“But I believe in Jesus too,” my five-year-old said, unconvinced by my explanation why she couldn’t have some of the bread and juice.
We had slipped out of the service after I received the elements because she became rowdy with questions. I led her a little ways from the crowd and knelt down to meet her eye to eye. My hands were on her shoulders, posturing to seize the moment, until my unsatisfactory answer quickly led to a bigger talk as she continued her case.
Now staring off in her own thoughts, she replied, “Dad, I believe in Jesus, but I mean, I’ve never seen him before. I’ve never heard how he talks.”
This wasn’t a crisis. She was just stating a fact. It actually came off a little bashfully, as if her faith might not be as credible as mine because she’s never seen Jesus or heard his voice. She was thinking out in the open, not realizing that her uninhibited inquiry actually gets at heart of what we are doing here, of what it means to be Christian in this world. What was fresh to a five-year-old mind is something, I think, too few of us stop to consider. It’s the fact that we love and talk about a person with a blaring dissimilarity to everyone else we love and talk about, and that is, he’s not here. We’ve never seen Jesus.
[Read the rest of the article at Desiring God.]