May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had. (Romans 15:5, NIV)
Margie and I have been talking recently about what is a fairly new phrase for me: “God-sightings.” I know, I’ve been out of the loop. On the one hand it has caused me some confusion because “sightings” isn’t a word I’ve usually connected with God’s presence. God’s visibility has been rather limited in my life. Still small voices occasionally, but no burning bushes. At the same time I’ve been able on many occasions to “see” God in retrospect - not God’s physical features, but instances of God’s abounding love and forgiveness. They have shaped my life.
Those have been learning moments, and when I’ve taken them to heart they have prodded me toward kingdom living. The converse has also been true. I clearly recall times that God was inviting me to go in one direction and I stubbornly took the other.
One occurred a few years ago. I had boarded a flight from Chicago to Colorado Springs, and since I was preaching the next day I reflected on a passage from Matthew’s Gospel. In it Jesus admonished his disciples who wanted to isolate him from kids. “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’" (Mark 10:14 NIV) I put on my seat belt and settled in to better understand Jesus’ response. It was clearly a directive to encourage children, inspire patience, and support them.
That’s when the stewardess, Christine, sat Shelby next to me. She said Shelby was a 6th grade boy heading home after visiting his divorced mother in Rochester, NY. Would I mind? He was accompanied by a 3 foot tall stuffed Ninja turtle in a large yellow sweatshirt.
As I read about Jesus and the children, Shelby was inventorying candy and gum from his backpack, his pockets, and the sweatshirt of the turtle, whose name was Leonardo. Most of the candy went directly into Shelby’s mouth. I looked up a moment later to see Christine standing over us. Shelby had pushed the call button, but he couldn’t remember why. Christine reminded him to raise the window shade because we hadn’t taken off yet, and he did – repeatedly – while unwrapping some more gum. Shelby was truly a multi-tasker.
After we took off Shelby pressed the call button again, and when Christine arrived he asked for a Coke. She said drink service would be soon (“But when?!”) (“Soon!”). This conversation provided just the opportunity for him to ask me to stand in the aisle; he needed to get out and go to the bathroom.
At last, a Coke for Shelby. I thought the two-liter bottle of water in his backpack had run out, but from his viewpoint it was just poorly packaged. He couldn’t gnaw a hole in the bottom of it like he could in a plastic airline cup. Doing so allowed him to suck the contents out from the bottom; he accomplished this while stirring what remained with his finger, disrobing Leonardo, and asking why I didn’t get a Coke. I told him the leaders of my congregation only permitted me to drink Pepsi. After I explained the meaning of “congregation” he was off to the bathroom again.
Another call to the stewardess. In response to his repeated inquiry – “How long?!” – Christine told Shelby that we were still at least an hour away from Colorado Springs. This allowed ample time for him to eat more candy, use his seat as a trampoline, study the height to which a tray table would bounce and question the passenger behind him about her destination. Evidently it hadn’t occurred to him that we were all headed for the final stop, Colorado Springs. He also made another trip to the restroom.
A half hour from home, Shelby had engaged in at least three rounds of energetic fisticuffs with Leonardo. He marked the final round by pushing the call button, again wanting to know our arrival time. Christine responded and said, “Twenty minutes.” He decided there was an opportunity for one last bathroom run. And this was the moment my Christian commitment to encourage little children deserted me. Lacking compassion, I tried to dissuade him.
“Think about something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Think about taking a shower.” He groaned.
“Drinking fountains.”
“Uuggh.”
“Niagara Falls.”
He rolled his eyes and crawled over my legs, headed aft. I could see that there was a line for the restroom, and then the captain came on the loudspeaker with news of thunderstorms ahead and the need for seatbelts. I waited to fasten mine because I knew Shelby would be back soon, and after we hit the first air pocket he was, eyes wide from the sudden drop. He hopped over me into his seat, buckled in, and told me he didn’t have to go that bad after all.
Paul’s challenge of encouragement faces us in the story about Jesus and the children. Encouragement can be a burden. We have to work at it. But Jesus knows we’re also blessed by it. As we encourage others, not just children, to persevere in patience and faith, we gain fresh perspectives and new understandings of God’s grace for ourselves. I suspect those are “God-sightings.”
But I also suspect something has been left out of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ meeting with these disciples, parents, Pharisees, and kids. I wonder if, when he insisted on letting the little children come to him, at least one mother in the crowd didn’t say under her breath, “Be my guest.”
Michael Sayler, a former Christian Education pastor
