You Must Become Like a Child
As a community striving to live in and through the love and grace of God, the Missional Wisdom Foundation is grieved and appalled at the continued gun violence in the United States of America especially violence directed toward children. As a response, we are making the A Journey of Doubt Incarnational Group Guide available for free for use in your community with the code: STANDWITHCHILDREN. We also suggest that you visit the following websites to take action:
Sandy Hook Promise (formed in response to the Sandy Hook shooting in 2012)
The following is an excerpt from “Children’s Time” from Credulous by Andrea L. Lingle. It is presented here in honor of the sacred worth of children and the parents, guardians, teachers, and care givers that protect them.
Jesus sat on a largish boulder, grinding some chalky limestone into powder with another rock. He was tired. It seemed that no matter how he explained things, no one wanted to understand. He bent down and grabbed a chunk of hardened clay and added it to the pile of gathering dust. As he ground the clay, its orange mixed with the yellow-white of the limestone. Idly, he mixed the colors together until he had spread out a dust sunrise on the rock. They wanted control. They wanted him to validate them. They wanted him to get lost in the minutia of the law when what they were squabbling about was the right to leave a human soul devastated.
“Is it okay to divorce your wife for any reason?”
If only that was what they had been asking. These men had taken the law and transformed it into something cheap and convenient. And where did these women, divorced and abandoned, go? What happened to them? They were left to fend for themselves, drawing water during the heat of the day, selling their bodies—their only commodity—and bearing the shame of the community. These discarded women were the waste of a system that centered itself around those who could afford to talk about rules.
“What’cha doin’?”
Jesus looked up. There was an abundance of dirty hair and brown eyes staring up at him. This little person had one finger raised, which looked like it was contemplating sneaking into the pile of dust while Jesus wasn’t looking. Jesus regarded this small figure. There was a smear of snot covering one cheek and the back of one hand. Jesus couldn’t tell if the brown feet belonged to a boy or girl. This person was just standing, finger raised, waiting.
“Thinking. And, I don’t know, playing.”
“Can I play?”
Jesus shrugged. “If you want to.” He didn’t feel fun.
But the little girl, for it was a girl, didn’t seem to care. She reached her finger out and drew a sun right in the middle of the pile of dust. Jesus smiled tiredly and added an absurdly simple flower poking up out of a line of earth. The little girl bent her head down close to the rock, shutting out some of the glare of the sun with her own slender shadow and added a flock of humpy birds.
She had begun to smile and looked up into the face of this strange man who sat drawing in the dirt. The man grinned back down at her. She reached up and pressed a perfectly round dot on the end of Jesus’s deeply tanned nose. Then she giggled.
Suddenly a woman appeared out of the crowd and grabbed the child’s upper arm.
“What are you doing?” She scolded. “I didn’t know where you were. You should know better than to bother this man.” She began to brush at the loose garment that hung from the little girl’s shoulders.
Jesus noticed that the woman was thin too. She didn’t look so much tired as worn. Her arms were brown and her hands were rough. He imagined that she was not a stranger to the gleaning fields. Shyly, she looked at Jesus, holding her child close in front of her. Suddenly, the woman smiled widely and she automatically reached out and wiped the dust off the end of Jesus’s nose. Then she blushed a deep mahogany that made her look like a bigger version of the little girl.
“Mother, thank you for letting us play. I hope you weren’t too worried.”
“Thank you, Rabbi,” the woman said, eyes downcast. “Come on, Sarah.” The little girl didn’t argue. She let her hand be taken and turned back toward the crowd.
“Wait.” Jesus said quickly. “May I give the girl my blessing?”
The woman stopped without turning and smiled down at her daughter.
“Yes, please, Mama,” the small child whispered. The pair turned back.
“Yes, Rabbi, we would be honored.”
Jesus put his hand, which suddenly seemed, to him, big and clumsy, on the little girl’s head. He could feel her hair, matted and dusty, under his fingers. Her head smelled of sweat. It was somehow endearing. It was as if the child smelled like the tumble of play and the joy of the sun.
When he opened his eyes, he could see that there were a few mothers gathered with children. They all shared a certain exhaustion and desperation. They were braced and determined.
“Rabbi, will you bless my children too?” She was pushing three dirty boys toward Jesus. Two were looking at the ground, embarrassed, and the third was glaring at Jesus. Jesus smiled. He remembered what it had been like. Mothers always push.
“Mother, I will bless them, as they have blessed me.”
For the next few minutes, Jesus asked names and put his hands on heads and felt the anger about his day melting away. He was filled with a wary hope. The dust he had piled up had been turned into a host of figures and butterflies and suns by the little hands all around him.
Suddenly he heard the deep voices of concerned men. Men he knew well.
“What are you doing?”
“Get those children back.”
“The master is resting.”
The women reached out for their quickly scattering children.
“But Mama, I didn’t get to go.”
It was a small girl. A girl who had not yet learned that she should not ask, that religion was not for her. Her mother shushed her and was almost out of sight when Jesus stood up.
“Wait.” His voice was quiet, but everyone stopped and turned to him. He looked out at the gathered adults and saw their weariness and concern. He saw their realism and their fear. He saw their poverty and their guilt. He saw the faces of the children. He saw their interest and their curiosity. He saw their impatience and their energy. He saw their hunger.
“Bring her to me.”
He put his hand on her head. She broke into a self-satisfied smile. She looked as if she might never admit that she wasn’t allowed.
“This is it. This is the kingdom. Do you see them? I am not asking you to help the children, I am asking you to let them help you.” By this time, a crowd had gathered. Jesus could see the faces of the religious leaders who had been making his day so difficult. “Unless you all become like children, you will never see the kingdom.”
He grinned and swiped up a finger full of dust and dotted the little girl on the nose.