A Child's Eye View of Repentance

Have you ever been to Target this time of year? A little boy was Christmas shopping there with his mother. And as often happens in a crowded store, he got lost. He started crying, "Mommy, Mommy, where are you?" From the direction of checkout line 4, his mother called out, "I'm over here." The little boy was in the main aisle. When he heard his mother's voice, his face lit up and he called, "Where is 'here'?" And the boy began walking in the opposite direction, toward the greeting cards and the snacks. Another shopper realized what was happening. She stopped the child. She pointed him in the right direction, and she said, "Your mother is over there." And without questioning, the little boy ran to his mother.

You may not realize it, but that little boy did what John the Baptist is calling us to do today as he proclaims a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins -- and as we continue to observe Advent -- as we continue to prepare the way of the Lord. That little boy repented. He stopped. He turned around. And he went in the right direction. That's what repentance means. The word "repentance" in our Gospel lesson today is translated from the Greek word metanoia. Metanoia means, literally, "a change of heart," or "to turn around."

This time of year, it seems, all kind of get to be kids. So, like we did last week when we looked at Advent faith through the five senses, the way I might explain it to a child, I thought it might be especially appropriate if we looked at this big theological word, "repentance," through the eyes of children. We just saw what repentance can mean if you're four years old and lost at Target. There's nothing quite so reassuring as those warm, welcoming arms of your mother. Now I'm a mother myself. And I know only too well the terror of losing a four year old boy at Target. And I know very well the incredible relief and joy at welcoming that little boy into my arms and holding him in my embrace until I can compose myself and finish my shopping, as if my world hadn't imploded for those few interminable minutes. And so I wonder if that might be what it's like for God when we repent. When we turn around and move toward God rather than away.

Kathleen Norris is one of my favorite writers. She has led a lot of writing workshops for young people. She talks about a young boy who wrote a poem called, "The Monster Who Was Sorry." In this poem, the boy admits, "I hate it when my father yells at me. When my father yells at me, he says, I throw my sister down the stairs. Then I wreck my room. Finally, I wreck the whole house." His poem concludes, "Then I sit in my messy house and say to myself, 'I shouldn't have done all that.'"

Kathleen Norris says, "My messy house says it all. With more honesty than most adults could have mustered, the boy made a metaphor for himself. With the metaphor he admits the depth of his rage. And he finds a way out. If that boy had been a young monk in the fourth century, his elders might have told him that he was well on the way toward repentance. Not such a monster after all, but only human. If the house is messy, they might have said, why not clean it up? Why not make it into a place where God might wish to dwell?" Doesn't that sound like an Advent discipline to you? Making your heart/house into a place where God might wish to dwell?¹

A long, long time ago, during World War I, a story came out about a mother and son from England. Her unusually remarkable son gave his life on the battlefront. He was an outstanding young man from the time he was a little boy. He was at the head of his class at Oxford and won many honors. But he went to war, and his life was blotted out by an exploding shell. The mother kept dreaming the same dream. She dreamed an angel came and told her she could have her son back for five minutes.

"Choose," the angel said, "what five minutes you will have. Will you have five minutes of his life when he was leading classes at Oxford? Or would you prefer to have five minutes of those days that he spent in the service of his country, those last days of his life?"

The mother thought for a moment. "If I can have him back for five minutes," she said, "I should prefer to have him, not as an Oxford student, nor during his soldier days. If I can have him but five minutes, I want to have him as a little boy -- as a little boy on a day he disobeyed me. I remember how he ran into the garden, angry and rebellious. Then in a little while he came back and threw himself into my arms, asking me to forgive him. His face was hot and red. He looked so small and miserable, and so precious. I saw his love in his eyes; I felt his love in his body pressed against my own. And how my love went out to him. If I can have him back for five minutes, I want to take him back as that little repentant, mercy-seeking boy.

This time of year each of us gets to be a kid. And today, our God who loves us like a father and mother wants to take us back as repentant, mercy seeking children. That's the call of John the Baptist to us on this second Sunday in the Advent season --the call to us as we continue to prepare our hearts for Christ, and the call to us as we come to the family table for the meal our God has prepared for us. May we all take some time, during this busy holiday season, to be a kid. To stop. To turn around. To run into those open, waiting, welcoming arms of God.

Pastor Dana Runestad
Second Sunday in Advent
5 December 2004

Holy Cross Lutheran Church
Livonia Michigan

Back to home page