For those of us of a certain age who grew-up in the Delaware Valley, the name Al Alberts immediately takes one back to Saturday morning TV, the lost art of local kid-friendly programming, and that unspoken thought that, yes, you too could be on Mr. Albert’s Showcase: singing, tap-dancing and joke-telling your way to superstardom. Every kid on that show was polished, cute, well-mannered, and ready for their close-up.
“They’re all a bunch of phonies,” my brother remarked offhandedly as he passed through the living room on his way to do something more productive (destructive?) than watch the Showcase. “I mean: who smiles like that?” He wasn’t necessarily wrong.
I suspect that we all have storybook images of Jesus pulling a child from the crowd as described in today’s Gospel. Mark writes: “Placing his arm around the child, [Jesus] said to them, ‘whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me, and whoever receives me … receives the One who sent me.’”
I’ll be honest: whenever I pictured this scene, the child Jesus embraced looked like one of Al Alberts’ contestants. Smiling, polite, lovable. Never an unkind remark. No sobbing.
But I think I got this image all wrong. That’s NOT the child Jesus would have pulled from the crowd, at least not in this defining moment of teaching the disciples how to love.
Many years ago, when I worked as a cashier at a local mom-and-pop pharmacy – long before the big chain stores swallowed us up – a mother would come in once a week with her eight year old son. He was tall and lanky for his age, and he was always strapped in a runner’s stroller. At first, I judged harshly: what is this Mom doing to her boy? But then, it quickly became apparent: this child suffered from severe physical and learning disabilities. His muscle movement was spastic; he seemed mostly non-verbal; and his emotions – whatever they might be in the moment – would burst forth without warning: sobs of pain and frustration or a groan-like expression of happiness (maybe).
To my shame, I was too young, self-centered and afraid at the time to really engage the Mom about her son, but I was very much aware of how the other adults in the pharmacy treated this family: mostly with pity or complete avoidance.
And yet, how incredibly patient and beautifully attentive this Mom was with her son. Even in the moments when he was inconsolable, she never abandoned him; never lost her sincere engagement, offering dignity and love when the world said subtly (and not so subtly) – we’d rather you be gone; you make us uncomfortable.
For me, this is the exact child Jesus would have chosen from the crowd. Not out of pity. Not to be shocking. But to remind us: God’s Love embraces all, especially the broken and the ones nobody wants to see. God’s love works most powerfully in the souls that the world would rather avoid, ignore, or destroy. God’s Love thrives to give itself away to the least. And that is hard for us to hear.
I have always wanted to be the greatest. I may not admit it out loud, but boy, is that ego-drive ever powerful. I wanted to be the favorite son; the highest-achieving student; the most-attractive friend; the talented writer; the most-loved priest … (the list is endless). I suspect we all have our list …
But I also know what that “greatest hits” list can make of us: self-centered; jealous; passive-aggressive; perfectionistic. These drives can also sometimes make us physically, emotionally and spiritually worn-out. It’s exhausting trying to be the greatest.
Please don’t misunderstand the point Jesus is trying to make here: he’s not saying to forget your dreams, nor is he telling us that it is pointless to work hard and want to do great things. That desire within us can very much be of God (and often is of God).
But here’s the key: it must be rooted completely in God. Otherwise, those desires can often go-off-the-rails rather quickly.
Where the disciples missed the boat (no pun intended) – and where we often miss it, too – is often a result of a lack of humility. Living humbly does not mean becoming another’s doormat; it is the recognition that real strength and courage comes from God and from putting others’ legitimate needs before our own. Humility is the way of living sacrificially, always holding the words of John the Baptist in our own hearts: “Christ must increase; I must decrease.”
Pray every day for the gift and virtue of humility. There is a great litany from Cardinal Merry del Val that I recommend to others and often pray myself when I realize my desire for greatest supersedes God’s desire for my holiness. In part, the prayer cries out: “From the desire of preferred to others, deliver me, Jesus. From the fear of being humiliated, deliver me, Jesus. That others may be loved more than I, grant me the grace to desire it.”
And with that prayer comes the other piece of the “stay childlike” equation, one that St. James throws in our faces (with charity, of course) in his letter that we hear in our second reading: control your passions.
Not everything has to be about me winning: an argument; the right of way on the interstate; the top prize in class. Not everything has to be about me getting what I want when I want it -- there is virtue and holiness that comes from waiting, abstaining, and sacrifice. Not everything has to be about my definition of perfection. How much of my life is spent living under the weight of misplaced expectations, placed on our hearts and shoulders by ourselves and others?
Because at the end of the day, here’s the secret that Jesus has been trying to teach us all along: we don’t have to do anything to deserve his love. We need not be phony-pious. We could still be the biggest hot-mess sinner this side of heaven, and our God will not pull His love from us. In a way that I don’t fully grasp – but which only makes sense in the light of the Cross – our Father loves us not only when we are sinless but even more so when we are broken, wrecked, stumbling-drunk, sleeping around, selfish and bitter and hateful. We need not do anything to deserve His Love.
Just like that 8-year-old boy in the running stroller whose Mom poured-out her entire life for her son, our God is that attentive and loving toward us. He hungers for our love in return, and what He will do with it when we offer what we have. For when we offer it back to him – no matter how sloppy – he transforms it, and in the process we grow in humility. We increase our trust and our desire to be love and be loved. We rely on His grace and mercy to free us from our sin. And by not making ourselves great in the eyes of others (or ourselves), we become authentically who God created us to be: His daughters. His sons. His beloved children.
No need for the Al Alberts tap-shoes and smiles. Instead, travel the way of the blue running stroller.