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I chaperoned a fourth grade class on a field trip to the Olde Mystic Village and Seaport. Five children, ages nine and ten, were entrusted to my care for the day. At one point we sat in the bandstand, a large gazebo-type structure in the center of the Village Green, for a demonstration of nineteenth century music that sailors aboard the sea vessels might have enjoyed: peppy tunes on the banjo and concertina, jigs and reels on the fiddle. Spontaneously, the five children in my group stomped their feet to the music, then looked at each other, arose from their seats, clasped hands, and danced! Heads thrown back, radiant smiles lighting their faces, whirling and twirling, they captured for me in a kind of visual and visceral snapshot what childhood should be: freedom, unself-consciousness, beauty, abandonment, joy! They whisked me into their exultation as I joined them in their dance.

Just hours later I opened my Sunday newspaper (okay, so I didn't have time to read it on Sunday), and saw the faces of five older youth on the front page. Cold, hardened faces. Angry, glaring, insolent faces. Faces of five youth, ages nineteen to 21, who were responsible for the execution-style death of a beautiful young man and woman -- also youth -- that very weekend.

How is this possible?

I could not help but see these two snapshots in all their shocking juxtaposition: the joyous faces of the five younger youth dancing. The stone cold faces of the five older youth.

What happened between ten and twenty? Or did it happen long before that?

And how is it possible for us as people of faith to walk through this world, and to send our children forth -- to grant them the freedom -- to walk through this world of such incredible beauty and joy, and such horrifying and random acts of violence?

How is this possible?

This life often feels much as I imagine it felt for the people of Israel, struggling to plant their vineyards, raise their families, and instill in their children faith-based values to help them navigate through the challenging terrain of life. Just when we think we'll have smooth sailing for a spell, the "Philistines" rear their ugly heads. Just when we relax for a bit, lean back and sigh to savor the moment, just when we think we've finally got it down, we're blind-sided by something huge, something terrifying, by ... Goliath.

As a parent and pastor and youth leader it was as though the five youth on the front page bore placards with Goliath smeared in blood across their fronts. Like Goliath they showed utter disdain for all that we hold sacred. Like Goliath they taunted us to fight against their enormous embodiment of hatred, fear, evil. Or, perhaps, they taunted us to back down, to give up, to fall to pieces before something so horrifying.

Confronted with the giant Goliath, the Israelites, like us, were understandably in a quandary as to what to do. So ... they did nothing. They wrung their hands and hung their heads, and allowed their fear to incapacitate them. Day after day, Goliath taunted: "I am bigger than you are. I am stronger than you are. Evil is greater than good. Darkness is stronger than light. I defy the armies -- the forces -- of your living God! Look at the front page! Random acts of violence crush your foolish little random acts of kindness! Look at Columbine! Look at Santana! Look at Oklahoma City! Look at your World Trade Center! Look at your Pentagon! Look at the so-called 'Holy' Land! Look at the KKK! Look at your addictions! Look at organized crime! Look at racism and sexism, and every other 'ism' I use to divide and conquer! Look at divorce! Look at custody battles! Look at marriage and family and our most primary relationships broken and defiled! Look at cancer! Look at death! Look at depression! Look at your crippling, paralyzing fear."

"Goliath" is that which threatens to overwhelm us and undo us. We all have our "Goliaths."

I ask you this day, what is your "Goliath"? What is it that throws you into a quandary so that you wring your hands, and hang your head, and do nothing? What is it that makes you most afraid? What is it that cripples you, paralyzes you? What is it that threatens to overwhelm you and undo you? What is it that defies the power of the living God in your life?

What is your "Goliath"?

And how can we possibly combat such a mammoth foe?

The answer lies in the last place we'd expect to find it.

We would have expected Saul, the king and military leader of Israel, who stood, scripture says, a head and shoulders taller than other men, to go head to head with Goliath. Or we would have expected one of the Israelite army's biggest and strongest, bravest and best soldiers to step forward. Or maybe even some brilliant military commander to come up with some wise maneuver, some shrewd strategic game plan -- some clever mastermind who could anticipate every possible move the Philistine army could possibly make, as in a giant military chess game.

But a kid with a sling shot ... well ... go figure.

Something so small, so insignificant, so seemingly powerless, so everyday and ordinary. A telephone call from a friend. Knowing that grandfather figure is praying for you, as he said he would. A smile from a compassionate stranger. That quiet co-worker who had the courage to act with integrity. The matter-of-fact bravery of those who live with physical challenges every day of their lives. Second marriages. Wisdom in the lyrics of a rap song. Public servants who are truly committed to helping and serving others. The discerning spirit of a four year old. The hit-the-nail-on-the-head advice of a four year old. A daisy in the crack in the solid stone wall. A trickle of water that ends up blasting through rock. A small, living shoot from the stump of Jesse. A shepherd boy with a few smooth stones. A baby born to poor parents, lying in a manger. A simple, total trust in the power of the living God.

God's ways are not our ways.

The giant Goliath is conquered by someone very small, who lived every moment of his life in communion with Someone, Something very big. With the Spirit of the Living God.

Martin Luther identified his greatest sin as despair. Perhaps it's a Lutheran thing. Like Luther, depression or despair is a Goliath I have battled on many occasions. Recognizing the taunts of this Goliath, I know I need to be prepared for battle. I consult my "military advisors": children. Just being with children renews my strength. The way they face life head on, fearlessly. The way they are unburdened from the past, and not anxious about the future, completely present to the moment. There is a little girl, Ellie, who lives a few doors down from the church. Just to chat with her for a few minutes as she learns to ride her bicycle with training wheels in the church parking lot rejuvenates my spirit. Just to spend a few minutes looking at this life through Ellie's eyes as she kicks her way through the fallen leaves on the way to the corner bus stop to wait for her brother, kicks me out of the dumps I'm down in and makes me look at life more simply, and with a lot more hope. There are, after all, things in this life that we can count on. Ellie is certain of that. She knows that one season follows another. She knows that if she practices a lot, the bike riding will get easier. She knows that the leaves are beautiful, and that God is trying to get our attention through their colorful beauty. She knows that her brother will get off the bus and greet her with an understated shrug, but she also knows that deep down he loves her just as much as she loves him. She knows that the Lutheran minister is down in the dumps today and needs a little encouragement. Yes, the Spirit of the Living God ministers to my spirit through Ellie. A little child can tackle a Goliath any day.

Last year a ten-year-old member of our extended church family died of cancer. I visited him in the hospital frequently in the months before he died. "Isn't it depressing?" I would often be asked. It was, in fact, exactly the opposite. Bobby met his cancer and his death with the same equanimity with which he met the different hospital personnel or visitors who came to his room. He met all with his eyes wide open, and a gentle smile on his face. When he was in pain, he would wince slightly, as you would when swallowing a spoonful of bad tasting medicine, then he would continue playing with his toys, talking with his friends and visitors, reading his books. Cancer, and death, were not dreaded enemies, but parts of his life which he faced calmly, as calmly as the shepherd boy faced the giant. A child can disarm a Goliath by his simple lack of fear, and conquer evil and hatred by her complete purity of spirit, the perfect purity of Love.

God's ways are not our ways. When confronted with our Goliaths, we must be open to the power of the living God coming to us in unexpected places, and small yet mighty ways. We must never underestimate the small, the simple, the ordinary, because for some strange reason, that is how God often chooses to come to us.

Many years ago I worked with a phenomenal group of adult advisors, as part of a church's Youth Ministry Team. One of the adult advisors was a beautiful young woman, not too much older than the youth with whom she worked. She was a mother of three preschool aged children, the youngest of which was an infant. The youth adored her. She spoke their language, related well with them, was "on their level." I became concerned, however, when she, who was slender to begin with, began to look almost anorexic. I became even more concerned when her family, who did not have much money to begin with, seemed unable to feed their children. Late one afternoon, she came to my home. She looked haunted, ravaged with fear. She confessed to me that she was battling the Goliath of a cocaine addiction. She had plunged her family into debt through this addiction, and so, had borrowed several thousand dollars from her husband's parents to pay the debt. But Goliath's taunting had gotten the better of her, and she had spent the thousands of dollars borrowed from her in-laws on cocaine as well. She wrung her hands. She hung her head. She didn't know what to do.

Frankly, I didn't know what to do either. So I prayed for her, with her. Feeling as puny as David, we faced Goliath in the name of the Living God. Goliath was struck down and conquered by a few smooth stones. We got her into a good rehab program. With her permission, the team of youth advisors told the youth the cold, hard truth. Together, the youth and adult advisors, and other caring members of her church family, rolled up their sleeves and cleaned up a long-neglected apartment. We set up a daily child care schedule for her three children for the months she was in rehab. We made meals. We helped pay the bills. Small, insignificant things. We changed diapers and cleaned closets. We paid an electric bill and made a casserole. We prayed. We loved. We healed. Goliath fell dead.

Never underestimate something small in the name of the Living God.

Because in the Word of God, again and again, we see that, for some strange reason, that is how God chooses to act. God's ways are not our ways.

The biblical world was no less violent or frightening than our own. How did the people of God navigate their way through this world? How did Jesus journey through this world? Did he say, "There is suffering and strife down that path, so I think I'll take this other path"? No. Did he say, "Evil Goliaths are taunting the children down that path, so I think I'll wring my hands and hang my head and turn away"? No. He courageously journeyed through it all. We cannot choose what befalls us. But we can choose our response to it. Our response can erupt from our lower nature -- meeting violence with violence, hate with hate, uncertainty with fear and anxiety, difference with judgment and superiority, beauty with jealousy, freedom with shackles of control, joy with the poison of negativity, the Spirit of Life with a spirit of evil and death.

Or ... we can choose the way of the Living God. The way of Christ. The way of the Spirit of Life. Courage. Freedom. Childlike abandon. Beauty. Radiant light. Joyous exultation.

Recognizing that the powers of darkness, evil, violence, and death loom large and real, we can let them and our fear of them cripple us, overwhelm us, and undo us. Or we can journey through this world knowing who journeys with us through it all, knowing that the final word is not death but resurrection, and therefore, with our heads thrown back and our faces radiant, we can join the children in the whirling, twirling victory dance of Life! Amen.