Note: This is a Christian reflection. The examples are decidedly Christian. But I believe the principles expressed here are universally applicable. Ideas relating to the opposition to the abuse of power, the responsibility of stewardship, the necessity of care giving and the necessity of care for the planet and all the creatures dependent on it for life, and, finally, the call for humility are not confined to any single religion or to any humanist philosophy. These ideas reflect the highest virtues held by the best thinkers through the centuries. They represent essential components of the best ideals that humanity can conceive.
Psalm 8 is a short psalm that begins and ends: “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth.” In the middle of the psalm, the psalmist notes, “What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals – that you care for them?”
It is a good question. A question that should make us stop and take notice of our own relative insignificance in the cosmos. It should remind us to be humble, to be thankful for a gracious God who, in spite of our insignificance, has chosen to love us, to value us, to care for us; and, to reckon us to be righteous, all the while knowing that, at our very best, we are all sinners.
But most of the time, such a question does not cause us to think or to stop the destruction we inflict on each other and on this fragile blue sphere we call “ours.” One of the reasons we do not feel humble is that, for almost 3000 years people of faith have focused on, and wholly misinterpreted, the next verses of the psalm.
Those verses read, “Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor. You have given them dominion over the works of your hands. You have put all things under their feet!”
Yes, that is a true translation of the psalm, but the traditional sense in which those two sentences have been understood has twisted the meaning to be exactly the opposite of the intention of the psalmist. We have acted as though we deserved this honor; as though we earned the right to do whatever we liked to the other creatures of the earth, to the earth itself, and to our fellow human beings.
After all are we not but “a little less than God?” Do we not have “dominion” over the earth and all that is upon it? Are not, in fact, “all things under our feet?” regardless of the brutality that implies? Is that not so? Of course it is. We have the power to do any and all of it.
And in our arrogant blindness, humankind has forgotten the beginning of the psalm: “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth.” And we have forgotten the clear intent of the psalmist, who praises God, not mankind: “You have made them,” “You have crowned them,” “You have given them,” “You have put all things under their feet.”
Just who is this “you?” You is God. You is not us! God gave us this glory. God gave us this power. God gave us this dominion.
And to what purpose did God give us this place in the Kingdom, these powers capable of good or evil? God gave us this power to be God’s stewards, care takers, lovers, nurturers, workers in the vineyards, safe keepers of the world and all that is in it, on it and over it.
Never did God intend for us to be owners, abusers, haters, despoilers, plunderers – of anything – of plants, of animals, of the soil, the water, the air – or, of other people. We are to care for, to love and to nurture, all of God’s creation, all of those things and people who have been rendered helpless because some of us decided to put them “under our feet!”
It may shock us to realize this, but we are only tenants and stewards during our time on this lovely blue, green, white and brown spot in the universe we call Earth. Even all that we say we “own” is merely “on loan,” from God. Whatever power we possess, for good or for evil, is on loan to us from the One who made us.
And God expects us to use that power to enhance and preserve his/her goals for this world. And that should humble us. Our status here is tenuous at best; our time here is painfully short. It is a less than a blink in the eye of time, an easily missed inconsequential micro dot in the pixels of the universe, unless, of course, we use our lives to carry out our care taking stewardship responsibilities as the stewards of God’s world.
The main reason so few can accept the role of steward is that there never has been much humility in most of us. Through the centuries most of humanity simply has not been willing to accept the humble status necessary to be God’s stewards. Jesus makes our self created problem quite clear in the Gospel of Mark.
"People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it." And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them."
People were bringing little children to him, so that he might touch them, bless them. And what did the disciples do? They yelled at the parents, “Get those kids out of here! Jesus is too important to waste his precious time on kids.” And, no doubt they thought, “we” are too important to be slowed down by a bunch of parents and their insignificant children. “We” have work to do, a schedule to keep.
But Jesus was furious with the disciples. He scolded them: “Let the children come! It is to such as these children that the Kingdom of God belongs!” But he didn’t just let it go at that. Rather, he used this event to teach them, to teach them about their place in the scheme of things, about their need for absolute humility, not arrogance. He said, “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it!”
Perhaps that unnerved them a bit. But not much. The Bible doesn’t say, but very soon thereafter the disciples are back to their old tricks again, seeking power, seeking glory in Jesus’ shadow, arguing over who among them is “the greatest.” I wish I could report that the scolding about the children changed them; but there is no evidence of that in the Bible.
Can it change us, this little event in the life of Christ? What it is telling us is that while we may be just a “little less than God,” we had better recognize that we must use the power that God has given to us responsibly; that we must have an attitude of absolute humility; that we must be open, and trusting, and filled with awe over the grace of God; in other words, that we must become as little children.
I want to share with you one example of a child’s faith. Let me tell you about a little boy I met when I was in seminary. I don’t even remember his name. But I will never forget his faith.
My first year at Eden Theological Seminary I was a 51 year old student pastor at a small Episcopal church in Edwardsville, Illinois. One of my jobs there was to be the eucharistic minister that assists the rector, the Episcopalian name for pastor, at each Sunday communion service.
The Episcopal church usually calls the Lord’s Supper, not Holy Communion but Holy Eucharist. Eucharist means Thanksgiving in koine Greek. Most Episcopal churches have communion every Sunday, so, by the end of that school year I had good idea about what I was doing, and I knew what the rector wanted me to do during the serving of Communion.
In an Episcopal Church there is a railing around the chancel with soft cushions in front of it. When the time to receive communion comes, the people file up to the rail and kneel. They raise their hands, cupped together, to receive the bread first, usually in the form of a small round wafer. Then they wait for the cup from which they take a tiny sip. Most Sundays I served the wine because the rector traditionally serves the bread and blesses the smaller children who come forward with their parents to the rail but do not take communion. On my last Sunday there, however, he gave me the honor of serving the bread and blessing the children.
The custom in that church was that the children could receive Holy Communion when the parents and the rector decided they were old enough to understand what it meant. A few of the younger children took communion; but most parents followed an older tradition and did not allow their children to take communion until after they were confirmed at age twelve.
Since it was my final Sunday at that church I was very reflective and feeling somewhat depressed as I realized that Sue and I would not be coming back to these people whom we had come to know and love. I watched their faces, their eyes and their body language as I placed the bread in their hands and spoke to each person some words of faith, such as: “This is the body of Christ, broken for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin.” Yes. I was really going to miss these people.
Even so, I noticed how disinterested and mechanical most of them seemed. They went about the business of taking communion with great solemnity, but with little evidence that it really meant anything to them. They did it every week and they seemed to be “just going through the motions,” doing what they always did, taking communion and moving quickly back to their seats. A few knelt and prayed in thanksgiving after they returned, but most did not. They just stared off into space, waiting for the last song and the benediction.
Who knows what they were thinking about? I loved them, but I felt badly for them, since I saw so little evidence that Holy Communion meant very much to them. But then I knew I was making assumptions about them from their body language, and being judgmental which was totally unfair. There was no way I could get into their heads to hear what they were thinking. And I knew this was my prejudice coming out because Holy Communion has always been one of those times when I feel the closest to Christ. I was irritated at my unwarranted and self righteous thoughts.
I was broken out of my self generated conflict by the next family I moved to as I made my way from person to person handing out the host, the wafer that represented the body of Christ. There, in front of me was a little girl of about three, then her mother, her brother, a boy around six or seven, and then her father.
I came to the little girl first and she shyly looked up at me. I laid my hand on her head and then made the sign of the cross with my thumb on her forehead as I said, “Bless you, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” She gave me the hint of a smile and I moved down and gave the bread to the mother, “Remember that Christ died for you; and know that your sin is forgiven.”
Although it was not required, it was important to me that each person be spoken to individually while handing out the host or blessing the children with the sign of the cross. To this day is still is. I moved to the boy, preparing to reach out and lay my hand on his head.
He knelt there, small hands cupped together eagerly reaching up, arms stretched out toward me, a smile on his face that cannot be described with mere words, with a look in his eyes that spoke of complete love and trust. I hesitated.
The rector had said nothing to me about this family coming to him to discuss this child receiving communion. I looked to the left to see in I could catch his eye, but he was at the far end of the rail serving the wine, essentially on the other side of the church. He had fallen behind me and I was stuck.
I had been told in seminary that there would be what are called “pastoral moments” in the ministry. These are moments that require you to make a decision that is important to a member or family in the parish with no way to turn to anyone or anything for advice. Well, this surely was one such moment.
I looked down at the boy. He still had that calm smile on his face, still reaching eagerly to receive the host. I looked at his mother and then his father. Both gave me quizzical looks but made no attempt to stop the boy.
I leaned down to the boy so I could talk directly to him and asked, “Do you know what it means if I give you this bread.” The smile never left his face, his hands continued to stretch out, waiting for the sacramental host, and he said, “Yes. It means that Jesus is feeding me.”
I looked at both parents. The mother had tears forming in her eyes. The father had a smile forming on his lips and both gave me a brief nod, “Yes.” I placed a wafer in the boy’s cupped hands. Slowly, after he received the bread, and treating it as if it were the most precious thing on earth, he put it in his mouth. His smile came immediately back and, before he got up to leave the railing I heard him whisper, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”
If we are, in fact, because of God’s grace, only a little lower than God; if we are crowned with glory and honor; if God has given us dominion over the works of God's hands; and if God has put all things under our feet, then can we learn to understand the responsibility inherent in that gift? Can we learn that we are to be stewards and care takers of each other, of others, and of the world?
In order to understand that we might first learn from a small lad in Edwardsville, Illinois, how to exhibit the humility to “… receive the Kingdom of God as a little child…”
Monte
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