But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” [Mark 10:14-15 (ESV)]
One day, the disciples scolded some parents for bringing their children to Jesus for a blessing. After telling them the Kingdom belonged to those who received it like a child, He called the children to Him. Unlike adults, children accept their humble position and live by faith and trust. Without self-consciousness and knowing they are in complete dependence on the giver, they receive gifts with humility and enthusiasm. Like explorers, children have a sense of wonder on their quest to learn about the world around them. They are filled with excitement and awe at every new thing they experience because life hasn’t become routine, predictable, or run-of-the mill to them.
Thinking of a child’s sense of wonder, I recalled my grand’s reaction to the small nativity I purchased for her more than twenty years ago. While her parents were away for the weekend in late November, she stayed with us. Although the tyke knew all about Santa, she didn’t know the Christmas story so I gave her a nativity set in a small wooden box. It had a handle on top so it could be carried like a purse and a latch in front that, when opened, revealed a stable and about a dozen wooden figures. As we opened the box, I told her the beautiful story that went along with those figures. Her eyes were big as saucers as she heard about the baby Jesus, angels, shepherds, wise men with gifts, and a star that led them to the baby. Filled with wonder at the amazing story, she had me tell it several times. When her parents came to pick her up, she immediately sat them down in our living room. After carefully opening her nativity box, she enthusiastically identified each character and explained the Christmas story to them.
How many Christmas pageants have we attended? How many Christmas Eves have we heard the words from Luke 2 or sung “Silent Night” in candlelight? How many times have we heard about the angelic chorus and the shepherds’ astonishment? Are we as astonished by the nativity as were they? Unlike a child, I suspect that we’ve lost our sense of awe and wonder at the incarnation—our astonishment that Jesus clothed Himself in a human body so that He could live a sinless life only to suffer a sinner’s death.
We’ve probably lost count of the Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, or Tenebrae/Good Friday services we attended. How many times have we heard about Jesus washing the disciple’s feet or the women discovering the empty tomb on Easter morning? For that matter, how many times have we read or heard about the feeding of the multitude, the miraculous provision of wine at Cana, blind Bartimaeus receiving sight, or the parable of the Prodigal Son? While familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed contempt, it can breed boredom.
In theater, the actors are expected to deliver a well-rehearsed performance in a fresh and new way every time. Called the “illusion of the first time,” they endeavor to make the audience feel like they are witnessing something happening for the very first time. What if we, as readers and hearers of the word, tried to create the “illusion of the first time”? What if we put on the eyes and ears of a child who’s hearing or reading it for the first time—someone who doesn’t know that Abraham won’t have to sacrifice Isaac, Lazarus will walk out of the tomb, only one leper will return to thank Jesus, the Red Sea will part, the walls of Jericho will collapse, or that young David will defeat the gigantic Goliath? What if we were hearing or reading those familiar narratives for the first time? Even though we know the stories, shouldn’t we be as filled with wonder as was my grand when she learned the Christmas story? Shouldn’t we be as amazed as were the shepherds when they heard an angelic chorus on the night of Christ’s birth, as astonished as were the mourners when Lazarus walked out of that tomb, as distressed as were the women at the foot of the cross, and as stunned as were the disciples when Jesus appeared Easter morning!?
While we may have the knowledge of decades-long believers, let us come to Scripture with a child’s awe and sense of wonder. Let us react to the words as if it were the first time we’ve read or heard them—as if we don’t know how the story ends. Let us recreate the “illusion of the first time” and have the wonder of a child!
A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. [Rachel Carson]
In C.S. Lewis’ children’s fantasy novel The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the youngest child, Lucy Pevensie, happens upon an enchanted armoire and steps into the magical world of Narnia. Upon returning, she rushes to tell her siblings of her astonishing adventure. Hearing such a tall tale and finding no concrete proof of its truth, her older siblings assume the story to be a figment of her imagination. They take their concern over her falsehood to their wise elderly uncle. He cautions them to use logic and consider Lucy’s story carefully. He points out there are only three possibilities: either she’s lying, crazy, or telling the truth. After pointing out that lies usually are more plausible than Lucy’s inexplicable tale, he asks if she’s lied before. The children admit she’s always been truthful. After pointing out that none of Lucy’s behavior indicates mental illness, they all agree she can’t have gone mad. He then suggests that since she’s neither a liar nor crazy, they could consider the possibility that Lucy’s story is true.
Many years ago, my two boys were playing at their grandparents’ house. While Grandpa worked in the garden, the brothers climbed up into the apple tree and started to throw apples at him. A patient man, their grandfather told them to stop and, when more apples came whizzing at him, he offered a sterner warning. After briefly stopping their barrage, the rascals were unable to resist the temptation and chucked more apples at Grandpa. To their surprise, this gentle and loving man turned around, picked up some apples, and returned fire. Having played ball as a boy, Gramps had a strong throwing arm and excellent aim. He didn’t pull any punches as he pitched those apples back at his grandsons. The boys, unable to maneuver easily in the tree, quickly learned the meaning of “as easy as shooting fish in a rain barrel.” When they called, “Stop, Grandpa, it hurts!” he replied, “Yes, I know it does, but you needed to learn that!” It wasn’t until those hard apples hit their bodies that the youngsters understood how much their disobedience hurt their grandfather (both physically and emotionally).
In Letters to Malcom, C. S. Lewis wrote, “We, or at least I, shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. … Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are ‘patches of Godlight’ in the woods of our experience.”
Although he was a man of faith, my father was not a man of laughter, tenderness, affection, or patience. When I was a child, my understanding of fear of the Lord was much like the fear I had of my father—fear that I never could be pretty, smart, talented, or good enough to earn either his or God’s love. Try as I might, I always seemed to fall short.
Years ago, I often cared for my granddaughter while also watching my son’s dog. The grand in her highchair would push her food around the tray while trying to feed herself. Since fine motor skills are lacking in toddlers, a fair amount of whatever she was eating ended up on the floor. Whatever my grand didn’t get in her mouth became a feast for the dog waiting patiently beneath her for the bits and pieces that fell. When she was a bit older, I think she deliberately dropped a few tidbits for her canine friend.
Devotions of the Heart 