The (Little) Man Meets Jesus

One of the main section-titles of my blog post is “The Man”. Not “man” as in macho; “man” as in ordinary. From time to time I’ll write some of my story as an exhibit of God working in an ordinary life.

Sounds pretentious, no? God at work in ordinary me? The Bible is full of such miracles. Remember the little boy Samuel (1 Samuel)? How about the disciples (the Gospels)? God—the Holy One, the Creator and Sustainer of everything, the eternal Master of all—really does reveal himself to, in and through ordinary, common, everyday people. Perhaps the most touching example is this . . .

Little Children and Jesus.

People were bringing little children to [Jesus], for him to touch them. The disciples scolded 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. In truth I tell you, anyone who does not welcome the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ Then he embraced them, laid his hands on them and gave them his blessing (Mark 10:13-16, NJB).

When the opportunity arose, Jewish parents typically brought their children to a rabbi (teacher) for his blessing. That seems to be the case here. Jesus uses the occasion to teach the necessity of welcoming God’s kingdom like a little child. My point is simpler: Jesus welcomed little children. He “embraced them, laid his hands on them and gave them his blessing.”

When I think of this incident, I wonder what became of those little children? We’re never told, of course. Did this blessing merely make mothers feel happy and peaceful? Or did it lead years later to these children believing the Gospel and becoming Jesus-followers themselves? Were any of these children eventually instrumental in others giving their lives to Jesus?

“Little” Me and Jesus.

I received Jesus into my life when I was ten. The year was 1953. The place was “the 500 room” (that’s how many seats it had) in Bethany Church, Paterson, New Jersey. All Sunday school classes were there to hear a visiting preacher. At the end of his little sermon he said, “Now let’s have every head bowed and every eye closed. If you want to ask Jesus into your heart, raise your hand.” My parents had taken me to Sunday school and church from as early as I could remember. But I had never made a public decision to follow Jesus. After a minute, I tentatively raised my hand.

I should have known what was coming next. “If you raised your hand, come down to the front and we’ll pray.” My seat (center section, second or third row) seemed like center stage. No escape. I had to do it. I got up from my chair and walked to the front of the platform with about 15 or 20 other kids. The preacher prayed, then asked us to “repeat after me” some version of “the sinner’s prayer.”

When he sent us back to our seats, I was a bit dazed. This public thing had driven shy me out of my comfort zone. Or, was it something more? Did I really meet Jesus?

I can’t remember now what the following days were like. I’m pretty sure I didn’t become some sort of little saint. Didn’t want the Bible more than dessert. Didn’t count the days until next Sunday like I did for Christmas. If I had to describe those days, I’d say “same as always.” So maybe that episode was just socialization. Or . . . had I really met Jesus?

Three years later I was baptized in water. I suppose I did it because it was the next step. This step was down into the water of the baptistery (we inelegantly called it the baptism tank). I took my position next to our pastor and looked out at the Sunday evening crowd. I gave my testimony (brief since I had no shady past to confess). Promised I wanted to follow Jesus. Was put under and raised. I’d gone in dry, came out wet. Did anything else happen? Since ours was a Pentecostal church, if I had burst out in “other tongues”, the congregation would have erupted in praise. But my tongue lay silent in my mouth. Except for feeling wet and relieved, there was no change in me. So maybe baptism was just a church “rite of passage.” Or . . . had Jesus been there?

Looking back six decades later. I believe God was beginning to reveal Jesus to me and in me. Those two events weren’t just socialization or rites of passage. Jesus was there. My experiences, though far less dramatic, were just as real as an alcoholic or a wife-abuser turning his life over to Jesus.

Small Beginnings.

Holy moments with Jesus often come in ordinary places. And may even outwardly seem insignificant. Take Sunday school, for example. You know how it goes. You’ve got a handful of youngsters who each drank a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew for breakfast. They can’t sit still. Can’t stop spouting off-the-subject stuff. Can’t stop acting silly. When the class ends, you fall into a chair and bemoan the wasted hour. But it probably wasn’t wasted. Sure, you didn’t plant your whole package of seeds, but a few fell threw that Mountain Dew. And God the Holy Spirit will use them.

So when we think of our children, we’d be wise to remember God’s work in their lives often starts small, as it did in mine. And we’d be especially wise to remember this prophetic admonition from a different situation but applicable to ours . . .