the peter pan protocol
or the children's crusade
by R.C. Sproul Jr.

We don't know how to handle biblical paradox. We tend to read them backwards, moving from shock and horror to relief and carnal peace. We are frightened by the idea of losing our lives. I mean, who wants to do that? But then God lets us off the hook by telling us that we can gain our lives. The trouble is, our relief makes us blind and forgetful. We forget that to gain our lives we must lose them. We like the idea of abundant life, but forget that the path there is through dieing to self. We love the theology of glory, but despise the theology of the cross. As long as there is a way to get what we want, we're happy. Even when we forget the way.

The trouble is, the God who surreptitiously moves the pea from one shell to the other, who takes with one hand and gives with the other, never changes Himself. That is, there is no paradox that says, "The only way to understand the economy of God is to misunderstand the economy of God." We do not learn to believe Him by failing to believe Him. Instead we must live by every word that proceeds from His mouth, every word.

But we don't. We treat the word of God like a banana, tossing aside the bitter skin as we sink our teeth into the fruit. Of course, in due time, our foot shall slide. When we read Mary affirm, "He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted the lowly" we hoot and holler in celebration and clamor our way onto the throne, only to realize that we have beaten God to the punch, and so are brought low. Or to put it another way, when Jesus tells us the last shall be first we hoof it down to the wrong end of the line, all the while rubbing our hands together while cackling like a mad scientist. We think we can outsmart God.

But when the Bible says, "God will not be mocked" this isn't paradoxical or poetical language that actually means, "God really has a great sense of humor, and loves nothing more than to be roasted." Rather it means that God will not be mocked and will roast those who dare to do so. We choose the glass of wine only to discover that they've both been poisoned, that God has developed an immunity, and so we expire on the table.

Which demonstrates that we have missed yet another pair of paradox. First, when we are told to be as wise as serpents and as gentle as doves, we in turn demonstrate all the wisdom of a dove, and the gentility of a serpent. We cleverly try to outsmart God, strategizing our way into calamity. Second, when we are told both to grow into maturity and to be as children, we manage to become jaded, whining babies. We think we're wise, and so figure that these two things, being like children and being mature, are at odds with each other, that wisdom calls for balance. Instead, the path to maturity is, precisely and paradoxically, the path to being a child. There is no inverse ratio to balance. Rather, the greater child-likeness we have, the more mature we are.

What is a child-like faith but an immediate, trusting belief that whatever the Father speaks is true? And what, in turn, is a mature faith but a trusting belief that whatever the Father speaks is true? They are one and the same thing. In both instances we do not try to nuance, fudge, or obscure what God says. We believe it, plain and simple. That belief not only survives into action, but drives the action.

Unbelief, on the other hand, seeks its own ways. It may be masked as maturity, but what sets it apart is the drive to not die to self but to exalt self. God says, "If a man does not work, neither let him eat." The immature fool takes these plain words from God over to his lab. There they are weighed, stretched, inverted, and twisted. They are either destroyed in this process, or they turn into something useful, an excuse for more sin. Belief, on the other hand, takes the words at face value and goes to work.

Consider one of my favorite illustrations from the files of my pastor, Laurence. An older man asks his grown son to come for a visit. He explains, "Son, I won't be around forever. And I want your mother to be comfortable when I'm gone. Would you please help me out? I want you to take those rental properties I've accumulated over the years, and I want you to sell them. I'm sure in a year or two they would reach their peak value, but if we sell now we'll still get a fine return, and there will be no chance your mother will be burdened with them." The son left the meeting with a greater appreciation for the wisdom of his father. He obviously was a man who thought things through. And so the son did as he was asked.

A few weeks later the father called again. "Son," he said, "you know how your mother just loves to sit and rock on our front porch in the evenings. The porch has been a blessing to us, but it, as I am, is getting on in years. Would you please, over the holiday weekend, tear it down, but put up a new one for your mother? I just hate the thought of her breaking through a rotten section and breaking an ankle after I'm gone." The son was again impressed with the wisdom of his father. He was not only financially astute, but practical even in small matters. He got the job done.

A few weeks later the father called a third time. "Son, I have one more job for you. That piece of property we bought on the west edge of town, I'd like you to sell that too. It seems like the town is expanding more eastward, and so I'm guessing the value is at its peak. Please sell it, and put the money in the bank with the other."

The son went away realizing that his father too had feet of clay. The property was sure to spike up in value with the new Wal-Mart coming in nearby, and because it was just a piece of land, there was no upkeep his mother would have to worry about. And so, worrying that perhaps his father's mind wasn't as sharp as it once was, he determined not to sell the property.

Here is the question: how many times did the son obey the father? Count them up now. The correct answer is none. In each instance the son evaluated the options and chose what he thought was best. That his view and his father's view coincided twice is beside the point.

This is precisely what we do with the Word of God. We praise God for His wisdom, when He happens to agree with us. When He doesn't, we tussle over what we have the audacity to call "problem passages." There are no problem passages; there are only problem people. When we are having a hard time getting the Bible to stand in neat rows like a well-trained battalion our problem is that we have forgotten who the General is. Of course the Bible coheres. It is one book. The reason we feel the tension, however, is because of what we put in the text, not what we get out of it. And we will not solve the problem by putting something else into the other texts. The problem exists because we have forgotten that as children we are to be seen, but not heard.

As always, however, my concern is not first with those who are farthest from me, but those who are the closest. It is a good thing to dwell together with brethren who live, eat, and breathe the kingdom of God. I delight in the esprit de corps with the most eager of the soldiers of the King. But while too many of our more distant fellow soldiers have interpreted away the call to make manifest the reign of our King, too many of our closer friends have interpreted away the very strategy of our King. We plot, and we strategize, and we build our little empires. We raise money, build schools, hire faculties, finance movie projects, create think-tanks, dress ourselves up as business consultants, buy expensive homes to visit with important people, and assorted other worn-out formulae left over on the battlefield where our enlightenment fathers were overrun by their post-modern children. Formulaic Christianity will indeed get us nowhere.

Our young men indeed dream dreams, and our old men have visions. They dream of media empires, and a place at the table. The envision themselves sitting upon the thrones of men. Thinking themselves wise, they have become fools.

God will not be mocked. Neither will He share His glory with another. Which is why His strategy is, paradoxically, no strategy at all. God calls us into His holy huddle and tells the linemen, "You guys see if you can live in all peace and quietness with all men. I know it won't be easy, but do your best. You guys in the backfield, what you do is raise your children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. On, three, on three. Ready, break." We are not to despise the day of small things, not because it means the day of big things is right around the corner. We do not despise the day of small things because we are the small things. And as long as we are willing to stay small, God will stay big. As long as we continue to build bigger and bigger Babels, we will continue to be cursed. Only if we are willing to say to God, "So let it be done" can we be called blessed by generations to come.

The simple truth is that it is that simple. We need no charts, no strategy sessions, no PowerPoint presentations, no secret cabals and power meetings at the Christian version of the Bohemian club. We need only to be as simple as children, eager to please, eager to obey, and not at all interested in getting our names listed on the credits when the great movie comes to an end. After all, if we really are His, our eyes will be on Him. And only then will we be like Him. We must, in the midst of the battle, love and cherish our simplicity, and flee from any creature that offers to give us wisdom beyond our place.

In a power-hungry, postmodern world, we will not stand out if we are instead power-hungry modernists. It's not enough that while they serve the serpent, we fight under the banner of Christ. We must also fight with the armor of Christ. To be separate we destroy by dieing. We uproot by planting. We grow by decreasing. We conquer by retreating. We do not use their weapons to conquer their world. Instead we build ours in quietness and meekness and bid them to come.

To be deliberate is not to debate God, but to refuse to debate Him. If He says we will win by laying down our lives, again like little children, we believe Him. Let us be like the child who was told that his sick and dying sister would live if he would give her a transfusion. As the blood flowed from his veins to his sister, the little soldier bravely asked the nurse, "How soon will I die?" To be deliberate is to deliberately throw off our own wisdom, no matter the cost.

And why do we do this? Do we lay down our arms because we long to lose? By no means. Our goal is what any child can understand: we are here to win. We seek not geo-political advantages from which to protect and advance our own interests. Rather we seek absolute surrender from the enemy, and absolute hegemony from our friends. We are not child-like to evade the draft, but to serve. For Christ has no greater weapon. Of such is the kingdom of God. Let us believe Him, that we might serve Him.