I’ve been wanting to preach on this text for a while. Our church, over the past few years, has seen a slow but steady uptick in children. We haven’t reached our highest levels of children per person here at OSA, the years before the Great Depression and the years before the Great Recession, but on a Sunday morning, you’re going to hear some noise from somebody’s child. For the parents this can be both frustrating and embarrassing—leading to what I sometimes call frustbarrassment, which can lead, in the adult human, to extreme sarcasm and the crush of inexorable defeat. On the other hand, for the ones who happen to be child-free, church can seem noisy and the service inaudible. Sometimes you want to help, but don’t know how. Sometimes you want to shush but don’t want to be rude. Sometimes it just wears you out. Instead of frustbarrasment you get embarrannoyed. These are all understandable and appropriate feelings when it comes to children, who listen half as much as you want them to when you want them to, and listen twice as much when you don’t.