“Learning to Become Little Children”
Matthew 18:1-4
(The main thrust of this sermon is taken from a podcast by Marty Solomon)
When I became a parent and Mary Ellen came out of her infancy and was becoming a toddler I started seeing all sorts of new things.
It was like I was getting a glimpse of a perspective I had never seen before.
From our Scripture passage for this morning and many other passages we see there is something about the nature of a child’s understanding about his or her world that Jesus finds admirable.
But, if I’m being honest, I think it can be hard for me to actually consider a child to be an example of faith.
So, I want to try and get a better understanding of what Jesus is talking about…
…because it’s obviously important to Him.
Jesus was a Jewish Rabbi.
And a Jewish Rabbi teaches his disciples valuable and important lessons.
They are never meant to be easy or empty.
In the Gospels there are several instances when Jesus gathers children around Him.
Ever wonder how long this gathering takes place?
We’re not told.
I’ve always assumed that Jesus takes about 20 seconds to gather some kids up, looks at His disciples and other listeners and says: “Unless you have faith like a child you cannot enter the Kingdom.”
Then, I always imagined Him ushering the children away so that He could go on with His much more important and profound teachings for the day.
But after watching children for a while, I have started to question these assumptions.
Perhaps Jesus wasn’t just giving a 2-minute lesson that day.
Maybe it wasn’t like a quick children’s sermon given before the REAL message.
Maybe this teaching is much more profound.
Let’s imagine that Jesus and His disciples got up that morning and went out to do what they normally did.
They gathered in the synagogue study rooms for morning readings and then left for the day’s adventures.
And let’s picture, maybe Matthew asking, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”
And then picture Jesus pausing and silently looking off into a nearby village…
…and without saying a word, marching off toward the houses.
Then Jesus gets to the outskirts of the village and sees a group of children—10 or 15 of them—playing in a field.
He leads His disciples into the field with the parents watching and welcoming Him and His disciples.
The disciples are watching and paying attention to Jesus’ every move as He scoops up a child and begins to playfully interact with the children.
As a disciple, your main duty is to mimic every move of your rabbi and so they start to play with the children as well.
Let’s imagine Jesus and His disciples spending the day with the children…
…telling them stories…
…playing games…
…maybe even taking naps…
…and the day starts to come to an end and a family insists that they stay for dinner.
As they begin to recline in the shade of a nearby tree Jesus says some of the first and only words He’s spoken all day.
“Watch the children.”
So, the disciples watch as they continue to recline and eat as the sun begins to set in the sky.
Then, Jesus calls one of the children by name.
He takes the child and pulls him close under His arm and He looks at all His disciples—making eye contact with all of them.
Then He says, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
(pause)
There are great lessons to be learned from watching little children.
When Mary Ellen was about 1 year old I had her to myself for the day.
And it was a nice Spring day outside.
It was just Dad and daughter.
I took her to a local park.
And I decided I was just going to relax and let Mary Ellen be.
I wasn’t going to take it for granted that toys or swings were going to be what her entertainment of choice was going to be for the day.
I wanted to see what she would do if she was left to be the captain of her own ship.
She had just learned to walk.
And as many of you know, the whole experience of learning to walk is an incredible thing to observe as a parent.
There are certain milestones you wait for in a newborn’s life.
The first time she rolls over, the first time she crawls, the first tooth…
…but there is nothing that compares to the ability to walk.
And there’s sheer panic you feel as a parent if your kid isn’t walking as soon as your friend’s kid is.
You start to question whether or not your child is going to be “okay” just a few weeks after all the other children are walking.
It’s an amazing thing, really.
I don’t think we obsess over teeth or weight like we do walking.
And I can remember the joy of seeing Mary Ellen beginning to crawl or mutter her first words, but nothing compares to the pure thrill of those first 5 or 6 steps.
It’s an incredible high…
…a rush of adrenalin and cheering with a look of bliss and joy covering your child’s face.
It’s a look that says, “They are having the time of their life on their own 2 legs for the first time.”
It’s a look that says she is so happy to be the joy of her parents.
But anyway, back to the park.
Mary Ellen had just learned to walk and walking was, as they say: “The Cat’s Meow.”
She was “on top of the world” just walking around in the grass, and I was there only to watch, enjoy and keep her from falling into a ditch or something.
At one point she walked off to the side of the park and down a very small slope.
I say it was small from the perspective of a 6 foot 1 inch man—not from the perspective of a 1 year old child.
I was actually quite impressed that she hadn’t fallen down the slope; now, however, she had turned around and decided she was ready to make her way back up this hill.
What I witnessed next was very simple, but I’ll never forget it as long as I live.
This upward slope was a brand-new slope for her.
She had never come upon the “physics,” shall we say, of walking uphill.
She tried to take a step and immediately fell backward.
The green grass was nice and cushy and she wasn’t hurt and there was no need for me to step in.
I could just keep watching.
She giggled.
She got back up…
…which is not an easy thing to do for a 1-year-old just learning to walk in the grass.
She tried to take another step.
She fell.
She got up.
She tried another step.
She fell.
She got up.
She fell.
She giggled.
I thought I might hear a cry or a whimper but one never came.
I thought she might whine or stretch out her hand to ask me for help, but she was just fine.
She giggled.
And she got up and she tried again and she fell.
Without exaggerating, I can honestly say that this process repeated itself a good 20 times before anything changed.
And each and every time she fell she got up again.
And every now and again she would giggle.
At this point she had begun to make some changes, some adjustments based on what she was learning.
She shifted her weight differently.
She took her time.
She placed her feet differently in relation to her body and the slope.
And she took a step, and a step and another step, and she stayed upright.
Then she screamed a happy little scream.
She took another step and she fell and she giggled.
(pause)
The 1st Century concept of discipleship was that the most successful
thing you could do in the Jewish culture—the thing they valued the most was the study of the Scriptures.
One of the highest honors in the Jewish school system was to have the opportunity to become a disciple.
If you thought you had what it takes as a student of the Jewish Scriptures—of the Torah—you would apply for discipleship under a rabbi.
And if a rabbi chose you as a disciple he was, in essence, saying to you, “I believe you have what it takes to become like me.”
It was a great honor.
So, the path of a disciple was the path of memorizing the rabbi’s teachings and most importantly—becoming just like the rabbi.
This meant you spent all day every day trying to mimic the thoughts, actions and teachings of your teacher.
If your rabbi does something—you do it!
And you know you can do it because if you could not have done it the rabbi would never have called you.
The rabbi’s call is his affirmation—his belief in your ability and potential.
And as Christians, Jesus has called us to be His disciples.
There is no greater honor.
And if Jesus is doing something, we who are called want to be like Him.
But often, it doesn’t work out.
We fall.
We lose faith.
But who do we lose faith in?
Jesus?
Jesus isn’t falling and messing up.
Jesus is doing just fine.
Do we lose faith in Jesus’ ability to be God—to be our Savior—our Lord?
Or do we lose faith in ourselves…in our ability to follow Him?
Jesus rescues us when we fall and then asks, “Oh, you of little faith. Why did you doubt.”
Is this a scolding of our failure to accomplish what Jesus has called us to do or is this a question of Jesus actually driving at our belief in ourselves?
It’s like, “Ken, if you didn’t have what it takes to be My disciple I never would have called you out.
You have everything you need to do this.
I believe in you.
I will never ask you to do something you cannot do.”
Listen to what one author says about this:
“So, at the end of his time with His disciples Jesus has some final words with them.
He tells them to go to the ends of the earth and make more disciples and then He leaves.
He promised to send His Spirit to guide them and give them power, but Jesus Himself leaves the future of the Movement in their hands and He doesn’t stick around to make sure they don’t mess it up.
He’s gone.
He trusts that they can actually do it.
God has an incredibly high view of people.
God believes that people are capable of amazing things.
I have been told that I need to believe in Jesus which is a good thing.
But what I’m learning is that Jesus believes in me.
I have been told that I need to have faith in God which is a good thing.
But what I’m learning is that God has faith in me.
The Rabbi thinks we can be like Him.” (from Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis)
I sometimes watch children and wonder when it was that I lost faith in myself.
I’m not talking about a narcissistic faith that seems to elevate my standing in God’s created order and lacks humility.
I’m certainly not trying to promote some humanistic worldview that seems to assert that the answer to all of our problems somehow lies within us.
I truly and earnestly believe that the hope for all this world’s brokenness lies in the power of the Resurrected Christ and the Reality of Jesus.
But I’m talking about faith in myself that I’m made in the image of God.
The kind of faith that might actually be willing to believe there might be something worth loving and saving if God was willing to save me through the Cross.
I wonder as I watch my children how it was that my innocence was somehow connected with my confidence.
Jesus tells me that if I cannot change and become like a little child the Kingdom will be out of my reach.
One thing I notice about little children is they have incredible faith in themselves.
They know that Dad is there and they know Mom is there and they know they are loved and they just want to play and smile and laugh and tumble.
It seems like later on in life we begin to question all those things…
…is Dad really there for me?
…am I really worth loving?
…can I really do this?
How many times have you tried to walk in the steps of Jesus and found it to be just another failed attempt.
How many times have you listened to the words of others who have told you that you will never amount to much—and you believed them…internalized them?
Imagine Jesus grabbing you by the chin and jerking your head up waiting for your eyes to meet His.
And with a divine sparkle in His eye He looks into your soul—the soul He knows intimately because He personally knit it together and He says: “You can do this.”
I go back in my mind and remember Mary Ellen on that slope.
20 times…
30 times…
10 minutes later we have finally walked the 12 feet that leads to the top of that slope and she laughs and she giggles and she prances and waddles along—the now level ground and she is thrilled to be at the top and she gets to run and play with ease.
Of course, she was happy to be at the bottom of the slope too.
I’ve come to a new realization: I want to learn how to giggle.
I would never suggest that we trivialize sin for a moment, but there is something here we are supposed to learn from children.
There’s something about that slope in the park that should bring us closer to the Kingdom of Heaven.
I’m tired of being immobilized by my failures, how about you?
I’m tired of being the person who knows there is no way I can pull this off.
I’m tired of having a laundry list of excuses.
I’m tired of letting this stinking slope get the better of me.
I’m tired of wondering whether or not my Father is there for me.
I’m tired of trying to decide if I’m worth being loved.
I’m tired of worrying about what the world wants from me and expects from me and thinks of me and says about me.
I can’t just snap my fingers and make the slope go away.
My problems, my hiccups and my sins are things I’m going to have to deal with.
I’m going to have to get over the problems that seem to get me down.
The Spirit of God is trying to complete the work within me that He started a long time ago.
I have some falling to do and I have plenty of getting up to do and I have a salvation that needs to be worked out with fear and trembling…
…and it’s going to take some effort.
But I wonder if God would rather say, “Oh, you of little faith” or if He would rather sit on a park bench and watch His child learn to walk.
I wonder if He would actually enjoy Himself if we could fall and learn to get back up and fall and get up and keep believing and keep getting back up and keep refusing to give up because we are going to make it up this slope and we are just so glad to be with Dad and be loved and know that we are okay.
I know I loved watching my daughter learn to know things when she was really young and I enjoy watching Owen learn the same things and not be stopped by the failures.
I love to watch my kids giggle.
I want to learn how to giggle.
How about you?
