Hidden from the Wise

Hidden From the Wise

Matthew 11:25-30

August 9, 2020 • Mount Pleasant UMC

I’ve been praying one prayer over and over during the last few months. In a world where coronavirus is at the top of everyone’s minds, where racial tensions have flared and there is a renewed call to work for equality among all of God’s children, where divisions seem to be becoming more and more pronounced the closer we get to November 3, where denominational strife and disunity has been put “on hold” but not forgotten in the midst of these various pandemics—I’ve been praying one prayer over and over again, and it’s this: “Lord, heal our land.” Heal our land. It’s actually a prayer from the Old Testament, 2 Chronicles 7 specifically, but one day when I didn’t know what to pray, when I didn’t know what to say to God, those are the words that came to my heart and mind. “Heal our land.” And I keep praying those words, hoping beyond hope that they will come true.

I don’t know what you’re praying these days, but I imagine you are praying. I believe there has been a marked increase in prayer during these strange and confusing days. That doesn’t mean prayer has gotten easier. Especially in these last few months, I’ve talked with people who want to pray, but who say they don’t know how to pray. Prayer is hard. It’s not natural. I mean, what do you say to a God who knows everything? More to the point—how do you pray when the world seems to be falling apart?

This past week, I once again participated in the Global Leadership Summit (virtually this year, of course), and one of the reasons I carve out time to do this every year is because there really is no substitute to learning things from people who are ahead of you in that area. People who are experts or masters, to a certain degree. If I want to become a good leader, I need to hang out with and learn from those who are doing it well. And if I want to learn to be a good pray-er, I need to hang out with and learn from people who do it well—one person in particular. If I want to know what it should be like to spend time in prayer with my heavenly father, who better to study and to hang out with than Jesus? If anyone knows what prayer should look like, if anyone can model it for us, it’s the Word made flesh.

Now, I guess I would have expected the Gospels to be full of examples of Jesus praying, but in reality there are only nine distinct prayers in the accounts of Jesus’ life where we get to listen in on his praying (https://bit.ly/33wO3u2). The best-known prayer, the one we call “the Lord’s prayer,” Pastor Rick talked about a couple of weeks ago in our “Focus” series. That week, he gave us a good overview and a good sense of the purpose of prayer; if you weren’t here, go back and listen to that message. What we call “the Lord’s prayer” really isn’t, though. It really should be called “the disciples’ prayer” because it was a prayer he gave to us, a model for us to follow. It wasn’t really about Jesus praying specifically, but about him modeling prayer for us. The other eight prayers in the Gospels, though, are examples of Jesus’ prayer life. And so for the next few weeks, we’re going to look at “The Lord’s Prayers,” eight times in which the Gospel writers help us overhear Jesus in prayer. We’re going to see what Jesus, the master, has to teach us about prayer and how his prayers can shape our prayer life. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll begin to understand how prayer still makes a difference, how prayer can change us even in a time of multiple pandemics and disasters.

So, in the passage we read this morning, Jesus is in Galilee, the northern part of Israel. He’s in the place where he has performed most of his miracles and done most of his teaching. And yet, even though the people had heard his sermons and watched him heal the sick, we’re told that the people in these towns “did not repent” (11:20). They didn’t get it; I’ve got to tell you, that gives preachers an odd sort of hope, that if the people didn’t even listen well to Jesus, why should we expect people to listen to us? So, anyway, just before what we read this morning, Jesus pronounced curses on three particular cities, and these verses often make us uncomfortable, especially if we only think of “gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” Because he’s anything but meek and mild here. He curses Chorazin and Bethsaida, telling them that if he had done the same miracles in places like Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented. Tyre and Sidon were thought of as purely pagan cities; some would have thought they were places beyond hope. Queen Jezebel, whose name still today is used to describe a traitor or an evil person, was from the region of Sidon. Yet Jesus says those places had a better chance of redemption than fine Hebrew cities like Chorazin and Bethsaida. Then he turns to Capernaum, the very town where he lived while he was preaching and teaching, and he compares it to Sodom, the “sin city” of ancient times. Sodom was one of the cities God himself destroyed with fire and brimstone (cf. Genesis 19), but Jesus says the inhabitants of Sodom will be better off on judgment day than the residents of Capernaum. These are strong words, and it’s probably worth pointing out that all three of these cities were destroyed and none of them have ever been rebuilt. Today, when we go to Israel, we usually visit the ruins of both Chorazin and Capernaum, but you won’t find anyone living there. They were cursed by Jesus for their refusal to repent (cf. Cultural Backgrounds Bible, pg. 1633).

Now, in my Bible, between that passage and the passage we read today, I have to turn the page, and it’s almost like that’s what happens in Jesus’ mind and in his mood, too. He turns a page, he flips a switch, he’s different in the next verses—and I think it’s because he goes from cursing to praying. So let’s lean in and hear Jesus praying again. He says this: “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do” (11:25-26). Now, the first question I have with this prayer is this: what are “these things”? What are the “things” Jesus said have been hidden from certain people? I learned in grammar class  long ago that when you come across a phrase like that, you have to go back in the text to find the noun or the object that it refers to, and in this case, it seems to point back to the “miracles,” what Jesus says the residents of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum missed. But the miracles, of course, were never the point of Jesus’ ministry. The miracles were not primarily what he came to do. The miracles were meant to point to something else, to the message of the kingdom. The miracles, whether healings or raising of the dead or even walking on the water, were meant to remove whatever obstacles the people had to hearing the message, to receiving the message about the kingdom of God. So ultimately what has been “hidden” is the message of the kingdom, and Jesus says it’s been hidden from the wise and learned—the people who think they understand everything.

Wisdom was highly prized in Jewish religious society. When you read the Old Testament or the Hebrew Scriptures, you hear wisdom spoken of in warm and glowing terms. “Get wisdom,” Proverbs (4:5) says, “get understanding.” But in Jesus’ time, “wisdom” was thought to be something that was only really available to those who had time to study and debate the finer points of the Law. Only the ones who devoted every day to studying the Scriptures could really get close to God, and so for most people, ones who had to eke out a living day to day, “wisdom” (in that understanding) was unavailable. In the first century, wisdom was the property of the elite, the wealthy, the scholars. And yet, Jesus says those are exactly the people who have missed the whole message of the kingdom. It’s not so much that God has actively hidden it from them; it’s that they are looking in all the wrong places. They can’t see what is right in front of them. In some ways, they refuse to see it because it’s too simple. It’s too easy, and they knew wisdom was not easy. So by its very nature, the message of the kingdom is hidden from the wise, the learned, those who believe they are good enough and smart enough without its message.

But this message has been “revealed to little children” (11:25), to those who are not considered wise by the standards of the world. “Little children” understand what the wise and the learned do not. That word, by the way, indicates an infant, a child who is not yet speaking and was also used to refer to people who were immature, or even those who were simple-minded. In other words, it’s the people the world ignores—the poor, the sinners, the ordinary folk (cf. Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part One, pgs. 136-137). They “get it,” and do you know why? Because they have nothing to lose! They can bet their whole lives on Jesus and the kingdom of God because they’ve got nothing to lose. The powerful, the wealthy, the learned, they have to give up a lot to be able to follow Jesus, to jump into the kingdom. But, as Jesus will say a bit later in the Gospel, if we really want to be part of his kingdom, we need to have hearts like children: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (cf. Matthew 19:13-15).

For this and for these, Jesus thanks the Father. He thanks the Father that the kingdom has been “revealed” or “unveiled” to those the world thinks nothing of and the ones who are powerful and wealthy and looked up to have no clue. It makes me think of the classic children’s book The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis, which tells the story of a land called Narnia, where, as the story begins, it’s always winter and never Christmas. A White Witch holds power over the land, and the true ruler and creator of the land, the great lion Aslan, has been missing for some time. But, through a series of events and a betrayal, the Witch captures Aslan and uses magic to subdue and kill him. She thinks she has won, that she has all the power, but there is a deeper magic, a magic the Witch does not understand, and that is the power that brings Aslan back to life. The Witch doesn’t get it, but the children in the story do. And the children here do, too. I’ll never forget reading the story to both my kids and Christopher sat straight up when we got to that part of the story, as if he’d just figured it out. “It’s Jesus!” he said loudly as Aslan came back to life. Lewis’ point in the story is the same as Jesus’ prayer: those who think they know only know the surface. There are deeper things that only the “little ones,” the unthought-of ones, the ones who don’t count in this world, understand. The kingdom of heaven belongs to them. It is hidden from the wise.

So what, then, is there in this prayer for us? What can we learn from Jesus’ prayer life here? I think the first thing is to come like a child. Now, I’m not saying education isn’t important; I have a bachelor’s and a master’s degree myself. I believe in education; I love to learn and grow intellectually. I read constantly. I think everyone should, but the problem comes when we allow our so-called wisdom and knowledge to make us believe we’re too important for God or more important than God. You’ve probably known people who have done that, or at least read about them. Part of coming like a child is knowing my place, or knowing who I am in relation to God. I am not the creator, and no matter how much I think I know, I don’t know more than he does. I am not the one who sustains the world, so no matter how much skill I have, I’m not ultimately in control. I think of it like this: our initial relationship to our parents is one of utter dependence. Without the provider, without the caregiver, the child would not make it. To come in prayer like a child to the Father is to come knowing that without him, we could not, we would not make it. For me, one thing I’ve learned in this challenging time is that the only answer, the only hope for this weary world is Jesus. Our answers and solutions are not ultimately going to come through politics or through policies or through mediation. The only hope for this world is a changed heart and true change only comes through Jesus. I’ve known that, but in these last few months I’ve felt that deep in my gut in a way I can’t really describe. So I come to the Father like a child, knowing that if he doesn’t show up, my world is in deep trouble.

So come like a child, and then pray like a child. Children’s prayers are very often the purest of all; they are certainly the most unfiltered! A child has no problem asking for whatever is on his or her mind! And that can be a good thing; it can also be a challenge. But remember the word Jesus uses describes an infant, and infants, when offered food, generally don’t stop to analyze the food, ask what it is, or examine it closely. They just accept whatever it is gratefully. There was only one food out of all the baby foods that my kids rejected; Christopher did not like the Gerber potatoes, and I have to say they looked pretty nasty. Most foods babies receive with great gusto because they innately trust the one who is giving it to them. They naturally trust their parents. What if we trusted God in the same way? What if we welcomed whatever he sent our way, including even a coronavirus, as something that can be turned to good, something that God can use for good—even that, even tough we may not see it right now? One of the things I read recently was a short biography of Corrie Ten Boom, the Dutch woman whose family hid Jews during World War II until they were caught. The family was separated but Corrie and her sister Betsie ended up in a concentration camp together. When they got to the barracks they were assigned to live in, they discovered it was infested with fleas. Fleas everywhere. My skin kind of crawled just reading about it. Corrie said she could not live like this, but Betsie reminded her that the Scriptures say to give thanks in everything (cf. 1 Thessalonians 5:18). Even fleas? Even fleas. It wasn’t too much later they discovered that the guards would not come in their building because of the fleas, so they were mostly left alone and not tormented like others were. So Corrie learned to thank God even for the fleas. God works all things—all things—for good (cf. Romans 8:28), and that’s not just pie-in-the-sky wishing. That’s trusting like a child, praying like a child, knowing that our heavenly father can use absolutely anything for our good. He did not cause the virus. He did not cause the racial unrest. He did not cause the current economic challenges, but he can and will use all of it for good, even if we can’t see how just yet. We will only begin to see it as we learn to pray like a child, when we trust like an infant. “These things” are hidden from the wise but revealed to those who come and who pray as little children.

I was thinking this week about the ways I learned to pray as a child and to come as a child while I was growing up at Rossville United Methodist Church. Being part of a small church in a small town, I had so many opportunities to learn and serve and grow as a child—that’s part of why I love things like the musical Ginger led the kids through last Sunday. What a marvelous opportunity they had to shine the love of Jesus, and that’s a message and an experience that will stick with them for a long time to come. Anyway, one of the things I thought about was how, as a child, I got to take part in holy communion. In our tradition, most of you know, all ages are welcome at the table. All ages are allowed to take part in communion, and that’s not to knock other traditions who don’t allow that or who have stricter guidelines on communion. Every tradition has its reasons for the way they do it. But for me, for me, I treasure those early memories or coming forward to receiving the bread and the juice. In our church, growing up, we had a long, curving communion rail, and we would come up as we wanted to, usually by family, and receive the bread and a small cup. Pastor Amos would pray with whoever wanted to have prayer and then we would return to our seats. But it’s not really the process that I remember so much as the fact that I was included. I was welcomed, just like the children were welcomed to sit on Jesus’ lap. As a child, I could come to this place that represented the gift, the sacrifice that Jesus gave for us. The bread, his body. The cup, his blood. And it was for me, even me. I learned in that place to come like a child, and I learned in that place that my prayers, even as a child, mattered. Jesus loves and loved the little children, even me. And I think that’s why I still love celebrating holy communion to this day, because it takes me back in my heart and mind to that time when as a child, I was welcomed. It reminds me that Jesus reveals his kingdom to those who come like a child.

So this morning, as we did last month, we’re going to share holy communion together, and as I said last month, it’s your choice whether to take part or not. Pastor Rick and I are going to make sure our hands our sanitized, and we will be the only ones distributing the bread and the cups. We ask that you come with your hands open and allow us to give you the bread and then to receive the cup; grace is, after all, received and not taken or grabbed. The cups, once you’re finished, can be put in the receptacles off to each side. You’ll come down the center aisle and we’ll serve there; if you need gluten free, that’s here in the center as well. But as you come this morning, I encourage you to come with the trust, the wonder, the openness and the desire of a child, knowing that this bread and this cup, this sacrament, is for your good. It’s a gift—for those whose hearts are like children. Let’s prepare our hearts, then, for holy communion.