to look at this image. Think about what you might notice. The focus of the painting draws us to Jesus dancing and frolicking with the children at the front. He makes space for the imaginative play of the others who surround him.
But sixth-grade Marisa’s attention never landed on those children. Instead, I was curious about the child—the little girl—standing in the background on that bridge-like structure over to the back left side of the painting. She seemed forgotten, left alone, kept to the margins of the picture. Yet she was still included in the artist’s understanding of the children that Jesus cares for, even though she was all the way back there.
It’s easy for us to see the children up front with Jesus. They’re the children we see all the time. They’re our children—Christian, who was sitting right next to me at children’s time, laying his head on my lap in moments. They’re our grandchildren. They’re the children who ride their bikes around, or the children that play in the front yards of our neighborhoods.
They’re the children who wait in that really fun line at Publix to receive the free cookies. They’re the children who walk through our downstairs hallway, past our mural for Stepping Stones each and every day. They’re the children who just left our worship center to go and have a special time of connection. Of course, Jesus sees these children. Of course, they are welcome in this place.
But if Jesus sees the children in our foreground, then Jesus also sees the children trying to shoo away every mosquito that dares to leave its mark on their skin, waiting—probably forever—for a vaccination that might no longer come.
If Jesus sees our children, then he sees the children who are six and three, lulled to sleep every night by melodies of mortar fire and harmonies of heartbreak. If Jesus sees our children, then he sees the children bowing their heads in a prayer interrupted by bullets flying.
If Jesus sees our children, then he sees the fifth-grade boy attempting to read and write and memorize multiplication tables with a tummy grumbling so loudly he wonders if it will ever stop, knowing that the next meal he will receive is maybe breakfast the next morning at school.
If Jesus sees our children, then he sees the second-grade girl who returns home from school to the Family Promise house with all of her stuff still packed in plastic bags, wondering when her family will be kicked to the curb again.
If Jesus sees our children, then Jesus sees the teenager whose only hope for managing a sickle cell pain crisis is by increasing a dose of narcotics—a teenager who might be labeled as a drug addict for simply seeking the only proven, effective treatment for the disease they have carried their whole life.
If Jesus sees our children, then Jesus sees the ten-year-old girl right here in our community whose daddy worked hard to build a life for his wife, his daughter, and the daughter on the way in just a few weeks. But one day, that daddy went off to work and didn’t come home. He was stopped, arrested, detained, and sent away to a place unknown. And now that sweet ten-year-old girl, who should be focusing on her schoolwork, is needing to translate conversations for her mother that no child should ever have to be a part of, let alone translate.
Jesus sees these children too. And Jesus says: You belong. You are beloved. You delight me. If Jesus sees these children too, then maybe we should as well.
In the version of this story told in the Gospel of Luke, we hear Jesus say: “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” In the book of Belonging that I read moments ago, Mariko Clark puts it this way: “The kingdom of God is seeping through, and these kids know how to live in it. Watch them closely, because if you can’t become more like them, you’ll never learn how to live here.”
Friends, this means that it is through the eyes of all our children—including the ones we often put to the margins and conveniently forget—that we are to learn something about the kingdom of God. Their lives, their perspectives, their stories, their imaginations, their brilliant, brilliant minds—through them, we catch a glimpse of what God’s kingdom looks like and who gains access to that glorious reality.
If we are going to see all the children like Jesus does, then our invitation this morning is to do what Jesus does. In this story, we see Jesus creating space for the children to have a voice, to have a seat at his table. We see him kneeling down. We see him listening without the need to refine or correct what they are saying. Rather, he praises their curiosity and their wonder. He celebrates their imagination and values all of their experiences. Jesus delights in each one of them.
Friends, if we are going to do the work of seeing all of God’s children, then we just might have to go out of our way to hear the stories and perspectives that need to be told so that we can see the bigger picture of wholeness Christ instituted when he said, “Let all the little children come to me.”
Those waiting on the edges, watching and learning—in God’s kingdom, they will be welcomed to the center like a big hug. This is the kingdom Christ points us to.
The question for us this morning becomes: Who is Christ inviting us to see with open hearts, with open eyes, with open minds willing to learn and to hear? Who needs to be brought into the forefront of our lives? Because when we do, who knows what we stinky, hairy, sometimes grumpy grown-ups might learn when we work to really see all of God’s children well.
Thanks be to God. Amen.