Taking It To The Streets: A Sermon About Godly Play

Preached July 8, 2001

When Jesus sent his disciples out, beyond the borders of their towns, beyond the limits of "safety" and "security"

When he pushed them out, over the edge, into places and times where they had no idea what was coming next…

When he sent them into the places and spaces where faith is the only acceptable guidestar….

He told them to take nothing with them.

No SUVs loaded to the brim with "stuff".

No coolers stuffed with their favorite foods.

No duffel bags overflowing with ponchos and rain hats, "just in case".

He told them to take nothing with them.

Nothing except himself.

Nothing except each other.

Nothing except the prayers of other disciples.

Hmmmm.

I wonder what Jesus would have thought if he had been down here at Resurrection last Friday evening.

Last Friday evening, Pat Drost and I, along with four or five friends and companions, headed out through the Linwood Avenue gates.

We marched across the street and into the green space in front of the library, and prepared to tell the story of creation.

We were going beyond the limits of what we knew, beyond the limits of what we could predict, beyond the limits of what we could, realistically, prepare for.

We lined up on the sidewalk, feeling much the same, I’m sure, as those 70 disciples felt 2000 years ago.

We took with us….

A banner, the blue felt banner you can see in the back of the church.

We took my singing bowl to announce our presence. We took the labyrinth cloth to define the storyteller’s space. We took two wicker laundry baskets filled with bath towels, to make a circle for the children. We took art supplies. We took a wheeled cooler filled with juice boxes.

And Jesus said, take nothing for the journey.

We stood under a tree in front of the library, surrounded by all our stuff. There were no children. There were no adults. There was silence…a breeze…a quick prayer…and suddenly there were 27 children.

Suddenly, the storyteller’s space became a sacred, holy place, filled with words that came, truly, from the Word of God, our Lord himself.

"Listen" we said. "Listen to one of the best stories in the world. This is a story that gets into your blood and into your bones and into your spirit…"
And the place was filled with holy silence.

"Tell us" we said. "Tell us about the best gifts anyone has ever given you." We were prepared to hear about toys and clothes, scooters and bicycles.

We heard about other things. The children said, Someone gave me love. Someone gave me life. I have the gift of my family. I know about God. And the place was filled with grace, and glory.

We told the story of the seven days of creation, and when we were finished, we said "I wonder. I wonder if we could do without any of those days. Maybe this day? The day God created the dry land and gave us the gift of green growing plants? Just think…no broccoli! No lima beans!"

"Eewwww. Lima beans!" the kids said. "Lose it, lose it!!"

"But…but..if we lose that day…there’s nothing left for us to sit on here! No green grass!! No solid earth!!

The kids shouted out "Keep it!! Keep it!" And the place was filled with holy laughter. And it was good.

It probably won’t be until judgement day until I learn what Jesus thought about all the things we took with us – the blue banner and the singing bowl and the laundry baskets full of towels and the wheeled cooler and the art supplies -- on our journey across the street, into the park, and into places and spaces where faith was our only guidestar.

But I know today that we took with us all we truly needed.

We had each other.

We had your prayers.

We had our Lord and Savior as a companion on the way, alive in the words of the story He has told from the beginning of time, and before time.

And now we have come back, the way those first disciples came back, rejoicing to tell you that the Lord is doing great things for his people,

Now and forever,

Amen.