I was born into a rather unusual household in the East End of London. My grandparents had shared their lives with motherless children, and my parents did the same. This is how I came to grow up alongside 40 other children. When I married, Ruth and I continued the family tradition, and still live in exactly the same place over 113 years after my grandfather began his life’s work here.
The blessing of living among children has introduced me to many things that have affected the way I think about theology. I’d like to offer three different perspectives on seeing life through the eyes of children: children’s spirituality, children’s theology and child theology.
Children’s spirituality
There has been a lot written about children’s spirituality in recent years. The core idea is that children have their own ways of making sense of the transcendent: they are hard-wired for relationships of many sorts, one of which is with God. If we see teaching children the Christian faith as a one-way process, we risk not listening to and appreciating how they are already reaching out to, in touch with, and reflecting on that which is beyond. Rather than relying solely on catechisms and didactic methods of instruction (however lively and enlightened) it is important to give children space for their own thoughts.
As an adult, I have as much to learn from children as I have to teach them
Now this has not been a total surprise to me having lived with children; at first I was amazed at the depths of their insights, and the integration of thoughts and feelings, but then I came to realise that as an adult I had as much to learn from them as well as to teach them. It was a question of how best to do this.
One incident stands out above all others: we were camping in North Wales, and my late brother-in-law was tucking in three Nigerian youngsters, who lived with us for the night. He had read a story to them, and then they prayed. I noticed him leave the tent with tears in his eyes. Concerned, I sidled up to him to ask what was wrong. He pointed to the tent and, through his tears, said that they were praying and he didn’t feel worthy to stay in their presence. The prayer was continuing, so I was able to listen to the earnest, and remarkably honest, outpouring of emotion from outside the tent, and it wasn’t long before I was feeling the same way. It was as if God was present, and so near that it was possible for the boys to whisper and for him still to hear their every word. They prayed for members of their family far away, and those who were part of their new extended family: there was a sense of deep connection, forgiveness, and above all integrity. This was for me a memorable introduction to children’s spirituality.
Children’s theology
Children can be theologians in the sense that they will have their own forms of theology, and their particular ways of expressing truths they discern. This means that it is not always adults who teach theology: at best it should be a two-way process (like all learning). I do not mean that children’s theology is on a par with mature adult theology, but that it is unwise to assume that their minds are a tabula rasa as far as theology is concerned.
Let me give you an example from a Godly Play session that I was invited to attend. The subject was the Ten Commandments. The leader told the story of what happened at Mount Sinai, and went on to explain how Jesus taught new insights into God’s law. One of the things he said was that we should love God and our neighbours as ourselves, but even more than that, we should love our enemies. This was too much for one of the children. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked. ‘I can’t even love my sister, so how could I love someone I hated?’ (His sister nodded sagely in agreement.) ‘If that is what Jesus taught then you can count me out. What about the Qur’an? What does it say? Is it any more realistic?’
The discussion continued to consider why the armies of our own country were currently fighting their enemies in Iraq and Afghanistan. Why didn’t our government listen to and obey Jesus? What I was witnessing was a child doing theology. He was thinking out loud about what the scriptures and Jesus taught and trying to relate this to his own situation and the world around him. What is that if it is not theology? In numerous ways children do theology, notably in their questions and prayers. This is never to be patronised or dismissed: who can say that adult humans are any nearer to the whole truth from God’s point of view?
Child theology
As a way of introducing child theology, I would like to pause to consider two vital words about how we can relate to children: ‘receiving’ or ‘welcoming’. They are in common parlance, but also specifically connected with the teaching of Jesus in Matthew 18, and also what we read in John 1 concerning Jesus - the Word being received (or not). It is possible to parent, live among, care for and teach children without fully receiving them. So what does this act of receiving imply and entail?
Child theology must never be patronised or dismissed: who is to say that adult humans are any nearer to the whole truth from God’s point
of view?
Perhaps the best analogy would be to think of parents and their first child. When the child is born, their life will change radically if they are to receive the child in the fullest sense of the word. It is not only their relationship with each other that must be adapted, but the very rhythms and pulses of their home and working lives must be tuned to the heartbeat, cries and movement of the new child. It is theoretically possible to live among children, to care for them, to teach them and to witness their spirituality without changing as a person. Receiving a child in the sense just described cannot be done without changing.
It is not easy to communicate the profound difference that I have in mind, but if so you may be willing at this point to take it on trust. There came a time in my personal journey when it became necessary, and then eventually a habit of the heart, to change: whether in the context of my own family of four children, or the extended family of Mill Grove. And it was through this process that I began to see how all those engaged with children whom I admired had intuitively understood the necessity of changing in order to receive children.
With this in mind we can consider child theology. It is a challenge not primarily to live among children, to care for them, or to admire them, but to change and become humble like them; to receive (welcome) them as a way of entering the kingdom of Heaven and of receiving Jesus Christ and the one who sent him. It may be that the idea of changing to receive a child comes before the call of Jesus, or it could be the other way round. What is not in doubt in child theology is that they go together.
Those of us engaged in the emerging Child Theology Movement by way of contrast find that we cannot escape this challenge of Jesus. If it is not ‘the gospel in a nutshell’, it certainly seems to come very close! Jesus tells us that a little child is a vital clue to the nature of his kingdom, and how to receive our saviour and lord. How then can we neglect to heed what he offers us? Once Jesus has gained our attention (and for 2000 years of Church history it has been gained much more rarely than it should have been) he calls us to change. In short our theology (our way of understanding and speaking to, with and for God) must be open to change. It is faulty as it stands, and therefore is in need of reformation. And the child is a model of humility.
Quite obviously this does not mean that the child standing beside Jesus was a model of the virtue of humility (we have no idea whether this was so, and we might suspect that humility of this sort is not likely to be a virtue in a little child anyway). No, the little child is a model of
marginality, lowly status, invisibility and the like. This call to change and become humble like little children is another way of putting the call of the cross. The child stands for Jesus, and what he is called to be in his life and in his death: one who is despised and rejected. This is not an easy lesson. Perhaps that is one reason why it has so often been overlooked or remained unheard.
The challenge is not to live among children, to care for them, or to admire them, but to change and become humble like them
The child placed by Jesus in our midst is like a lens through which we see Jesus, his Father, and the world in new ways. If you prefer the metaphor, the child chosen and placed by Jesus throws new light on God’s way of doing things. So to be willing to change, using this lens,
or guided by this light, is to open up the whole of our life, to change everything in order to receive children fully.
I hope this way of describing child theology is helpful: if not there are other methods of approach. By re-telling something of my own story I can at least be rather more accurate than if I tried to give you generalisations about a movement that is less than 12 years old and includes people from every continent. Should you wish to join this growing movement, you are welcome. It’s a journey of discovery, full of surprises because it is a pioneering journey: no one, as far as we know, has travelled it for long before. If you do accept the invitation please don’t look to anyone as an expert, and do not make children your focus: it is a pilgrimage following Jesus as Lord and saviour, Alpha and Omega. Ultimately, the little child throws light on Jesus and the one who sent him. We take Jesus as our way, as well as our truth and life.
