Faith...only a child understands that word

Children are too smart to not believe in fairy tales, for children are truthful and fairy tales are true. As children, we possess a bright and courageous soul desiring the fullest intensity of a romantic tale; for whom shall we fear? I have never seen someone find such joy, as children do, in picking flowers, or eating cereal or riding in a car as the trees stride past like giants of an ancient kingdom. It is a weariless life. What adults consider monotonous makes a child laugh; for what a fantastic mystery it is to live.
 

As children grow older we teach them that all beliefs are relative...even this one.

Nothing and no one can be trusted for there is no such thing as truth.

But truth is not a thing; Truth is a person.

 

 

We are a society full of Pontius Pilates and we constantly wash our hands of one another. We wash them to the bone. We are scared and defeated courtiers bowing with great pomp to both the king and the priest…but never the beggar. Jesus bows to the king, priest, and the beggar because his love for all three is greater than the praise he knows is already his. He is Truth. Therefore, he sets the rules…and his love constitutes all. Children bow for the same reason. They see no difference between king, beggar and priest.

 

But we bow because we are afraid. We bow as a political move to get what we want. It’s all a game in our heads. We appease others to preserve ourselves. ‘You crucify him according to your law,’ we say. ‘I wash my hands of his blood.’ As we get older and grow oh so very tired, we abandon Truth (the person) in order to survive, in order to play this god-forsaken game. We are not that blunt about it—as a child would be—but judging by our society that is basically what we mean.

 

It is the ancient legend about the town who found themselves in the midst of a terrible famine. Their crops were drying up and their livestock were dying. So the town elders called a prayer meeting to lift their voices and pray to God for rain. The elders shouted eloquent words, and the men and women stomped their feet and lifted their hands. They yelled different languages and fainted in hysteria. But nothing happened. God just sat there watching the scene. And then a little girl walked into the prayer meeting…and she was carrying an umbrella. God smiled and the first drop fell.

 

 

            My God, I wish I had that faith!

            Why can’t I bring an umbrella when I pray for rain?

 

A child is not proud in the sense we think of it. Children do not spit their beliefs trying to command respect or save their neck. She did not hide her umbrella until the rain came and then rip it out to show everyone she had always had it. No. She was praying for rain…and so she just brought it. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’ was probably her thought. ‘We are praying to God aren’t we?’

 

Children just live. They live quiet lives full of freedom because they do not analyze themselves nor do they analyze God. They just trust him, because he’s obviously there to be trusted in. They trust the Great Story he is writing. This God demands that we pray boldly. And so they do. He demands that we bring an umbrella…if we are going to ask him for rain. And if we are not going to bring an umbrella, why even bother to pray?

 

 

Jesus said the kingdom of heaven was for the child at heart and that has always puzzled me. Am I to act ignorant when I am not? God forbid! God knows the truth of this bloodthirsty universe, better than we can imagine. He wouldn’t ask us to turn a blind eye to the pain here. Because he most certainly has not.

 

 

The cross reveals the fire behind his righteous gaze.

 

Yet curiously he still calls me to know him here, within this broken place. He has not removed us from the mud but has asked us to sit in the dark along with the rest of our family…and to wait and to trust that he is our light. In fact, he says that knowing him here, within this disgusting war-zone of bullet-holed walls and sandy, blood-smeared craters, is the remedy for the world. Knowing him here, as a courageous child knows him, within his utterly ruined creation, is to subvert the powers that rule; those who arrogantly claim that any and everything is Lord, except one. Yet knowing him here, as a child knows him, is to profess humbly but unwaveringly, “No…Jesus is Lord."

"There is Truth—his name is Jesus.”
There is mystery in this world as the battle draws onward; that is why it is called faith.
That is why children wear the armor of God.
And that is also why they bring umbrellas when they pray for rain.

 

It is no surprise then that this Great Story is saturated with melodies. For war is a dreadful thing and music infuses us with hope. The nights will be long and casualties will mount. Blood will be shed and scars…oh how we will multiply scars upon scars. But the war is won, so says our King. And music lifts our souls. The notes deeper than cold words remind us of our cause. In those moments when our souls cannot remain still for the grace or confusion or despair of the day is too strong and such that it reaches a place in us we thought unreachable, only music can heal. Children have to sing. So too do I.

 

 

Come dance upon the threshing floor

Night is done, step through the door

In golden-laden hues

 

 

Garlands of life, breathe and touch

Florid the gowns, draped o’er and such

The hearers of the news

 

 

Drink with spontaneity

Laughter, mirth and gaiety

Banished is the pain

 

 

Dissipated by the light

Of truth, restoring of our sight

The dance that makes the grain

 

 

Come dance upon the threshing floor

Beckoned forth, more the more

To all who would be free