In a box in my office there are thirteen little stuffed, beanie-baby-type animals. They are: a tiger, a pelican, an ostrich, a walrus, a beagle, a bluebird, a moose (with orange antlers), an eagle, three frogs, a bunny rabbit, and a horse.
The stuffed animals often come with me - all or some of them - to the 9 am Family Mass, when the homily is designed for children. Remember the days when we used to have three Masses on Sundays, and a gaggle of children gathered here at 9, in the choir and in the congregation? Those were the days.
Since the stuffed animals are recurring visitors to the Family Mass, kids (and adults) have gotten to know them a little. I have tried to affix a certain churchiness to the animals. It’s not just a pelican; it’s a “penitential pelican.” And it’s not just an ostrich; it’s an “offertory ostrich.” The horse is one of the less distinctive-looking stuffed animals. It’s not so easy to represent a horse’s body or head in beanie-baby style. But his mane and his tail are unmistakable.
One Sunday, not too long ago, I experienced a moment of great joy at the Family Mass, when I brought out some of the stuffed animals, and I held aloft the horse, with his tan body and his short, brown mane, and his tail made of yarn, and I asked the kids who it was. And without hesitating, the children of Saint Mark’s looked at a little seven-inch long, four-legged, stuffed animal, with no other distinctive traits, and they exclaimed, more or less as one, “That’s Jesus!”
You don’t know how my heart swelled to discover that our kids know Jesus when they see him. I did not instruct them to tell no one what they knew. I did not tell them to keep this insight to themselves. I did not suggest that it might be confusing if they told their friends that the priest at their church has taught them that Jesus is a small, equine stuffed animal. I wanted them to shout it to the world! That’s Jesus!
Some of the kids, at least, remembered that there is a very specific story that explains why, in my world, the horse always gets to be Jesus. It’s a story that involves me on a horse and a charging hippopotamus in the African bush, and the specific instruction that in the event of a dangerous encounter, you should trust your horse to get you to safety. It was an instruction that I was glad I followed. More generally, I have explained that the horse is a friend, who will carry you on his back. He will jump over obstacles that you could never cross yourself, he will run faster than you can possibly run, and he will take you places that you could never get to on your own. (I have not explained to the kids that the horse I ride most weeks these days is a mare, and that they should not take the personal pronouns too literally, but we’ll get there some day.) Above all, though, there remains that advice that I was given when I spent a week on horseback in the African bush: in the event of danger, trust your horse to get you to safety: he knows what to do, and he will do it. That’s why the horse always gets to be Jesus.
And, oh, how it filled me with two-fold joy to see not only that the children of this parish had begun to suspect that Jesus has a place in their lives, but also that they had begun to know Jesus when they see him.
I have the same hope for the grown-ups of the parish, for whom these two spiritual goals are not any easier to achieve than they are for children. In fact, it’s probably harder for many adults to see that Jesus has a place in their lives, and to know Jesus when you see him in the world. Yes, I think it can be a lot harder for adults to keep Jesus in their lives.
When Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” he was already aware of how difficult it would be for many of us to keep him in our lives. And their answers demonstrated that there was not a lot of clarity out there.
And then he asked them, more pointedly, “But who do you say that I am?”
Was there an awkward silence? I bet there was. Did they all look down into their laps, to avoid his glance? I expect so. What courage did it take for Peter to lift up his head, and to look Jesus in the eye, and say to him “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
Did Jesus see then, that Peter knew that he could trust Jesus; and that Jesus would carry him over obstacles that he (Peter) could never cross by himself; and that Jesus would take him (Peter) to places that he could never reach on his own? Did Peter, in fact, know it then? Was he guessing? Was he certain? Does it matter? As long as he knew who Jesus was, and as long as he’d always know him when he sees him?
Not many people I know are waiting for a messiah these days. So, when we hear about Peter uttering this profound insight, it doesn’t strike as all that momentous. But everyone I know is in need of a God whom they can trust to carry us over obstacles that we can never cross by ourselves, and to take us to places that we can never reach on our own. We need that help in this life, and we will surely need it on the other side of the grave.
I miss those 9 am Family Masses dreadfully. I miss those children and their families. I know that some of you are out there, online, praying along with us, worshiping with us, connecting with us through our screens. But I also know it’s not easy; it’s not the same; it’s not what we want it to be.
Oh, how we need a God whom we can trust... to carry us over so many obstacles in our lives and in the world these days. Oh how we need Jesus to take us to places that we cannot get to on our own! I am so glad that the children of this parish have begun to find that Jesus has a place in their lives, and have been learning to know him when they see him.
And I pray that our kids know that, the virus notwithstanding, Jesus is still there for them. Jesus is still here for them. And he’s here for you, too.
In times of trouble, trust Jesus to carry you away from danger. Jesus will save you. In fact, in so many ways, Jesus already has saved us. He is the Messiah, the Son of the living God. Make room for him in your life. Learn to know him when you see him. Trust him to carry you to safety.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
23 August 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia
