“Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” - Mark 10:15 (NIV)
She stood on tiptoes, chubby toddler legs straining to peer over the ornately carved baptismal font. Her fingers stubbornly gripped the edges of the bowl as if bracing herself, preventing anyone from dragging her off this sacred perch.
My pastoral colleague was the officiant of this baptism so I relaxed into my chair in the chancel, enjoying my front-row seat.
“Through the Sacrament of Baptism we are initiated into Christ’s holy church,” my colleague proclaimed as she recited the familiar baptismal liturgy. “We are incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation and given new birth through water and the Spirit.”1
We were baptizing the little girl’s infant brother, and while he cooed quietly she paid him no mind. Instead, her attention was fixed on the pastor, whose recitations of the liturgy reminded the gathered church body that none of this grace is earned, that all of us come to the baptismal font and the salvation it reveals as helpless as the baby, as reliant as the girl:
“All this is God’s gift, offered to us without price.”
Face aglow with wonder, the girl watched the pastor lift the crystal pitcher and slowly pour the baptismal water into the font. The sparkling water cascaded across her line of sight, splashing grace upon grace onto her hair, her cheeks, her hands, her dress. She darted pudgy fingers into the font, a stolen touch of the holy water. None protested and none recoiled when her fingers dipped below the surface. How could anyone fault her exuberant, dogged reach for grace?
My mind automatically recited Jesus’ words, “Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”2 When the disciples wanted to stand like bodyguards between Jesus and the village children, Jesus indignantly rebuked them and insisted that they must emulate the unrestrained, unrefined, reaching, grasping, curious faith of a child.
I had never seen someone grip the baptismal font like it held the treasures of the world, as this girl did. I had never seen someone so enamored with the splash of its water, the way it glimmered under the light. I had never seen someone so eager to feel it, to touch it, to soak in it and the mysteries it held.
At a child’s baptism in the United Methodist Church, the pastor asks the parent(s) to promise to raise the child in the faith and asks the gathered church family to do the same: “Will you nurture one another in the Christian faith and life and include this child now before you in your care?” The adults in the pews answered in the affirmative and I wondered if the question shouldn’t be asked the other way around.
Will we let this baby boy teach us about the Christian faith and life? Will we let his sister lead us into the mysteries of the Kingdom of God?
That’s part of the hidden beauty of the Church, after all. Where else do meaningful intergenerational conversations happen about God and faith and the mess of life and the power of love? Where else does a toddler’s holy wonder inspire 200 adults lucky enough to witness it? Where else is the youngest, most powerless member of the community as likely to be a sage as the oldest, wealthiest, and most esteemed?
When the Church is at its best, children are pioneers of faith. They lead adults into creativity and playfulness, connecting us with the creative and playful Spirit at work within us. They lead adults into joy and gratitude and trust, teaching us the simple truth that a profound faith need not be complicated.
The Church is beautiful because children make it so. They slip their small hands into ours and tug us onward into the beautiful Kingdom of God.
As the church spoke the final words of the baptismal liturgy, my eyes scanned the people packed into the pews. I saw gray hairs and wiggly toddlers, teenagers and tired parents. I saw empty nesters and snuggly infants and I was overcome with gratitude. “Through baptism we are incorporated by the Holy Spirit into God’s new creation,” we proclaimed, and I felt this holy newness welling up within me: a new glimpse of God’s Kingdom, a new appreciation for the Church, a new sense of wonder at the grace of God offered without price. “With joy and thanksgiving we welcome you as a member of the family of Christ.”
I wiped the water gathering in my eyes, overcome by the mysteries of God revealed through this little girl, awed by the glory that glowed through her childlike faith, and grateful for a church that received her revelation with open hearts.
You see, with all its scandals, failures, and political schemes, it is still a beautiful Church. Be hopeful. God is still here.
This and all the liturgy quotes that follow are from The United Methodist Hymnal, Baptismal Covenant I
Mark 10:15, NIV