Grow up! You're acting childish! I just wish you'd be more mature! Act your age! Don't be a baby! Sound familiar? With these and many other common phrases we grown-ups express our conviction that being grown-up is the most desirable goal of life. That's certainly the attitude the disciples expressed when they spoke sternly to those who were bringing children to Jesus in order that he might touch and bless them. Being a disciple of Jesus Christ is, after all, grown-up business, isn't it?

The familiar story of Jesus blessing the children is one of the most endearing portraits we have of our Lord. It's touching and heartfelt. Jesus says that we must in some mysterious way become like children in order to enter the kingdom of heaven. 

Some claim that Jesus is speaking of innocence and trust, and there’s a certain amount of truth in that, but God knows that neither you nor I will ever be purely innocent again.  We know too much and the pain is too deep. We've seen too many senseless acts of violence, like the recent slaughter of Amish children, to ever be innocent again.  

I was talking with Pat McCurry last week and, with tears in her eyes, she described an interview she had seen with one of the surviving Amish children.  “We must forgive the man who killed our friends, and pray for him,” the little girl said.  The Amish accept tragedies as somehow, inexplicably, being part of the will of God, a prayerful approach to life they call yieldedness.  Quite frankly, I was horrified that anyone could ever describe the killing of innocent children as even remotely being the will of God. But, having said that, although I’d use very different language, I do understand what they’re trying to get at.  The Amish are pure pacifists and one author, in writing about this tragedy, described their “yieldedness” by saying:  “This is imitation of Christ at its most naked.  If anybody is going to turn the other cheek in our society, it’s going to be the Amish.”  It is not unusual for the Amish to reach out to those who hurt them. When an Amish dies in a car accident, for example, the motorist is often invited to the funeral.

We don’t have to believe that tragedy is the will of God, but if we are going to survive emotionally and spiritually in this world, without it driving us to deep despair, we do have to learn the art of yielding.  I’m reminded of the serenity prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; And wisdom to know the difference."  What that Amish child was saying was that tragedy is an inexplicable mystery that must be met with prayer and acceptance, not with hate and despair.  What has happened cannot now be changed.  To dwell on hate, constantly letting that be the focus of our thoughts, will surely drive us to despair.  And so the Amish have learned to forgive.  You can call them unworldly, and you can call them impractical, but you could never call them unspiritual. 

I think this is starting to get at what Jesus means when he tells us that we have to become as children in order to enter God’s kingdom.  We have to be open and receptive to the mysteries of our faith.  Anne Frank, a Jewish child hiding from the terror of the Nazis in a cramped room, was able to write in her diary: "I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart.”  You might call her an unrealistic and naïve child, but her words continue to offer the hope of spiritual serenity in the midst of a dark and often tragic world. 

At best, until it is corrupted by the horrors of the world, a child's heart is a heart of faith, a heart of love. There is so much that is wrong in the world, so much that we grown-ups have done to make it a cruel and loveless world, but children can often remind us of the joy, the openness and the trust that were part of God's Original Blessing when the world was created.

Henri Nouwen was a Catholic priest who spent years in the academic scene, teaching pastoral theology at Yale Divinity School. He was also called to a special ministry of counseling and psychotherapy but, finally, after a contemplative retreat at a Trappist Abbey in New York, he discerned God calling him to work in the slums of Bolivia and Peru. It was there that this scholar and activist began learning from the children. In his book, Gracias, he writes: (1)

The children always challenge me to live in the present. They want me to be with them here and now, and they find it hard to understand that I might have other things to do or to think about. After all my experiences with psychotherapy, I suddenly have discovered the great healing power of children. I marvel at their ability to be fully present to me. Their uninhibited expression of affection and their willingness to receive it pull me directly into the moment and invite me to celebrate life where it is found. Whereas in the past coming home meant time to study, to write letters, and to prepare for classes, it now first of all means time to play.

I did not know what to expect when I came to Peru. I wondered how the poverty, the lack of good food and good housing would affect me; I was afraid of becoming depressed by the misery I would see. But God showed me something else first: affectionate, open, and playful children who are telling me about love and life in ways no book was ever able to do. I now realize that only when I can enter with the children into their joy will I be able to enter also with them into their poverty and pain. God obviously wants me to walk into the world of suffering with a little child on each hand.

Now think again about that image of Jesus Christ blessing the children and holding them up as an example. We know the story of Jesus. He knew better than anyone that the world could be a hard and cruel place. He doesn't expect us to pretend that suffering and injustice don't exist. He calls us to be mature and responsible adults, committed to making the world a better place. But, for our own sake, for the sake of our sanity, for the sake of our souls, he calls us to walk joyfully and hopefully into the world of suffering - with a little child on each hand. God bless the children.

(1) Henri Nouwen, Gracias, p. 123