My nephew is three years old. He’s a funny, shy little guy, and he doesn’t much like the pool. So when my sister explained to him how the carpool line would work at his new preschool, he imagined a different scenario than the one she was trying to describe. A long pause followed her question, “Do you understand, buddy?” And then a little, determined voice from the backseat said, “Yes. I will be brave. I will close my eyes and jump in.”
Ever since I heard the story, I’ve had this quote on a sticky note at the base of my computer screen. I put it where I can see it every day because – for all the truly beautiful and inspiring words I’ve been blessed to encounter in philosophy, in poetry and literature, and in the stunningly great texts of our Western canon – I can remember few things that have ever cut with so little ceremony across all my distraction and self-consciousness. “I will be brave. I will close my eyes and jump in.”
As human beings we enjoy complexity. It’s delicious to delve deep into a question, or explore a difficult puzzle, or relish the symphonic workings of a natural phenomenon. People are complex and interesting; life is complex and interesting; and our emotions and relationships do and should reflect this complexity. It’s good to rejoice in the playful and profound multiplicity-in-unity that fills creation. But sometimes we forget, also, that “one thing alone is necessary.” There’s a reason Christ has to remind us to “become like little children.”
My nephew understands what it means to be brave. He can’t dispute the question in existential terms or tell a thematically complex story about fortitude. And he had trouble grasping what a carpool line is. But he also sees through to the heart of something important – and with a clarity and a moral honesty I often fail to match in my own life.
When we talk about the benefits of a specifically Benedictine liberal arts education, we don’t typically mention humility. But the fact that one of the ten Benedictine hallmarks grounds us in our littleness is actually a profound gift because – as we go about the good and necessary work of developing and maturing our human capacities of body, mind, and soul, becoming all that we were created to be – humility reminds us of our own, beloved smallness, within which a child’s innocent simplicity always has something to teach us.
This weekend, as we approach the beautiful season of Advent, let’s remember that the God who became a little child for our sake also speaks to us in the humblest, simplest of ways.
