June 20, 2004 (The Dust of Life)

They’re called Bui-Doi. The dust of life.
Conceived in hell, and born in strife.
They are the living reminders of all the good we failed to do.
Deep in our hearts, that’s why we know
That they are all our children, too.

Those are the words that open the second act of the award-winning musical, Miss Saigon—a musical I had the privilege of seeing for the first time this spring, and a musical whose song you’ve just heard. It has remained with me in a powerful way since that day. Just ask Bridget. I walk around the house singing it at least twice a week. Its message and its image have been implanted on my heart.

The character who sings that song is an American GI who has left Vietnam and is now home, several years after the war experience. And as the song says, when he left Vietnam, he thought he would leave it, only to find that, in fact, he would never quite leave it. Some pictures would always be on his mind—the faces of the children, the ones they left behind. That’s a similar experience for anyone who has ever gone any place to do some sort of mission or service work. Most of the pictures you saw on the video were pictures of children I have met or friends of mine have met on some sort of mission or service project in places like Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Memphis and Honduras. I can tell you from the experiences I’ve had, I have never left those places that I’ve gone and visited. The pictures of the children that I’ve met still remain on my heart.

As many of you know, I am just getting back, along with thirteen others from our congregation, from a mission trip to Prague in the Czech Republic. This was the second time for me on that trip, and the experience this year was as powerful as the experience last year. I was left with the same sense when I returned this year. It was about the kids, the kids that we meet. They are the ones who will keep me going back, and they are the ones who will keep me working harder when I return.

When we go to Prague, we stay at a place called the Christian Help Center located on the outskirts of the metropolitan area. It is a large compound that houses up to seventy people, most of whom are families, most of whom are single mothers with children who are otherwise homeless. They can stay at this place for up to a year as they receive spiritual, physical, emotional and mental support to help make the transition back into the larger society. And of the 70 people who live there, at least 35 to 40 of them are kids. And they steal your heart every time.

The majority of the kids who stay at this help center in the Czech Republic are what are known as “gypsy kids.” Gypsies are an ethnic group who live throughout Eastern Europe. They live as a people really without a home, without a nation. In Eastern Europe, the gypsies are kind of the invisible people or the untouchable people, the people you don’t know what to do with. And so these kids at this camp are the Bui-Doi the song sings about. They are the dust of life.

This year, there was one child in particular. Her face comes to mind every time I think about that trip. Her name was Sabrina. Sabrina was an adorable young girl. She had a great smile. We couldn’t speak a word of each other’s language, and yet within a matter of minutes, we became friends. Some things are universal, I guess, like Hide and Seek and playing Keep Away. In those moments, we came to speak a universal language—one of connection, friendship and care. And in those moments, Sabrina taught me, because she accepted me as a friend. Like Jesus says, “It is the children who will teach us what it means to enter into God’s kingdom.” Even though we could not speak the same language, she could see through me and into my heart. She taught me that day what it means to be a part of God’s kingdom. She taught me what it means to depend on hope and trust to make it in the world. She hoped that I loved her and trusted that I could see beyond gypsy-ness and glimpse her humanness. And it is her face that stays with me. I do not know what the future has in store for Sabrina. The odds against her are immense. She is what the song would call one of the Bui-Doi, the dust of life.

What is the song referring to when it sings about the Bui-Doi? The Bui-Doi were Vietnamese children who were fathered by American GIs during the Vietnam War. And then, with the chaos of the end of the war and the fleeing of the American soldiers, they were left in a no-man’s land—nowhere to call home, forgotten. They were the dust of life. Think about what it means to be dust—invisible, except when it gets to be too much, and then wanting to be brushed aside as quickly as possible.

The song is right that the only crime these children committed was being born. For the character in this song, these kids become the living reminder of all the good he has yet to do. And if you watch the musical, this character dedicates his life to helping American soldiers reconnect with their children left behind in Vietnam. It’s the memory of those children that has led him into giving his life to something bigger than himself. These children lead him into the Kingdom that Jesus points us towards.

Today’s scripture in many ways parallels that song, and is an important scripture for all of us on Father’s Day. We know the scripture so well. We can tell its story. We have seen it many times in pictures and in paintings. It is the indelible image of Jesus calling the children to him. There is this amazing moment in the midst of the story. As Jesus invites the children to come forward to him, his disciples—those who had been with him, those who you would think would understand him, those who you would think would be most in touch with what he wanted his mission and kingdom to be about—seem to miss the point here. They rebuked the children. They tried to push them away, tried to move them aside. They don’t want Jesus to be bothered. Jesus had bigger fish to fry here, more important things to attend to, people to see, grown-ups to attend to, souls to save and a world to redeem. He simply had no time for these little ones. Brush them aside like dust, if you will.

That’s why Jesus’ response is so powerful. The scripture says he is indignant, he is passionate, about his response. He says, “Let the children come to me and let no one hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these.” Do not hinder these little ones.

So often when we think about today’s scripture, I imagine a certain image comes immediately to mind for us. It comes to mind because this image of Jesus calling the children to him is perhaps one of the most painted pictures of our Lord and Savior. And usually when we think about it, we can see it in our minds: Jesus gathering the children around him. Usually there’s one wriggly boy on his lap and a little girl standing there quietly at his side, looking up into his eyes, others clustering around, clamoring for his attention. It’s a great picture. It has provided great comfort. It has allowed our kids to know they have a place in God’s kingdom and in Jesus’ life and ministry.

But I’m not sure that the picture that often comes into our minds authentically captures the original scene as it happened for Jesus. Because you see, ancient societies, unlike ours today, lacked our romantic notions of childhood. In the ancient world, children were the dust of life. They were non-persons. They were invisible. They were nuisances. And to the poor who suffered at the hands of the imperial economy of the day, children were nothing more than another mouth to feed in a time when food was scarce. And so in that moment, Jesus takes those who are most invisible, most vulnerable, most forgotten, and makes them visible. In fact, he says the kingdom of God belongs first and foremost to those who have been most forgotten by the world. The Kingdom of God belongs to those the world has forgotten. The message is clear here. If you have felt forgotten by the world, you are first to be remembered in God’s presence.

You know, there are many children in our world today who are still like the dust of life. We live in a beautiful community that values its children very highly. We have some of the best education in the country, and our church has wonderful programming for our children. We do a great job in this church of making sure that our kids know that the kingdom of God belongs to them. So on this day, on this Father’s Day, it is my hope that we can open our eyes to the larger world that Jesus calls us to, so that we, like the song, would know that these kids around us are the living reminder of the work we are called to do. Because deep in our hearts, we will know that they are all our children, too.

Lest we think the problem is only a worldwide problem, consider these statistics about our own country. Every day in America: [iv]

I do not tell you all these statistics to make you feel guilty or to make you feel overwhelmed. I say this so that our eyes may be just a little more open, so that these children don’t simply become faceless, so they don’t become dust. I say those numbers so we can hear Jesus’ words from our scripture today and let them ring in us with a new sense of urgency. “Let the children come to me and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these.” We must make sure that they are not hindered. We must find ways to invest our lives in their futures—in futures where education, health, food, love and security are easily and readily available. “Do not hinder them,” Jesus passionately reminds us.

So our question today is, What can we do to make sure that those children, the dust of life, truly the least among us, are granted some access into the blessings and promises of God’s good creation? Tonight, as you leave, there is a table in the back filled with information about organizations in our community, in our nation and around the world that are responding to the needs of children, like the children Jesus called to him. I invite you to take a look at that table and take something home with you tonight. Think about it over the week to come and talk about it with your family, about one small thing your family can do to make a difference in one child’s life. When we hear the statistics, it can feel absolutely overwhelming. But we can each do our part in a small way to make the difference in the life of one person. Or more than one, as the case may be.

So you may be asking, “Does that really work, though, Jeff? You know, it’s just so over-whelming. What difference can we make?” I didn’t know if I’d have an example until this morning, as a matter of fact. I was lucky to go back downtown this morning to my home church, Central United Methodist Church, located in downtown Detroit. They celebrated with Bridget and me the graduations and commissionings that have been a part of our lives in the past month. And I saw Lawrence today. Lawrence is now a twenty-year-old African-American young man who just finished his second year of college. Lawrence’s mother is addicted to drugs. His father is absent from his life. There is no reason why Lawrence shouldn’t be among one of the statistics that I read earlier today.

And yet somehow that church, and one woman in particular in that church, took an interest in Lawrence’s life and made sure he knew he wasn’t forgotten, made sure that he wasn’t considered the dust of life. And today, in a beautiful moment in their Fellowship Hall, Lawrence asked if all of the men of the congregation would come forward. And he looked at all of the men and said, “Thank you.” Thank you to each and every one of them who was standing there. He said, “I don’t have a dad in my life except for you. I thank you for all of the blessings you have given me, and the only way I can return them to you is by making sure that I work hard at school.”

There is no reason Lawrence should be there. But one woman, Carol, made sure that the congregation didn’t forget him. Bridget and I were called upon to buy Lawrence’s tux for his prom. Somebody was called upon to make sure that when graduation came along, someone would take him out to dinner. When it came time for college, someone else was called upon to make sure that applications were typed and spell-checked. It took a village to raise that child. I asked Lawrence about his hopes for the future. Today he told me he wants to be mayor of the city of Detroit. So hopefully, sometime in 25 or 30 years, we will be voting for Mr. Lawrence Hillman for mayor of that fine city. When you help get the things out of the way that hinder our children—that hinder the poorest and most helpless among us—you can make a difference.

On a day like today, in the midst of a message like this one, I am taken immediately back to my kindergarten Sunday school class and Mrs. Eddy, who taught us all to sing a simple song.

Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.
Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.

What are we doing to live into the truth of that simple song? As you leave here tonight, please take a piece of information and consider what you and your family can do. Choose one small action to make a difference in the lives of our world’s kids. I leave you with this last quote from American author and clergyman, Edward Everett Hale. He said:

That is my prayer for you on this Father’s Day. As we leave, consider how we can become parents for the children of this world. For we know deep in our hearts that they are all our children, too.

[i] UNICEF State of the World’s Children (2000)

[ii] UNICEF 1998

[iii] UNAIDS 2001

[iv] The following statistics are taken form the Children’s Defense Fund Web Site