6/9/26
The Little Ones
This is one of those many homilies that is about no one in particular but a collage of people whom I have had the privilege of trying to care for over the years.
It began, I guess, with a topic in college called ‘Interpersonal aspects of ministry’. The lecture hall, or the place of learning, was Hillcrest Hospital for the mentally ill in Adelaide. Each week we had the undeserved privilege of entering the wards and engaging with those who were mentally unwell.
I never once feared for my physical well-being, but the content of the conversations ensured I always finished the day exhausted and completely wrung dry. There was nothing left, and I snored long and loud at night time.
Over the years there have always been a smattering of these little ones. At least one in every parish. Sometimes I found them, but usually the reverse has been true. They have always found me.
The trick with this sort of ministry is that you can’t schedule it into your diary as you can a Parish Council meeting or the Coles Sausage sizzle. So always at the most unexpected and inconvenient moment. Guess what?… And always when my mind and emotions have been in a safe, predictable, secure three dimensional world and everything is ticking over as it should, the phone went and I found myself thrust into a 7.6 dimensional world where our solid rule book of surety and certainty is not put quietly away in its correct place on the living room bookshelf, rather it is ripped up into shreds, burnt irretrievably to ashes and the remains are convincingly buried and its place is known no more.
Part of these tortured souls’ world is that they often see spiritual things that are hidden from the rest of us, plebs. What they are encountering does seem delusional and impossible for us, but for them it can be a terrifying or blissful reality.
I don’t know if these are exclusively the ‘little ones’ referred to in today’s gospel, but I think they are part of the liquorice all sorts mix that the Master ministered to.
The gospel is quite clear that I should not despise one of these little ones no matter what hour of the night I’m contacted, no matter what is asked of me, no matter what I am confronted with. But irritated I have been and always,… always in these situations, I have felt so hideously and helpless out of my depth. I am so lost. This is complex medical science, and it's best handled by those who are academically trained and socially interactive. In other words, they have the finely honed interpersonal skills to assess, diagnose and treat. I reckon it’s a vocation. You don’t do this sort of work for kicks.
The other half of the quote from the Master's lips is as follows.
For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.
Mmmm… so these little ones have their own angels in heaven who not only keep watch over them but also see the face of the Father in heaven.
And we learn again that angels on this side of the grave and the other are for real. Whether they have white fluffy wings, halos above their head and play a pretty mean harp was a matter for late-night conjecture at the end of a serious theological student party. Odd that I can’t quite seem to remember what we decided the dress code of angels was or is, but the strawberry milkshakes were voluminous, and the pizzas were delicious and tasty.
What to draw out of these experiences? That perhaps in my helpless drowning in the experience of this often unseen and bizarre ministry, I am very open to the possibility that I might just happen to be one of the little ones. And if I am, then I have guardian angels who not only see me but gaze upon the face of my father in heaven.
Something else to think about. Having arrived safely home and everything snaps back to the safe, predictable, secure, three-dimensional world and everything is ticking over as it should, I have muttered to myself
‘What was that all about?’ A rhetorical question with no answer. Perhaps in this and so much more that is mysterious and dumbfounding, maybe in those moments when I am not fully reliant on myself, and I am cast adrift on the ether of God’s dimension, perhaps it is then that the angels are closest and most real.
When I am at the altar, I do not remember these folk as often as I could; but I should, because the liturgy makes it quite obvious. ‘Therefore with angels and archangels’ and we could add ‘and with little ones’
Their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.
And one of these days…
I shall see things as they really are;
I will see Him as he truly is and see myself as I am. Forever and ever, amen