Giving . . . and Givable To

 

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 10:13-16                                                   

December 6, 2023

Saint Nicholas of Myra, Pastor       

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Ho, ho, ho!  It’s the feast of Saint Nicholas—the real Saint Nicholas, who departed this life to be with Christ on December 6^th in the year 343.  We Lutherans remember and celebrate saints like Nicholas so that we might imitate them—specifically, so that we might imitate their faith and imitate their good works (AC XXI).

          Has there ever been a saint more imitated than Saint Nicholas (aka Santa Claus)?  I’m not even talking about those imposters who every December strap on a fat suit and a scratchy white beard (as impressive as those imitations might be).  The truth is that every person who gives a gift at Christmas is engaged in a full-fledged St. Nicholas imitation.  And you get bonus points if your gift is given to a little child, or if your gift somehow strengthens and supports God’s gift of marriage.

          For once you cut through all the legend and lore surrounding St. Nick, what you are left with is this: a pastor who loved God’s gift of little children, and who loved and affirmed God’s gift of marriage.  He wasn’t above digging deep into the church’s coffers to lift up little ones from the disgraces and hardships of poverty—in at least one instance giving a dowry of golden coins to rescue a trio of impoverished sisters from what we today would call “human trafficking,” and to shepherd these little lambs into God’s good gift of holy matrimony.

          But St. Nicholas’ love for little ones was itself a pious imitation—an imitation of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Tonight we heard St. Mark’s simple account of Jesus and the little children.  Only this account doesn’t begin with the hearty laughter of ho, ho, ho.  No!  Jesus was angry.  That’s what “indignant” means.  Jesus was angry at His disciples who had just told a group of parents and their little children to buzz off.  No blessing for you!

          Jesus turned the whole episode into an object lesson about the kingdom of God:  Let the little children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.  To little children belongs the kingdom of God.  That revelation must have stunned the disciples.  Why does the kingdom of God belong to such as these?  Why hold up little children as models of faith?  Is it because they’re so cute and innocent?  Cute, yes; innocent, no.  Is it because little children are so trusting?  After all, they’ll believe almost anything.  But there’s a fine line between trust and being dangerously gullible.  Childlike trust can be a dangerous thing in a sinful world.

          It turns out that what children do better than the rest of us is receive.  Receiving the kingdom of God—like a child—is the key to entering the kingdom of God.  The key to the kingdom is in how you receive it—not how you achieve it.  You have to be a good receiver, a willing taker.  You must be “givable to.”  And little children, by nature, are just that.  They are givable to. 

          The kingdom of God is made up of givable-to people—people eager to receive the gifts of Jesus, anxious for His absolution, hungry for His holy food, eagery-beavery for His baptismal blessings.  And speaking of baptism, tonight’s text totally affirms the church’s historic practice of infant baptism.  Who’s more givable-to than a helpless newborn?  To such belongs the kingdom of God.  Jesus Himself says so.

          But something happens to us as we get older—as we leave childhood behind.  We get to be more discriminating in what we will accept or receive.  We don’t always need to sample what they’re serving at the end of aisle at Costco.  We don’t need to snatch up every old mattress or appliance set by the side of the street in Whitefish Bay.  Nothing wrong with that. But most of us old folks get pretty good at saying, “NO, thank you.” 

          But where the gifts of God are concerned, there we must be like little children.  We must be eager receivers of what He wants to give us.  When it comes to God’s gifts of faith and forgiveness, hope and love, we must all be unabashedly givable-to.  We should delight in His good gifts.  Being naughty or nice really has nothing to do with it.  But being givable-to—like a child—that’s a picture of pure faith.

          To say “no” to God’s gifts is unthinkable.  To reject or refuse or disdain the daily bread God gives—well, that makes you guilty of “un-childlike conduct,” which is a perilous penalty to be charged with.  Do you delight in God’s gifts, or do you despise them?  Too often we covet what’s better.  We crave what’s nicer or newer.  We get bored with God’s blessings and chart a course for where the grass seems greener.

          Wherever God is at work giving to you and for you, you are called to be nothing less than givable-to—to be front and center in regular worship—at the front of the line to hear and learn God’s holy Word, with your mouth watering for the heavenly meal of Jesus’ body and blood.  As God’s children, we must be child-like—which doesn’t come naturally to sinners like us.

          Christmas tells the story of our transition into givable-to, little children.  At Christmas God Himself undergoes a terrific transition:  God becomes man.  But before that, God becomes a little child.  And before even that, Jesus becomes a tiny embryo in His virgin mother’s womb.  God sent His Son to show us and tell us that little children—born and unborn—matter.  They are not the least, but the greatest in the Kingdom. 

          Jesus comes to bear away all the sin that fills your heart and hands—sins of both parents and children.  The Child of Bethlehem who slept on a manger of straw would also be forced to die on a Roman tool of torture.  By the blood He shed on His crucifixion cross, Jesus empties you of your sin, empties you of your pride, empties you of your selfishness and your smug self-importance.  Jesus takes out all that trash.  He whittles us down to nothing—until we are absolutely nothing but givable-to.  God gives into empty hands.  The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give—to give His life as a ransom for you.  Jesus loves you, and gave Himself for you.

          Saint Nicholas reminds us of how the givable-to become givers themselves.  Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  That’s how it is with the gift of our Lord’s love.  Once you’ve received it, it can’t be held or hoarded.  It’s meant . . . to be spent.  You bear God’s love to share God’s love.  And it’s always the season for giving God’s love away. 

          It turns out that you—yes, you—do a pretty good imitation of Saint Nicholas.  You don’t have to move to the north pole, raise reindeer, or wear a big red suit.  But you are clothed with the righteousness of Jesus, for you have received the kingdom of God like a little child, in faith.  You are loved and loving—givable to and giving.  For your Savior is Jesus, the giving God who gave His life for you.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.