That’s how the light gets in

And so the 10th BASPCAN child protection congress is over. The banners have come down, the delegates have gone their various ways, and the PowerPoint slides deleted from the desktops.

It has been an incredible four days: a time of inspiration and challenge, of hard grind and relaxed friendship, of shared laughter and shared tears.

I have been inspired by meaningful research, emerging ideas, and examples of innovative practice. I have had some of my own perspectives challenged. I have been encouraged equally by young and enthusiastic researchers, and by committed practitioners who have walked many years. I have been overwhelmed by the generosity, commitment and hard work of all those who have contributed to the congress, and the feedback and encouragement of so many participants. And I have been amazed at the vigour and resilience of children, young people and adults – survivors in the fullest sense of the word.

For me, though, the essence of this congress was captured in the fragile, vulnerable daffodils that decorated our plenary lecture hall. In spite of all our efforts, they kept flopping over and looking muddled. And yet, they continued to bloom, bringing their bright colour and life into that hall.

Perhaps we are all a bit like that – fragile, vulnerable children; wounded, hurting survivors; struggling practitioners and academics – dependent on each other for encouragement and support; and yet, in spite of all our limitations, bringing hope and life. And united in our longing for a world in which no child ever has to experience the terror and pain of abuse or neglect, and where each of us is valued as a unique, wonderful and beloved person.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There’s a crack, a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in

– Leonard Cohen

 

How not to be a spiritual bottom-shuffler: growing in Christ-like spirituality

Jesus called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. (Matt 18:3)

 

This is surely one of the most challenging and puzzling statements made by Jesus.

So it was an inspiring challenge to talk on this at a Christian Medical Fellowship breakfast at the Royal College of Paediatrics and Child Health annual scientific meeting in Liverpool. Here’s a little synopsis of some of the key points we discussed together.

 

If becoming like a little child is an absolute prerequisite to entering the kingdom of heaven, what does it mean to change and become like little children?

Although there were a lot of qualities identified (fun, innocence, trust, wonder, creativity, exploration, dependency…) I chose to focus on three essential qualities of little children:

  • Vulnerability
  • Belovedness
  • Transformation

 

Vulnerability

Children are vulnerable: dependent on their parents/carers; not independent.

They are themselves, they haven’t put up masks.

They need nurture, protection, care

That, perhaps is our starting point if we are to ‘enter the kingdom of heaven’: we may end up in a state of vulnerability/humility because of our circumstances: bereavement, illness, burn-out… Or we may choose to embrace such vulnerability/humility. Perhaps that is what Jesus meant by saying ‘take up your cross’. We can choose to open ourselves up to the pains of our hurting world.

Whichever route we take, it will be painful. We have to acknowledge that we are dependent, that we can’t solve everything – either for ourselves or for others

For me, two important parts of my journey have been my time in Cambodia in the early 1990s: coming face to face with suffering, poverty, exploitation and injustice in a way that was truly heart-breaking and with which I was forced to acknowledge that I was powerless to change; and then the very personal vulnerability I experienced in 2011-12 when I experienced a mini-stroke and then, six months’ later, the sudden and unexpected death of my first wife, Helen.

 

Belovedness

However, both those periods, and particularly the latter were also times when I experienced an overwhelming awareness of my own belovedness: recognising that I am a beloved child of God, and that, even through all the pain and turmoil, I could know the security of being loved.

And that is the second key child-like quality that I think is an essential prerequisite of being a part of God’s kingdom: unless something is seriously wrong with their parents, all children are beloved. Every new parent believes their baby is beautiful. I see that time and time again when I spend time with families, even with families who are going through really challenging circumstances: almost without exception it is abundantly clear that they love their children, and in those rare cases where that isn’t present, it is very clear that something is seriously wrong.

 

Transformation

The third essential quality of a child is that they are always changing: growing and developing; they do not stay still. Children develop: physically, mentally, socially, spiritually. And that can happen safely when they are loved, and out of a starting point of vulnerability. So we, too, if we are to be a part of God’s kingdom can’t stagnate and think that we’ve made it. We need to change, to be transformed.

And we, who with unveiled faces, all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. (2 Cor 3:18)

 

Spiritual Bottom-shufflers?

So where does the bottom shuffling come in? This excerpt from Growing up to be a child sums it up:

A heavenly paediatricianAs a paediatrician, I am often referred young children who are delayed in their development, including those who are slow in learning to walk. Sometimes there is a genuine underlying medical disorder preventing them from acquiring those skills. These children typically fall into one of two broad groups: those with low muscle tone (hypotonia) and those with high muscle tone (hypertonia).

Children with hypotonia have weak, floppy muscles which are unable to support their weight effectively. We find this, for example, in children with Down syndrome. Those with hypertonia, such as children with some forms of cerebral palsy, have stiff, inflexible muscles. They find it equally difficult to walk, but for different reasons: their muscles, though stiff, are still weak, and they cannot easily achieve the coordination and balance to stand upright.

When I am assessing a young child’s ability to stand and walk, I need to provide him with support and a stable base so he feels secure. In order to do this, I typically sit or kneel on the floor, with the child sitting between my legs, his back to me. When the child is sitting like that, he feels secure and safe. Those with high muscle tone often relax, enabling me to move their legs and assess the muscle strength.

Once I have the child properly relaxed, I will gently lift him to a more upright position, his trunk still supported against me, my arms around him, keeping him from falling. In that position, the child can feel secure and is able to take some weight on his legs, perhaps even taking some preliminary, supported steps.

I often think of God being like that with me. In my spiritual development, I may feel weak and hypotonic, unable to stand up in the face of difficult challenges. Or I may try too hard, my hypertonic spiritual muscles getting in the way of my attempts to go forward. I may feel insecure and afraid of falling or getting things wrong, or I may have already been hurt by life’s events and be feeling a bit bruised and battered. In all those situations, I picture God as a heavenly paediatrician, holding me securely in his embrace, giving me the strength and courage to take those first, tentative steps.

That is the picture conveyed by Hosea’s passionate words of God’s love for the people of Israel: ‘It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms’.[1] God is someone we can trust, who will not let us fall. Secure in God’s loving embrace, we can step out, even into the hardest of situations.

 Bottom shufflers

But we need to take those steps. Often, with children I assess for developmental delay, there is no underlying medical problem. It is simply that they are taking longer than other children to get there.

One of the commonest reasons for this delay is children who, instead of learning to walk, are quite happy shuffling about on their bottoms. These ‘bottom-shufflers’ can sometimes get about at incredible speeds. They are quite content being able to explore their world from the secure base of their bottoms. Why bother to stand up and risk getting hurt if you can get about satisfactorily on your bottom?

We, in our spiritual lives, may be similar. We are content to stay on our bottoms, accepting a gentle and non-threatening spirituality. But God doesn’t want us to stay there. He wants us to stand, to walk, to run. We need to take the risk. We need to step out and accept the falls and bumps that brings, secure in the knowledge of God’s overarching love for us.

And, like a young toddler learning to walk, when we do fall over, we don’t need to stay there. God gives us both the ability and the motivation to get up and walk again.

 

[1] Hosea 11:3.

Vulnerability: a contemplative companion to chapter 2 of Growing up to be a child

In a wonderful verse in Isaiah, the prophet uses the illustration of a nursing mother: ‘Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?’ Impossible as that may seem, Isaiah contrasts that with God’s steadfast love: ‘Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.’[1]

 

Cassatt young mother nursing

This image of God as a nursing mother is so, so powerful. It cuts through all our stereotypes of a vengeful, stern judge or an omnipotent, unapproachable creator. Instead we see a different side of God’s character – tender, passionate, caring, vulnerable. It invites us to come to God in such a different way. We come, not so much as miserable sinners cowering beneath ‘his’ judgement and in need of repentance and atonement, but as beloved children invited to nestle into ‘her’ bosom, to be cradled in her arms, to be enfolded in her love. A nursing mother does not place demands on her baby; she takes her up in her arms to love her and cherish her.

This is challenging; it challenges our preconceptions of who God is and what God is like. It also challenges our approach to the Holy One. Can we come to God as vulnerable, newborn babies, willing to put aside our pride and be accepted into her loving embrace? If we can, this move to become like a little child carries with it a wonderful promise of God’s tender, embracing, steadfast love for us.

 

Click here to go to the contemplative companion to Chapter 2 of Growing up to be a child.

 

[1] Isaiah 49:15,16.