Jesus had been teaching and preaching to His own people. But what did they do? They went on believing what they wanted to believe, thinking they had the last word, instead of God. Jesus compared His generation to a bunch of spoiled, religious brats.
A few verses before our Gospel reading for today, Jesus recited some poetry to describe His people: “A song in flute we played for you, the dance you would but scorn; a funeral dirge we chanted, too, but then you would not mourn” (Matthew 11:17). You don’t join in. You sit there on the sidelines with your arms folded and complain like spoiled children: “It’s too hard; it’s boring; I don’t like it.”
John the Baptizer came as a religious, holy man who neither ate nor drank in excess. But the people thought, “He had a demon” (Matthew 11:18). And then Jesus came, visiting with sinners, and eating and drinking with them. And they decided, “He’s a glutton and a drunk, a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 11:19). I wonder where we’d fit in? Are we the whiners and complainers?
Jesus then chastised the towns He had visited, where He had done many miracles. Jesus said that Sodom, the city that went up in flames when Abraham and Lot were alive, would fare better in the judgment than the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and even Capernaum, His home base. All those miracles and all that preaching—and yet the people had barely an ounce of faith to show for it. Even the Gentile cities of Tyre and Sidon understood Jesus better than the Jewish insiders at Capernaum.
What do you think Jesus would say to us, especially those of us who were born, bred, and baptized as Lutherans? Does it not, at times, seem as if we are living off the exhaust fumes of our grandparents’ sacrificial faith? Grandpa and Grandma worked their fingers to the bone, coming from the old country so they could live out the one, true faith in all its purity and beauty. They came with nothing but change in their pockets. Mom and Dad worked to build on what Grandma and Grandpa had built. But then the grandkids come along and barely have a clue.
We’re the spoiled generation of the religious world, surrounded by the richest Gospel treasure, and we’re bored. You play the flute, and we don’t dance. You play a dirge, and we don’t mourn. The tune’s too hard. It doesn’t make me feel good. It’s pastor’s fault. It’s your fault. It’s their fault. It’s anything but repentance on my part!
Such hardheartedness drove Jesus to prayer. We heard that prayer in our Gospel reading: “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things [that is, the things of faith] from the wise and learned and have revealed them to infants” (Matthew 11:25). Jesus says, “Little children,” even “infants.” Unless you become one of them, you can’t be under the rule and reign of God. That’s not because God won’t have you, but because you won’t have Him.
Such hard words from our Savior. Even worse, our sinful nature will take Jesus’ words and then sin, by saying, “We don’t need to grow in our faith.” Our sinful nature would presume that you don’t need to study God’s Word or bother with Sunday School. We can let our knowledge of God remain bare-boned and never work toward coming to a fuller knowledge of our Savior.
That’s a childish faith, not a child-like faith. Children are eager and hungry to learn everything about the world around them. Children born into a loving family believe that their parents can give them all good things. Many a boy thinks that Superman would be a cool guy if he only had all the powers that his dad has.
Little children are receivable, givable to, trusting, and dependent. Those are the traits that we adults often outgrow.
We lack the child-like faith that our Lord praises. We don’t look to God for every good in life. When we have food to eat, a house to live in, and clothes to wear, we credit our own hard work that earned the money that paid for them. We forget that no seed can sprout, no calf can be born, and no house can be built unless the Lord does it.
Our Lord provides the sun to warm the ground. He provides the water that gives life to the ground. He grows the trees and puts the iron ore in the mountains. He gives us daily breath and our physical and mental abilities. Without the Lord’s gracious provision, we wouldn’t even have life, let alone all the good that He gives to us from His grace on top of grace.
“I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things [that is, the things of faith] from the wise and learned and have revealed them to infants” (Matthew 11:25). That’s how faith is under our Lord and King.
Such faith is more trusting than a beloved dog trusts his owner. It’s singing the liturgy with wonder in your eyes. It’s dancing when the flute plays and weeping when the funeral dirge is sung; it’s rejoicing with those who rejoice, and weeping with those who weep (Romans 12:15). It’s still being open to learning the new that God has for you. It’s having your heart, mind, and eyes open to God.
If you want to experience that as an adult, teaching a little child the faith helps you see that with reborn eyes. Teach your grandchildren the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer. Teach them the Bible stories about Jesus. Teach them to sing the Sanctus from today’s Divine Service: “Holy, holy, holy Lord …”. Hey, why not teach them all four settings that we use? Children soak it all up like thirsty sponges.
They haven’t yet learned to be cynical. They haven’t yet become bored in the presence of Mystery. Now, I’m not saying that they aren’t sinful; they are as infected with sin as we are. But sin hasn’t yet taken away their curiosity and wonder.
Little children are great theologians. They ask many questions that begin with “why?” “Daddy, why does Jesus give us His body and blood?” “Why” is a theological question. Spend time with the little ones and you will understand why Jesus says the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like them.
God hides the mysteries of His rule and reign from the worldly “wise and learned.” But He does reveal them to the little ones of faith. He uses the foolish to shame the wise. He uses the weak to shame the strong. He uses the losers of this world (and that’s what many considered children to be in Jesus’ day) to shame the “winners” of this world. Jesus tucks the Mystery of salvation under the deceptive simplicity of baptismal water, the preached Word, and the bread and wine that are His body and blood.
Here’s the truth: We sinners don’t improve with age. The Apostle Paul was in his fifties when he wrote his epistle to the Romans. He had been a Christian for over a decade. In chapter 7, which you heard as today’s epistle reading, Paul spoke about the reality of being a believer. A Christian still has the inherited sinful flesh, all the while he has been given the mind of Christ. A Christian is, at the same time, a sinner and a saint.
The good you want to do, you often don’t do. The evil you try to avoid, that you do. When you want to do good, evil lies close at hand. Paul was saying that’s who He was! He wasn’t a brand-new Christian. He was Christ’s chosen Apostle to the Gentiles. And yet, in the end, Paul could only cry out: “Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24). Yet, Paul also gave the only acceptable answer: “Thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25).
Christ came to us. The Father sent the Son, who came to humble Himself under the Law for us. He put sin to death on the cross, fatally wounding this death-dealing, blinding, and spiritual disease that robs us of our innocence, blessedness, and holiness. Jesus became the little one for us. He was lowly, despised, and rejected. He embraced the little ones as the proper picture of faith–not because they were innocent and sinless–but because they trusted, received, and wanted to learn.
Jesus comes to us and says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Come to me where I have come to you. Come to me in baptism, where I again make you an infant. Come to me, in my Word, in the bread that is my body and in the wine that is my blood. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke, the yoke of child-like faith, and trust in me. I bore your burden on the cross, so take my yoke on your shoulders, and there I will be with you.
The Christian life is like that of a little child walking with his big brother, who is carrying the heavy load. Luther said the Christian life is like a mule pulling a heavy cart with a flea on its nose. Now, the flea is pulling with all its might. But it’s the mule that carries the load. Jesus bears the heavy load and lets us walk with Him. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light because He bears the weight, not you. He does the heavy lifting, not you. And, in Him, you will find the rest you seek. Come to Jesus.
Yet, to come to Jesus, you must become like a child, even an infant. You must be born anew, from above, by water and Spirit. The Christian Church baptizes both infants and adults alike, trusting Jesus’ command to baptize all nations. But in baptism, all become infants, little ones of faith in Christ, children of God to whom the mysteries of the kingdom, of what is hidden, become revealed.
So, come now as an infant and receive in wonder, trust, and joy what Jesus now gives you: His body and His blood for the forgiveness of your sins. For where you have the forgiveness of sin, there you have life and salvation. Amen.
