Few incidents from the life and ministry of Jesus move people more, or speak to them as powerfully, than that of his encounter with little children. The contrast between Jesus’ response and that of his disciples – as illustrated here in a meditation from my book No Ordinary Man (Book 1) – powerfully demonstrates how we get our values muddled, confusing the way of the world with that of God. Above all, it speaks of the importance of confidence in God’s purposes – not, in any way, a childish faith, which is of little use to anyone, but a childlike trust: a recognition that, whatever life brings, for good or ill, we need to put our lives in the hands of the one whose love alone spans today, tomorrow, and all eternity.
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People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them: and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them. Mark 10:13-16
The meditation of Andrew
I could have brained those children,
rushing around like that with their yelling and shrieking,
shattering our peace and quiet.
We’d had him alone at last,
just us and Jesus;
a rare opportunity to sit and listen undisturbed,
drinking in his every word.
And it was wonderful,
a truly magical moment,
until, that is, they turned up –
those wretched kids ushered forward by their doting parents,
just so that he could touch them.
Really, how ridiculous!
Superstition, that’s all it was –
no real faith behind any of it –
just sentimental rubbish,
nauseating!
So we tried to stop them; you can understand that, surely?
We wanted to get back to the business in hand,
before we were so rudely interrupted;
back to more serious matters.
OK, so maybe we were a bit over the top,
a touch more heavy than the situation demanded,
but we were angry,
disappointed.
I mean, could you have concentrated with that row going on?
I couldn’t.
Yet did they care?
Not likely!
We fully expected Jesus to back us up,
send the lot of them packing.
But can you believe this? He didn’t!
He actually turned on us,
and there was anger in his eyes,
anger touched almost with pity.
‘Leave them alone,’ he said. ‘Let them come to me. What’s your problem?’
Well, we didn’t know what to say, did we?
It caught us right on the hop.
So we just fidgeted uncomfortably, trying to cover our embarrassment.
It was so unfair.
We’d meant no harm, after all,
certainly hadn’t meant to upset anybody;
yet there they were now,
the kids bawling their eyes out,
the mums looking daggers at us,
the dads having a go at everyone –
what a mess!
I honestly didn’t know what to do next.
But thankfully Jesus came to the rescue as always.
He reached out and took the children in his arms, one by one,
a great loving hug.
And then he lifted them up for all to see.
‘These are special,’ he told us,
‘More precious than you will ever know –
each one treasured by God.’
And you could tell from the way he smiled at them,
and the way they smiled back at him,
that he meant every word he was saying,
and they knew he meant it.
I still feel a bit aggrieved by it all –
well, you can tell that, can’t you?
But I realise now we made ourselves look rather silly that day,
even childish, you might say;
and I’m beginning to understand Jesus has no room for the childish,
only the childlike.
Prayer
Lord Jesus Christ,
you told your disciples that the kingdom of heaven
belongs to little children.
You warned us that unless we can become like them
then we shall not enter it ourselves.
Teach us what that means.
Help us to be truly childlike in our faith,
having a child’s innocence,
a child’s hunger to learn,
and a child’s total trust.
Help us, like them, to step out gladly
into the great adventure of faith.
Amen.