October 4, 2009; St. Francis of Assisi; Matthew 11:25-30
 

"There are two kinds of people in the world..." Have you ever heard someone make a claim that started with a statement like that?

It is surprising how a statement like that can grab our attention.
Maybe it's because we know that human character is a very complex and mysterious thing... and we long to understand it, both in ourselves and in others.
So, if someone is clever enough to have figured out that there are really only "two kinds of people in the world" -- then we want to know what they are. And we especially want to know "which kind am I?"

  Our minds are curious. And our minds do like to organize things, and people, sometimes by putting them into boxes. You know, there are: 

• the purebreds & the mutts
• the sheep & the goats
• the losers & the winners
• (the worthy & the unworthy), renters & buyers
• (the sinners & the righteous), high church & low church, Evangelicals & Anglo-Catholics, and so on...

   

In an attempt to startle us out of our habit of putting people into boxes, one mischievous philosopher once said: "There are indeed only two kinds of people in this world: (1) The ones who say, 'There are two kinds of people in this world'; (2) and the ones who don't." (Schopenhauer)
 

And he was right to discourage us from putting people into boxes.
It is a practice that gives us no real insight into the mystery of human character that we hope to understand.
 

On the contrary, it distorts our understanding of ourselves and others.
And it can even encourage (overt or covert)violence against those we fear as our superiors or loathe as our inferiors.

So what do we make of it when, in today's gospel lesson, Jesus makes certain distinctions between people? ...when he says: "I thank you Father...because you have hidden these truths from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants..."
On the surface, it seems that in this passage Jesus might be following that harmful habit of "boxing people in" with some opinion about who they essentially are. There are:
"the infants" & what I'll call "the clever ones."

But when we look more closely, we find that the distinction Jesus makes is not based on some superficial opinion, but on one of the central insights of our tradition.
In this simple distinction Jesus explains the mystery of how, for some, human character develops into a beautiful, spiritual maturity, but, for others, it does not.2

And it is infants, of all people, who open our understanding to this mystery!
What is it about infants that Jesus is pointing to here? How are infants fundamentally different from "the clever ones"?
(Is Jesus affirming the romantic belief that children are just perfect little angels until "society," with all of its discontent, spoils their innocence?)
(It is tempting to read that modern belief into the mind of Christ, but I don't think that is what Jesus is up to here in this contrast.)

We find a clue to what it is about infants that Jesus is pointing to here in the following verse, where he says:
"Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest."
Who is it that responds to such a call?
It is those who are needy, and who have no problem with being needy, that respond.
Well.... infants are the kind of people who are needy and, as a rule, have no problem with being needy.

Infants do not speak with words, like we (attempt to) do. But if they could, I imagine that, as they looked up to the big people in their world, they would say something along these lines:

 "Come to me...  
you who can take this awful weariness from me and give me rest.
you who can fill me with good things and bring my hunger to an end.
you who can gently wash me and gently dry me and put soft clean clothes on me.
you who can just hold me, or just be with me,
 so that I can know that I am not alone and that there is someone who cares for me."

You see, what is so special about infants from a religious or spiritual point of view is that they are supremely aware of their dependence on the Other for the Care that gives Life.
The infant knows that, as the prayer book says, "...my frailty, without Thee, cannot but fall... " but, within Thy care, though frail, I flourish.
And when the caregiver responds in love and offers herself or himself to the infant....
When the frail infant's cry of "Come to me...!" is met by the Caregiver's loving response of "Come to me...!"
...something truly miraculous happens.
Trust is born.
And grounded in that deep, primal trust, a new identity begins to form, a new horizon in which "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."

This ordinary self-perception of the infant is an analogy.
It is an analogy of that extraordinary self-perception that we call our "baptismal identity" .... that deeper self-awareness which is born when absolute need encounters absolute love.
and we begin to experience and understand ourselves and others as we truly are in the order of grace... wholly and joyfully inter-dependent on that loving Care which gives us life.

Of course, this human analogy falls short; it does not always parallel the divine so closely. Sadly, when the caregiver's response to the infant's great frailty is not sufficiently loving, the infant then begins to form a very different kind of identity, one which must become very clever, in order to feel safe in the presence of those he or she does not really trust.

And so in this simple contrast between the infant and the clever ones, Jesus is conveying to us what his continuum of spiritual growth and development looks like.
 

And perhaps to our surprise... it is not the infants... but the clever ones that Jesus places on the primitive, unformed, immature end of his continuum. It is the overly autonomous, clever ones who need to grow up and become like the infant, not the other way around.
 

Because it is the infant, who, like the growing disciple, understands the gospel message that we always and only grow in response to the One who loves us first. No one grows up spiritually in isolation, no matter how clever he or she may be.
 

It is amazing how hard it can be for us to learn this, but eventually, we catch on that it is always that Love which precedes us... that is the starting point of our spiritual growth. It is that love3 which gives birth to trust4 . And it is trust that enables us to surrender5 . And surrender that enables us to keep transcending6 , again and again, that insidious cleverness of the ego, (which prevents us from becoming truly wise, and so prevents our lives from truly flourishing).
 

When we've been well nourished and cared for, through one means of grace or another, we start growing up spiritually. We develop the inner resources and the know-how to take good care of ourselves. And, eventually, we're ready to start nourishing and caring for others. Jesus is then able to say to us what he was finally able to say to Peter: "Feed my lambs."
 

St. Francis of Assisi, whose feast day we are celebrating this morning, was one who understood the importance of becoming less clever and more like an infant, as Jesus uses those words. Francis was said to have so abandoned himself to the love of God in Christ, that even untamed animals would so trust him that they would hop into his lap or perch on his shoulders. One rabbit would not leave him under any circumstances. Maybe these animal friends of his helped him realize the importance of becoming less clever. Maybe they help us, as we care for them and earn their trust, maybe they help us grow up spiritually. And so, on this day of blessing when they are invited into the sanctuary, we say "thanks" to them.  

And thanks be to God.

Amen.