Do You Have Toddler Faith?
There is a timeless, unattributed story that circulates in the church world that goes something like this... A family of 5 were on a boat that got caught up in a terrible storm. With massive waves, the storm tossed their boat around until they washed ashore on a deserted island, far away from any civilization. For 25 years, they remained on that island until they were discovered by a group of scientists. They walked the scientists around, showing them the village they had created with many huts made of sticks and palm leaves. One of the islanders said, “Over there are the huts that we sleep in at night. And over there is the schoolhouse we built for the children. And over here is the church, our special place for worship.” The scientists were amazed, and then noticing another hut tucked away on the edge of the village, one of them asked, “And what is that structure over there?” The islander said, “Oh that? That’s the church we used to go to.”
It’s one of those jokes that’s funny, because it resonates with many of our experiences with church. But for me, and maybe for you as well, it also hits like a punch in the gut a little bit, precisely because it resonates with so many of our experiences with church.
Togetherness is important to people of faith. We place a strong emphasis on community – on being in close relationship with one another. Togetherness is one of the hallmarks of the denomination where I hold my status as an ordained minister, the United Church of Christ (UCC). The UCC has a very rare origin story as one of the only traditions in Christianity that formed from 4 separate traditions coming together to form something new rather than being the result of fracture and separation. Our “covenantal polity” puts togetherness and relationship at the center of all that we do.
This commitment to togetherness, to intentional relationship in community, is kind of a radical thing. You may have noticed that we are in a time of deep divide in our nation and in our world. The social separation of the global pandemic has exacerbated the pressures to always see things in terms of “us” and “them.”
We find ourselves feeling divided over so many things:
The color of our skin and how our willingness to listen to the voices of those with different levels of melanin.
The color of our politics – are you Blue? Red? Green? Do you live in a purple neighborhood where even your own next-door neighbors feel a world apart?
We are divided by our media intake, our position on the climate crisis, whether we mask or don’t mask, and our vaccination status.
We are divided over whether Black lives matter or blue lives matter, whether the crowd that stormed the capitol in January 2021 constituted a violent, treasonous mob or brave patriots.
I could go on and on listing all of the ways in which we find ourselves separated from one another right now - separation usually fueled in part by our fears, our ignorance, our anger, and our frustrations. There have been desperate calls for global and national efforts in civic healing, and I confess that never in my life have I felt more apart from others with different experiences and worldviews, even those in my own family. The chasm feels so wide, so deep, that there is no bridge I can imagine that will make the gap feel passable. My imagination can’t quite envision how we will reestablish true connection and full relationship.
As strong as this sense of division feels right now, the Bible reminds us that this challenge is not new. In the 4th chapter of Ephesians, the first 16 verses are part of a letter that the Apostle Paul was writing to the church community located in Ephesus. These verses were likely written by someone who was a follower of the Apostle Paul to, what historians tell us, was a multicultural church experiencing struggles in figuring out how to incorporate the cultural practices and differences that existed among Jews and Gentiles. They probably argued over what they should wear, what they should eat, how they should pray, what their worship gatherings should look like – all the same things that multicultural churches struggle with today. The Pauline author wrote to them pleaing for unity and the preservation of relationships with one another. If we were to summarize the theme of this epistle (and add a little modern-day language for emphasis), the theme would probably be something like, “Stop fighting, people! Jesus didn’t die on the cross so you all could sit around down here arguing like children over petty differences!” (The language in the text is more formal and polite, but sometimes I like to imagine what the author was thinking while writing!)
The dichotomy of childlikeness and being an adult is a significant talking point in the Pauline tradition. You are all likely familiar with first letter to the Corinthians – the one with the 13th chapter that we often hear read at weddings – “Love is patient, love is kind…” and so on. That same chapter goes on to say, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” And in our text this morning, the author writes, “Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.”
Infantile vs. Mature. It’s probably one of the most potent insults that adults can lob at one another. Even though in an infamous biblical passage, we are called to have “faith like a child,” no grownup ever actually wants to be praised for having “kid faith.” If you’ve ever been in an argument and someone throws out, “Quit being childish!” or “Grow up!” then you know that the argument is not on a path toward de-escalation and resolution. I imagine that the Pauline authors who were writing these letters and leaning into that language of “mature faith” were smart enough to know that this language would grab the attention of those on the receiving end. No grown-ups like to be called a child, but it is a badge of honor to be considered an adult and to be called “mature.”
But what does it mean to be mature or immature in our faith and relationships? Well, the truth of it is, there is actual biology and psychology involved beyond the labels. In an article about relationships written for Psychology Today, Dr. Steven Stosny refers to our “toddler brain” and our “adult brain,” and how true success in relationships can only be found through the adult brain. He writes:
“We fall in love in the Toddler brain, the emotional, impulsive, and volatile limbic system, which reaches structural maturity by age 3. We stay in love in the profoundest and most stable part of the Adult brain — the prefrontal cortex, which reaches full myelination at around 28. Toddler love is filled with wonder and joy at first, but inevitably reeks of conflict and pain due to its self-obsession and inability to see other people’s perspectives. Adult love rises from our deepest, most humane values of compassion, kindness, and nurturance, based on the ability to understand our partners' perspectives. For adults in love, being protective is more important than being protected.”
Even though they lacked the scientific language to describe the characteristics of relationships in a mature faith, I am actually pretty sure that this what the author of Ephesians is referring to when writing about the need to grow into a mature faith and become the mature Body of Christ as the church - how we truly become the church Christ intended when we move away from self-centeredness, and learn when and how to put others before ourselves. This is the type of love that the Pauline tradition holds up for readers to see again and again.
I mentioned 1 Corinthians 13, “the wedding text,” which describes the true nature of Love – “Love is patient, Love is kind, love is not envious, boastful or arrogant…” That text is so often read at weddings as two romantic lovers stare into one another’s eyes. But here’s the thing, the word for love used in the ancient Greek text of the earliest translations of our Bible is not “eros,” which would be the romantic, passionate love that most of us are thinking about at weddings. The text uses “agape,” which is not romantic love, but the pinnacle of love exhibited in Gods love for humanity. It is self-sacrificial love. Mature love. (Sidenote: I can write a lot about why Agape love is probably the type of love that creates lifelong marriage once the fiery passions of eros cool off, but we can save that for another day.)
Agape is at the center of mature faith. Agape is that adult brain love, because it preserves relationships through its outward-facing focus. In his book, The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis called Agape the highest level of love known to humanity because it is a selfless love that is passionately committed to the well-being of others.
So, how are we doing with our maturity, my friends? We find ourselves in a world where the fires of division are being stoked at every turn, where the messages all around us, including the messages from some of our religious and political leaders encourage us to use our toddler brains – to label one another, to cut one another off, and to seek out new communities online and in person where our own worldviews are repeated back to us on a loop.
How are we doing? Do we have a mature faith that draws us together in love with our adult brains? Do we have a mature faith that says, “I will take my place in community, knowing that there will be bumps in the road and disagreements with others along the way?” Does our faith and our depiction of Jesus bind us together in community with many people, including those who are very different from ourselves, or does our faith and our depiction of Jesus lead to separation and division? The church that the Pauline tradition is calling us to be is one that pushes us toward the hard kind of love, the mature kind of love, where we see others who would be strangers or enemies as our siblings.
Being together, staying together…this is hard work. But we are called to do many hard things as followers of the teachings of Jesus – and this being together and staying together across differences may be one of the hardest. As it says in this epistle, “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called.”
I leave you with some words from the incredible philosopher, theologian and civil rights leader, Howard Thurman, who had a lot to say about Agape, this mature kind of love that we are called to live by. In Disciplines of the Spirit, he wrote:
"The experience of love is either a necessity or a luxury. If it be a luxury, it is expendable; if it be a necessity, then to deny it is to perish. So simple is the reality, and so terrifying. Ultimately there is only one place of refuge on this planet for any person – that is in another person's heart. To love is to make of one's heart a swinging door."
May our journey to Agape, to developing a mature faith that leads to real community, Beloved Community, lead us to hearts that are swinging doors – easily opened, never locked. Amen.
