Protection and Care for the Vulnerable
By Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing
As we continue through Lent, one of the invitations of this season is to let God soften us—to remember who we are, whose we are, and what kind of people Jesus calls us to be. This week’s scriptures from Deuteronomy and Matthew remind us that the heart of God bends toward the vulnerable: toward children, toward strangers, toward those who are hungry, overlooked, or easily pushed aside.
“The kingdom is open to all, but again and again Jesus insists that it is the vulnerable, the overlooked, the little ones, who are nearest its center.”
“You Were a Child Once, Too”
Fred Rogers once offered a line of wisdom to a group of ophthalmologists who were trying to care more gently for children in their offices: You were a child once, too. It is such a simple sentence, but it carries extraordinary spiritual weight. It asks adults to remember vulnerability from the inside. It asks us not to dismiss fear, not to rush past tenderness, not to treat children as interruptions.
That sentence also opens up this week’s gospel beautifully. In Matthew 19, children are being brought to Jesus so that he might bless them, and the disciples try to send them away. The disciples assume Jesus has more important things to do. They assume this is grown-up business.
But Jesus will have none of it. He rebukes them and says, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.”
“For those who follow Jesus, the vulnerable are not interruptions. They are where the kingdom shows up first.”
The Vulnerable at the Center
One of the striking truths of scripture is that God does not treat vulnerable people as peripheral. Over and over again, they are brought to the center. In Deuteronomy 24, God commands the people not to squeeze every possible bit of profit from their fields. Some grain is to be left behind. Some olives are to remain on the tree. Some grapes are to stay on the vine. Why? So that the stranger, the orphan, and the widow might eat.
This is not charity as an afterthought. It is justice built into the life of the community. God’s people are commanded to organize their common life in such a way that the vulnerable are protected and cared for.
And the reason God gives is memory: “Remember that you were a slave in Egypt.” In other words, do not forget what it feels like to be powerless. Do not forget what it feels like to depend on mercy.
A Kingdom Measured by Compassion
Jesus carries that same logic forward. He welcomes the children not only because they matter, but because they reveal something essential about the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom is not built around status, power, or self-importance. It is revealed in humility, dependence, tenderness, and welcome.
To say that the kingdom belongs to such as these is to say that God’s reign is most clearly seen wherever vulnerable people are received with dignity, care, and joy.
What This Means Here and Now
These texts are not merely ancient ideals. They confront us in the present tense. In Guilford County, too many children live with food insecurity. Too many families face barriers just trying to get groceries on the table. It should not be this hard to feed a child.
When Jesus says, “Let the children come to me,” it is not a sentimental line. It is a summons. It asks what kind of society we are building, what kind of church we are becoming, and whether our habits and priorities make room for the vulnerable or push them aside.
“Too often, our nation’s policies and priorities tell children and their families: your hunger is not urgent enough.”
Lent is a good season for facing such truths honestly. It is a season for repentance, yes, but also for reorientation. We are invited to turn again toward the heart of God.
Remembering as a Spiritual Practice
There is a deep connection between the words of Deuteronomy and the wisdom Fred Rogers offered. Deuteronomy says: remember that you were once a slave in Egypt. Fred Rogers says: remember that you were once a child, too.
Both are calls to sacred remembering. Remember what fear feels like. Remember what helplessness feels like. Remember what it is to need gentleness from a world that can be hard and hurried. Remembering in this way can soften us. It can break through the illusion that we are self-sufficient, invulnerable, untouched by the struggles of others.
And when that remembering softens us, it changes how we live. We become more generous. More patient. More willing to leave something in the field for someone else. More willing to make room at the center for those who have been treated as marginal.
A Word for the Church
The church is called to be a community where the welcome of Christ becomes visible. That means being a people with open hands instead of clenched fists, tender hearts instead of hardened ones, and lives shaped not by fear but by compassion.
It means asking not, “How do we protect our comfort?” but, “How do we make room for the vulnerable?” It means resisting every voice that says, “What’s going to happen is going to happen—just make sure it doesn’t happen to you.”
That may be the logic of self-protection, but it is not the logic of the gospel.
“So let the children come. Let the stranger come. Let the hungry come.”
May we be the kind of church where they do. And may they find in us not a barrier, but the welcome of Christ himself.
Scripture: Deuteronomy 24:17–22; Matthew 19:13–15
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