If you would like to listen to the whole unabridged version it is available here: The Kingdom Received
It was the middle of July in 2001. A couple of weeks earlier, Amy and I had been sitting in her doctor’s office for a routine appointment—ultrasound, measurements, all the usual things. At the end of the visit, the doctor looked at us and said, “I think it’s time for this baby to be born.” The baby was getting a little too big and needed to make an appearance.
This was our first child. We didn’t know the gender—we were doing the surprise thing—and suddenly we were nervous. But the doctor reassured us: “Don’t worry. We’ll schedule a time. You come in on this day, at this time, and we’ll get things started.”
It felt strange knowing exactly when we were going to have a baby—unless God intervened. God did not intervene. And even with all the medical help, it still took nearly 24 hours before Ethan finally made his way into the world.
Before heading to the hospital, we went out for one last meal—our “last supper,” if you will—at a little Italian place in Bloomington–Normal called Avanti’s. Baked ziti, spaghetti, and that famous Avanti’s bread. Warm, sweet, and absolutely filled with sugar. Delicious.
Then we went to the hospital. And eventually, there he was.
What Does This Have to Do with the Kingdom?
So you might be wondering what any of this has to do with the Kingdom of God.
Let’s turn to Mark 10:
People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.”
— Mark 10:13–16
A couple of things matter here.
First, the word translated “little children” is a diminutive in Greek. It doesn’t mean toddlers. It means the smallest children—infants, babies.
That changes the picture.
This isn’t a scene of preschoolers running up to Jesus. It’s parents bringing their infants to him, asking for blessing.
Second, the idea of Jesus touching them wasn’t strange in their world. In the Jewish tradition, a prophet’s touch was understood as a sign of blessing—a way of passing along God’s favor. These parents believed Jesus was deeply connected to the divine, and that his touch could mark their children’s lives.
The disciples, however, step in to stop it.
From our modern perspective, that seems ridiculous. Why would anyone keep babies away from Jesus?
But in the first-century world, babies weren’t sentimentalized the way they are today. They were dependent, non-productive, resource-draining necessities. Women, slaves, and infants all occupied the lowest rungs of the social ladder. Babies were not treasured—they were endured.
So when parents bring infants to Jesus, the disciples see them as interruptions. Hindrances. Distractions from “important” kingdom work.
And Jesus is furious.
Mark tells us he was indignant—deeply, visibly angry. He says, “Let the babies come to me. Do not hinder them. For the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
Receiving, Not Achieving
This is where we often misunderstand the passage.
We tend to say the kingdom belongs to children because they’re trusting, humble, or innocent. But infants aren’t innocent in the way we imagine. I’ve watched a crawling baby knowingly disobey while smiling the entire time.
That’s not the point.
The kingdom belongs to such as these because infants have nothing to offer.
They bring no achievement.
No productivity.
No credentials.
Only need.
This is what Jesus is getting at when he says the kingdom must be received like a little child. Not earned. Not achieved. Not grasped. Received.
Like a newborn placed into the arms of parents who give everything while expecting nothing in return.
Entering the kingdom happens only by grace—because the King says, “You are welcome.”
When we come saying, “I’ve got nothing,” Jesus says, “Perfect.”
The Long Way Home
One of my favorite books growing up was The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. There’s a line near the end where Lucy is told she’ll return to Narnia—but not by looking for it.
That’s the kingdom.
You don’t find it by striving.
You don’t enter by effort.
You receive it in helplessness.
So here’s the question I want you to sit with this week:
How are you seeking the kingdom?
Are you still trying to earn your way in?
Trying to prove something?
Trying to deserve grace?
Or are you coming with empty hands—utterly dependent?
Because when we finally let go, we discover that the kingdom has already been given.
And in that place, we are welcomed into Christ’s arms and blessed.