The Wisdom of Childlikeness

In modern English, the words “childish” and “childlike” have entirely different meanings. “Childish” is a description that invariably has negative connotations. Adults behave childishly when they act impetuously or rudely, or throw temper tantrums.

In contrast, “childlike” has quite positive overtones. Adults behave in a childlike way when they display a sense of wonder or innocence.

Jesus himself picks up on the positive dimensions of being childlike.

“At that time, the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ He called a child, whom he put among them, and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven’” (Matthew 18:1–4, NRSV).

This saying of Jesus is helpful for understanding the wisdom of childlikeness. Jesus describes that quality not only as an entry requirement to the life of faith. Unexpectedly, Jesus underscores the importance of childlikeness for those who want to be “the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” In stark contrast to the expectation that maturity would mean we would grow out of being childlike, Jesus paints a picture of maturity that has childlikeness as an integral element.

The Upside Down Nature of Childlikeness

What might that look like?

To begin with, Jesus focuses on the state of children in relation to the adults around them. Children are vulnerable and dependent on the adults in their lives. Children cannot survive, much less thrive, without the help and support of others. Children need to trust others, even though that trust can sometimes be betrayed. The context in which Jesus’ words are spoken doesn’t seem to point so much to childlike wonder or innocence as to childlike vulnerability and trust.
In the middle of a very adult argument about power and being powerful among Jesus’ closest followers, Jesus calls a weak and vulnerable child into their midst to make his point. Being mature is not about being powerful. Instead, cultivating childlike weakness is an essential part of being the “greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

Being mature is not about being powerful. Instead, cultivating childlike weakness is an essential part of being the “greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

One of my favorite scenes from George Lucas’s Star Wars anthology is when Luke Skywalker first meets Yoda (The Empire Strikes Back). Luke is expecting to train with a master Jedi warrior. Instead, he finds a strangely decrepit creature that seems more like a playful child than someone who can help him learn how to become a Jedi knight. Luke says in frustration, “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

Jesus’ vision of wisdom can be similarly disorienting. How did we wind up in such a strange place with someone who looks nothing like we imagined? Like Luke Skywalker, we often look for a powerful example to emulate, a “great warrior” leader. And, like Yoda, Jesus gently reminds us, “War does not make one great.” As so often happens, our expectations are upside down.

For Jesus, childlike weakness and vulnerability are to be valued and cultivated. The more mature we get, the more critical these attributes become. They are active reminders of our relationship with the Creator of all things. Paradoxically, the more we grow in faith, the more we become aware of our weaknesses and our vulnerability. If we are attentive, we become more and more conscious of how we are designed to trust in the God who sustains all of life and how our very brokenness as human beings imperils that relationship of trust. In both of those senses, we discover that God’s faithfulness, not our own, sustains us in the journey.

Learning trust and vulnerability as we grow in maturity and wisdom is not easy.

Maturity can create the impression that we know what needs to be done and how to do it. We gain competence as we grow in wisdom, which is good. But competence can lead to an exercise of power disconnected from the living web of relationships, with God at the center. Competence and wisdom can create the illusion that we are sufficient in and of ourselves. That is why wise leaders need to learn that “vulnerability and dignity [are] not opposed to one another, and neither [are] dependence and dominion.”

Competence and wisdom can create the illusion that we are sufficient in and of ourselves.

Even for children, trust and vulnerability are learned traits. So for us, trust and vulnerability need to be developed as we grow in wisdom. While the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, it is also its end.

“Like a Little Child”

As the ancient story of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac illustrates, faith is required at the pinnacle of our pilgrimage as well as at its beginning. And as the Abraham story aptly demonstrates, there are plenty of twists and turns (and failures!) along the way. We will fail to trust and be vulnerable. Nevertheless, we are constantly called back to a posture of childlikeness, like Abraham. In the greatest and final test of his faith, Abraham’s wisdom and maturity looked remarkably childlike. God summons Abraham to offer up “your one and only son, whom you love.” No explanation. No promise that God will supply another alternative. Only God’s implicit “ask” that Abraham trust God, “like a little child.”

Wisdom never outgrows the need to be childlike. Indeed, our capacity to be childlike—like Abraham—needs a lifetime of cultivation. Learning to trust and be vulnerable is both the foundation and culmination of our journey of wisdom. So is the delight and wonder of childlikeness. Otherwise, we are at risk of missing what G. K. Chesterton said in another context about God’s own childlikeness: “It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”

This article is an edited excerpt from The Wise Leader by Uli Chi, with permission from Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.