"Unless You Become As Little Children"
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by Rose Mary Dougherty
The leaders of our Spring Retreat asked us to pray that we might become as little children and to reflect on what might get in the way of our childlikeness. But that was hard for me. That day I had finished giving a four-day workshop and was still feeling very responsible. Also I had a cold; I was very tired. I walked around the retreat center just appreciating the beauty of its surroundings. The best I could manage was being there. Later that weekend we were asked to recall our child song. My mind came up with nothing. Still my heart began to sing, "Playmate, playmate, come out and play with me." I think that song became my prayer.Several days later, on a rainy day, we sat around the lunch table at Shalem. Jerry May, who was to lead our weekly staff prayer, asked what we would like to do that day for prayer. I immediately said, "Sleep!" Others laughed, then agreed with me. Later, Jerry began our time by asking us to be alert and attentive, claiming our desire for God. Then he said, "Now relax and be comfortable." I chose a horizontal position. Softly he strummed a lullaby on his guitar and sang it ever so sweetly. I dissolved into tears, not hurting tears, but softening tears, the tears of being cared for. Somehow in that prayer time, God's tenderness for me, for the people there with me, for our world, became tangible. For that little while I became a child. Defenses fell away. I slept. And I slept well that night, waking with renewed energy. I had not been able to pray to become as a little child, but God had heard my heart.
Later, in a more rational mode, I wondered what it would be like to be childlike all the time, how I could make it happen. I thought of my nine-year-old nephew at his younger brother's birthday party, his skepticism when the magic of a clown found a bunny in an air-filled balloon. I remembered how delight edged out his skepticism when the clown placed the bunny on his lap. For a few minutes, at least, he was one with the five-year-olds. Then he returned to his questions: " How did she do that, Dad? How did she make that happen?" I recalled the three-year-old whom I had recently visited. He brought me his pennies, then asked, "Rose Mary, would you like to buy something from me?" I gave him four pennies for a plastic cup. He gave me three cents change. I thought of four-year-old Jesse taking a walk with me. She picked up two branches, handed me one saying, "These are our banners." Then she paraded down the street singing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for my mother tells me so." I marveled at the childlikeness I had experienced. I wondered what it would be like for me to become as a child.
If I knew what it would be like for me to become as a child, I probably would strategize to make it happen. I would be just as caught in that role of a child as I am in the role of an adult. But I know I want to be a child, at least sometimes. The song of this child still sounds in my heart, "Playmate, playmate, come out and play with me." I want to delight in bunnies that appear from nowhere. I want to trust my pennies to others and then play store with them. I want to parade down the street singing, "Jesus loves me." I want to rest in the tenderness of God.
Will becoming a little child shield me from my pain, the pain of others? Will it numb my heart to compassion or lull me into carefree complacency? Perhaps it will. But for now I can only pray what is real in my heart. God hears what is real in my heart. God knows what is possible for me.
God tells me unequivocally through Jesus, "Unless you change and become as a little child, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven." (Matthew 18:3) The words are not, "Unless you can change, unless you work at becoming a little child, you will never enter the Kingdom." Rather, they seem to speak of something that is possible, possible for me, for us now. So frequently Jesus says, "The reign of heaven is at hand." He does not say, "The reign of heaven is my promise for the future." Instead he tells us that this reign is what is, here, now, God's presence among us. We will recognize that Presence when we again become as little children, when we allow the layers of defenses and false images to be stripped from us and become who we really are. Jesus also says, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God." (Matthew 5:3) Are they all the same? Are children the pure of heart who are empty of all pretense, depending on God? Are they the ones whose vision is unencumbered? Are children the ones who I expect to meet God where God is, in each moment? Yes, I think so. But where do children find God?
The words of Thomas Sheehan, a theologian, remind me of where God is. In speaking of the Incarnation, he writes, "In a burst of love, God disappeared into Creation." The God of children is right here, now, marveling at bunnies, trusting us with pennies and teaching us to share our pennies with others, parading the good news of love. The God of children cares for us and cares for others through us. This God sings us lullabies, "tenders" our hearts so we might sing to those who weep, delights to be with the children, and delights to be with us, here, now!
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.