You're the child in this story

Weekly Devotional • BBCC

You're the Child in This Story

Mark 10:13–16

Here's something I've noticed about most of us — and I include myself in this. We read the Bible like managers. Like consultants. We come to a passage and our first instinct is, "Okay, what's the action item? What do I need to do better this week?"

And honestly, Mark 10:13–16 feels like it's set up for exactly that. Parents are bringing kids to Jesus. The disciples try to block them. Jesus gets angry — like, genuinely angry, which Mark almost never says — and tells the disciples to let the children through.

If you're reading that like a manager, you know what you walk away with? Be more welcoming to kids. Got it. Action item noted.

And that's not wrong. But it's not where Jesus lands. Because right when you think you've got the lesson pinned down — right when you're feeling pretty good about being the responsible adult in the story — Jesus pulls the rug out.

Catch what just happened. The whole scene has been about what adults do for children. Carry them. Bring them. Don't block them. And then Jesus flips it — you're not the grown-up in this story. You're the child.

That should wreck us a little. Because most of us have spent years building the grown-up version of faith. We've got our résumé. We've got our quiet time streak. We've got our theology dialed in, our volunteer hours logged, our Christian reputation managed. And Jesus looks at all of it and says — that's not how you get in.

Think about what a toddler does. A toddler doesn't perform to be held. Doesn't walk in with credentials. Doesn't negotiate. A toddler just — reaches up. That's it. Arms out. Totally dependent. And completely unashamed about it.

When's the last time you came to God like that?

Paul Tripp puts it this way — we never graduate from grace. There's no point in the Christian life where you age out of needing to be carried. But something in us hates that. Something in us would rather white-knuckle our way to God than admit we can't walk there ourselves. Luther called it the theology of glory — this stubborn human instinct to climb, to earn, to arrive. And Jesus says the kingdom doesn't work that way. Not for kids. Not for you. Not ever.

Look at the very next verse. It's easy to skip, but don't.

He took them. He placed his hands on them. He blessed them. Notice the verbs. Every single one is something Jesus does — not something the child does. The child just shows up and gets held.

That's the gospel in one verse. You don't climb to God. You get carried. You don't perform your way into blessing. You receive it — the way a kid receives a hug. Arms open. Nothing to offer. And somehow, that's enough. Because it was never about what you bring. It's about who's holding you.

So here's what I want you to sit with this week. Where are you performing? Where's the résumé? Where's the striving dressed up as faithfulness? And what would it look like — this week, today, maybe right now — to just stop? To open your hands and let yourself be held by a God who doesn't need your credentials. Who just wants you close.

Reflect This Week

1. Where in your life are you performing for God instead of receiving from him?

2. What would it actually feel like to come to God this week with nothing to offer — just open hands?

3. Is there someone in your life — a child, a friend, a neighbor — who needs to be "carried to Jesus" right now? What would that look like concretely?

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