May 3, 2026 – Fifth Sunday of Easter

I Corinthians 2.14-3.3

Hebrews 5.11-14

At Home in the Church of St. Peter Pan

Fifth Sunday of Easter

On the night before she was to move out of the nursery into a room of her own, Wendy stubbornly refused to go.  She liked sharing her comfortable little room with her brothers John and Michael, and the thought of leaving them, even if it just meant going a few doors down the hall, frightened her.  Making the transition from nursery into her own room meant that Wendy was becoming a young lady, but she so relished her childhood that she wanted to remain a little girl forever.  Of course, on the eve of the big move, fate intervened in the person of Peter Pan, who took Wendy, Michael and John to Neverland, where children did not have to grow up and could remain, in the words of Bob Dylan, forever young.  But over the course of their adventures, Wendy learned some important things about herself; she realized that holding tight onto childhood was, well, for children, and there were so many wonderful and exciting things she could do as a young lady that would not so much sever her from her youth, as it would open up an entire world in which she could find herself.

You and I have probably known some Wendys in our lifetime, folks who have a hard time growing up, or who have difficulty dealing with issues in a mature manner.  When a crisis strikes, they freeze; when a difficult choice needs to be made, they do their best to put it off; when things don’t go their way, they grow irritable; and when plans go sideways, it is never their fault.  It was psychoanalyst Dr. Dan Kiley who first coined the phrase, The Peter Pan Syndrome in his book of the same title, describing the difficulty some people have with growing into adulthood and accepting responsibility and accountability.  While it is not a clinical diagnosis per se, it remains a recognized psychoanalytical assessment that helps identify and process delayed emotional development.

I think this is one way of understanding our two scripture readings this morning, one from the apostle Paul in I Corinthians and the other from the anonymous letter to the Hebrews.  Both speak of a kind of spiritual Peter Pan Syndrome, folks who exhibit an immature spiritualty, who hang on to an elementary and simplistic understanding of what it means to be a person of faith, but are reluctant to move on to the hard questions, and the hard work of living the Christ-like values of justice and righteousness, of charity, compassion and love.  “For everyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is unskilled in the work of righteousness.  But solid food is for the mature, for those who faculties have been trained by practice to distinguish good from evil.”

I chose these biblical readings in part because they are among the lectionary readings this week, in part because I have not yet looked at these passages with all of you, and in part because I think they help us to understand something that is taking place in today’s larger church.  I wrote on Friday about the symposium led by our United Church of Christ’s General Minister and President the Rev. Karen Georgia Thompson and the Rev. Philip Peacock, General Secretary of the World Communion of Reformed Churches.  The topic was so-called Christian Nationalism, and the thrust of the conversation was the need for people of genuine, and I would say mature faith to confront it.  As Rev. Thompson observed,

“What we are experiencing in this moment is being fueled by misinformation and disinformation that have put Christianity at yet another defining moment.  As Christian Nationalism is touted, lauded and applauded, we ought to be questioning what this means for a faith that is rooted in love and compassion.  In the United States, the current challenge is the emergence of an extreme nationalistic ideology that is couched in what I identify as wisps of Christian theology. Little pieces here and there.  The naming of this ideology as Christian Nationalism is in my opinion a misnomer.  It is oxymoronic given that the principles of nationalism are at odds with the Christian witness.”

You and I have spoken about this before, and sad to say, we will likely need to speak of it again.  But as I read about the symposium and considered both Thompson’s and Peacock’s remarks, and as I wonder how in the world we ever got here, the words we heard this morning from two New Testament epistles written by two different authors at different times in the church’s life crystallized some of this for me.  “For I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food.  Even now you are still not ready, for you are still of the flesh.  For as long as there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not of the flesh, and behaving according to human inclinations?”

I cannot help but believe there is a certain pronounced spiritual immaturity to those who would tie Christianity to national identity.  Some of it appears driven by the fear of losing control of both religious and cultural dominance, which results in anger and anxiety rather than compassion and respect.  It is often marked by a refusal to consider other points of view, it is a closed and blinkered worldview that a sees the other as the enemy.  And it fosters a self-centeredness in contrast to Jesus’ example and instruction to love each other as we love ourselves.  The results are a form of idolatry, where the values of nationalism supersede the values of Christ, and God becomes coopted for national and political ends.  It builds walls instead of bridges.  And it stagnates; there is neither room nor desire for the challenges that lead to spiritual growth.  Are there closed minded folks on every side?  Absolutely, yes.  But I know of few if any Christian nationalists who can stand justly accused of having too much love for the other.

And this I believe might be considered the litmus test, the rule of love.  Loving our neighbor is no easy matter.  It requires work – it often requires hard work.  We need to be able to see beyond what I think is best for me and ask what is best for my neighbor, even and especially when the two needs appear at odds.  Love asks me to give away not only my coat, but my cloak as well. It asks me to look beyond my own view of the way the world ought to work, and asks me to wear my neighbor’s shoes for a while.  It sometimes puts me in uncomfortable places and asks me to live there until I can overcome that discomfort.  Love can be tough sometimes, perhaps often.  Love demands that I grow up.

Paul and the writer to the Hebrews use the metaphor of the milk of youth and the meat of maturity.  There is another food-related metaphor that applies here, and it is the meal we are about to enjoy together at the table.  This is where love becomes manifest.  It becomes manifest when it reminds us of what Jesus did for us, and it becomes manifest when we remember that he walked that road not only for us, not only for our own faith and well-being, but for the faith and well-being of every one of God’s children.  There may be people at this table we do not particularly care for; when we break bread them, we move past our differences and celebrate our siblingship.  This is what maturity looks like.  This is what love looks like.

Wendy grew up, but Peter Pan never did.  Not that he didn’t have the opportunity though.  It was Wendy’s mother who offered to take Peter in and give him a nice, stable home.  “Would you send me to school?” he inquired of her craftily.  “Yes.”  “And then to the office?”  “I suppose so.”  “Soon I should be a man?”  “Very soon.”  “I don’t want to go to school and learn solemn things,” he told her politely.  “I don’t want to be a man.  O Wendy’s mother, if I was to wake up and feel there was a beard… Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man.”

Of course, except for a few fantastical creatures like pans and fairies, we all grow up.  Michael became an engine-driver; John did in fact grow a beard; Wendy had a daughter Jane, who grew up and had her own daughter named Margaret.  We all grow up, and as Paul writes elsewhere in I Corinthians, it is God who gives the growth.  God calls us to emerge from the safe little cocoons we may have built ’round ourselves and to grow into a world that challenges our faith, or which, by faith, challenges us.  Those who will not allow the implications of their faith push them, who refuse to countenance the disconcerting questions, who insist on happy endings, still take their milk in the nursery and are fearful of relinquishing either.  Those whom the world disturbs, whose faith will not accept the status quo, who see injustice and want in the midst of opulence and plenty and bother to do something about it have sunk their teeth into a meaty spirituality, because they know Peter Pan will not be coming back.