Life Profession - Sr. Felicity, CSM (on the Feast of Nicholas of Myra) | By the Rt. Rev. John Bauerschmidt

“Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mk. 10:15).

Today we gather to celebrate the Life Profession of Sister Felicity in the Community of St. Mary, to witness her vows and to aid her with our prayers. It’s also the feast of St. Nicholas, an early bishop of Myra in Asia Minor, who somehow in the round-about way characteristic of early Christianity has become the patron saint of children, and then associated with the celebration of Christmas. This is the key that unlocks the mystery of our readings today! St. Nicholas, of course, is the original “Santa Claus,” and so our Gospel reading gives us Jesus blessing the little children.

It’s not an unhappy juxtaposition, however, of life profession and the celebration of the saint. Taking his lead from Jesus in the gospels, John Henry Newman wrote that there was a quality characteristic of childhood that was intrinsic to the Christian life itself. In other words, what does it mean to receive the kingdom of God as a little child? What is that quality that we see in children that makes them an example to us, and fit for the kingdom of God?

There are places in the Gospels that suggest it is the humble quality of children that is their unique marker, and their example to us. When the disciples in St. Mark’s Gospel are arguing over which of them is the greatest, Jesus places a child in their midst and tells them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me” (Mk. 9:37). In other words, those who welcome the least of these, represented by children, in the name of Christ, are those who are truly great. As Jesus says, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mk. 9:35). In this sense, we must become humble like the child, and servants, first of all.

By contrast, in the Victorian times in which Newman lived, a great deal was made of the innocence of children: delightful creatures who were unmarked by experience, and unjaded by the world. But Newman was too good a student of human nature, and too good a theologian, to land there, with the Christian cultivation of naivete. There are experiences that Christians should rejoice at being innocent of, but to be like a child and to inherit the kingdom we must be something more than inexperienced.

For Newman, it’s the open-ended quality of childhood that commends it (“they’ve got their whole lives before them”); and it’s the imaginative capacity of children that is their chief marker. Here’s Newman: “…there is in the infant soul… a discernment of the unseen world in things that are seen, a realization of what is Sovereign and Adorable” (“The Mind of Little Children,” PPS, ii.6). Anyone who’s seen a child at Christmas turn a carboard box into a toy knows what I’m talking about. The child can see that there’s more to the box than its surface planes, its angular geometry. The box contains hidden treasures of the imagination, aspects that may be invisible but are not unseen: at least, not unseen by the eye of the child.

“Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs” (Mk. 10:14), as Jesus says in our Gospel today. The life of faith requires the cultivation of that imaginative capacity that children remind us of. We too need to be able to see beneath the surface and to perceive the presence of the kingdom.

It’s the grace-given and grace-enabled capacity of Christians (a gift of baptism) that makes us able to imagine the world as it might be; to imagine deeds of power and acts of faith that are unimaginable to others. Worldly wisdom can stunt our imaginations and make it impossible for us to conceive of what is (in Newman’s words) “Sovereign and Adorable”: that is, God, in all his splendor and glory. We need the eyes of faith in order to see.

I mentioned deeds of power and acts of faith: a few of the charisms demonstrated in the life of the early Church. We can read that story in the Acts of the Apostles. For us, who else but the Holy Spirit might inspire a vow made to God? Donald Allchin, in his marvelous book, The Silent Rebellion, about the revival of the religious life among women in the nineteenth century Church of England, recounts the moment when promises made to the bishop, of a life of poverty, chastity, and obedience, became vows made in the presence of the bishop. You see the difference: the promise was not made to the bishop, who was just the authorized witness. By implication, the vows made by these pioneering women were vows made to God: quite a shock to Victorian sensibilities. To make those vows took a leap of the imagination: a leap that we ourselves must still take today.

“Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mk. 10:15). Sister Felicity, this morning we are all witnesses to a deed of power and act of faith that is inspired by the Holy Spirit. To carry through in this resolve, and to follow through in these vows, you will need to continue to develop your imaginative capacity to see the world as it might be; or (perhaps better) as it really is. There are open-ended possibilities for you, and for us, that are only unlocked by the vows you are taking.

Remember: there is more to the box than its surface planes, it’s angular geometry. You will have your sisters with you in this endeavor, in the complex work of community life. We who are witnesses today of these vows are grateful to you for expanding our capacity to see the unseen things that lie hidden in this moment; for blowing our minds with what is Sovereign and Adorable. May God give you the grace of perseverance, and the gift of imagination, as you continue to pursue this call.

View this sermon on the Diocese of Tennessee's website.