greatest in the kingdom

"Sire," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these, "if I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?"

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh, Susan!" said Jill. "She's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

From The Last Battle -- C.S. Lewis

Following Kindergarten, I was forced to attend summer school for the only time in my life. While other kids enjoyed their summer days, I endured a couple hours of special education each morning. My summer school peers were behind academically and stayed a couple hours longer. As for me, my brain and my physical coordination were in disagreement with one another. I went to summer school because I couldn't skip.

For an entire month, I braved balance beams, side-galloped across open carpet, and learned various animal walks designed to teach better balance. But skipping was my physical demon. The rhythm of the hops never seemed to work in stride, and I ended up looking like someone trying to walk with their arms swinging to the wrong stride. Despite my embarrassment as one of the academically gifted, that class did teach me how to skip.

A happy-go-lucky child, I sang and shouted about the first grade playground, fully equipped with a new physical arsenal. Returning from recess, I made a point of skipping everywhere in the classroom. I skipped to the teacher's desk. I skipped to the water fountain. I skipped through the library. I particularly liked skipping across the tile floor in the back of the classroom, where the terrain was harder and my sneakers went clickety-clack.

My parents met my elderly teacher for parent conferences that November, and having received good marks on my first report card, I felt little concern for their meeting (consequently, the last time this event did not bring me heavy anxiety). She timidly contrasted my knack for creativity and my disinterest with her lessons. It was suggested that if I listened more and talked less, I had the potential to be her best student. She closed with a final rebuke: "Anthony needs to stop skipping across the classroom."

My mom and dad wanted nothing more than to send me to college without a blemish. The talking had to stop...the skipping had to stop. A sensitive seven-year-old, I felt betrayed. I had wasted a good portion of my summer building my confidence, only to be told it angered my teacher.

My skipping was suppressed. My talking took another six years to break :) Most every adult for the remainder of my childhood would have me race to the silliest time of my life to make their lives less messy.

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Kids have it in their nature to muck up the program. They have the power to delay the schedule, take unexpected pit stops, and create structural disasters. In church, I grieved the Wednesday night leaders by getting bubble gum stuck in my thick hair (my best friend smacked the biggest bubble ever against my face). In 3rd grade, I voluntarily stuck myself in a locker, only to find that the latch was stuck from the homework I haphazardly tossed in first. I couldn't sit still in the barber's chair and held up the line. When I won my elementary school spelling bee, I returned to my classroom with shouts, unaware that the classroom was exercising their afternoon quiet time.

As long as there have been institutions, children have been "in the way." Churches have all but separated them completely from adult activity, and schools are divided for the purpose of age-specific education. Many children will never experience the love and appropriate discipline of an involved extended family, physically or spiritually. God's internal plan for familial discipleship is crumbling to pieces in our present age.

Jesus had a couple things to say about children:

At this time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"

He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said, "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.

"And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." (Matthew 18:1-6)

And since Christ's disciples were a little slow (not unlike myself), Jesus reiterates his position one chapter later:

Then little children were brought to Jesus for Him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there. (Matthew 19:13-15)

What does it mean to "change and become" like children? I spent some time exploring the characteristics of children and their relationship with good fathers. I'll break it down three-point-sermon style :)

1. Fathers are the first source of authority. Does a child know to distrust his/her dad's word? Before children are influenced by peers, teachers, and church leaders, every understanding of the world is gained through their parental authority. A son does not rest upon his own wisdom, and a daughter does not debate her father's word against another. A child is given direction and responds with obedience. Approaching God as a child means trusting Him implicitly. A child loses his/her innocence when the wisdom of the world is accepted over the words of the Father.
2. Fathers are the first source of protection. As a child, were you ever lost in a supermarket or a clothing store? Being separated for any length of time is one of the most terrifying events in a child's life. As a lost child, we wander around aimlessly, screaming for our parents to apprehend us. Choking with tears, a child will run into his father's arms or cling to the comfort of his strong leg for safety. The child knows his father's voice, and immediately knows where to run when he calls. Approaching God as a child means seeking Him with the same desperation. A child left to his/her own survival is not capable of finding safety in any other person or thing.
3. Fathers are the first source of strength. I was a tiny kid, and bullies could have easily had their way with me if they wanted. I knew that there was nothing in my strength to defend myself, and I was incapable of doing many things apart from my dad. If approached with a threatening situation, I delegated my own right to defend myself to his authority. This is why boys tell other boys, "My dad can beat up your dad!" They are not concerned with what they can do, for their fathers are much greater. Approaching God as a child means resting and relying in His strength and not our own. It means boasting of His might, and sharing of His deeds to any who may listen. A child never tires of telling others about His strength. May it be so with us.