Child’s Play

 St Peter’s Old Ellicott City • Advent 2a 2025 • Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG  

The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.

Advent is the season in which we prepare our minds and hearts for the coming of Jesus, not only the commemoration of his birth in Bethlehem, but in preparation for his coming in glory. So we find ourselves, in Advent’s in the meantime in between-time, also between two images: the sweet Child in the manger, and the transfigured, majestic, everlasting Judge and King, whose coming that wild prophet,  John the Baptist, foretold.

Today the prophet Isaiah brings the two images together; first, the one coming forth from the root of Jesse sounds like the same mighty judge John the Baptist will promise. Here is one upon whom the Spirit rests, whose voice strikes the earth like a rod, whose breath slays the wicked.

But then the imagery shifts. Suddenly all is peaceful: wild beasts of forest and field no longer prey on the domesticated animals of pasture and barnyard, but graze and nestle beside them. And, wonder of wonders, this harmony is orchestrated, and led not by lion-tamers with pistols and whips, or Australian alligator wrestlers with cages and anesthetic darts — but by a little child. Even more surprising, infants still nursing, and others just starting solid food, can play with snakes in perfect safety in this new peaceful world. 

The serpent, the archetype of human enmity with the natural world from our infancy in Eden — even the serpent has lost it’s poison, and become a plaything for the children of Adam and Eve. This peaceable kingdom established on God’s holy mountain is, simply put, child’s play.

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Now, this is neither trivial nor frivolous. Few things are more serious than child’s play. I really mean that. Have you ever watched children playing — when they don’t know you’re watching? Children take their play very seriously, and the more deeply at play, the more intense their concentration. 

Where else but in play do you see actual wrinkles form on the foreheads of children? Where else but in play do you see little tongues appear at the edges of tiny mouths, as tiny hands struggle to color with cumbersome crayons, or style a doll’s hair in high fashion, or hammer a plastic peg just so with a plastic hammer into a plastic hole? No, children at play are never more serious than when playing!

Children in a snowball fight are as focused on their battle as any general. And dare I even mention the child glued to a PlayStation or Nintendo Switch! And a five-year-old hosting a tea party for dolls and teddy bears will —should you be honored with an invitation— hold you to a protocol as rigorous as that of a state banquet. The Labubu twins must always be served first, in recognition of their youthful ferocity, while Barbie, being a mature young lady, must be patient. Pooh Bear has to be watched lest he sneak a cookie before his turn. 

As you balance the tiny saucer and teacup, savoring the invisible tea and make-believe cake, you are apt to marvel at the child’s seriousness, and their stern resolve to enforce the rules.

Yes, the prophet was right in describing the kingdom of God as child’s play, for child’s play is not frivolous. 

It’s just that we tend to forget as we grow older. As we age out of the pure, clear world of childhood, we begin to accept less than what we know is right, to move from the clarity of black and white into those fifty — or a hundred thousand — shades of grey. 

And we tend to see this as maturity. We gain peace at the cost of principle. We weigh profit and loss, and we deal and we compromise. We settle. And we often end up with far less than justice for the sake of an imaginary peace that turns out not to be very peaceful at all.

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But the judge eternal described by Isaiah, comes upon us with the ferocity of a child: a single-minded child who can look straight through our adult compromises to the burning truth of our failures. He does not judge by what he sees or hears, this eternal judge whose coming we await. Whaaa? A judge who pays no attention to evidence? What kind of justice is that? Who wants a judge who passes sentence before he hears our excuses and explanations?

But my friends, this is the justice of a child, of the Child. The child who knows what’s fair and what’s not, and from whose ringing sentence, “It isn’t fair!” there is no appeal. The child who knows her parents have been arguing, however much they pretend it’s all O.K. The child who knows when he’s being lied to, however good our intentions, and his piercing eyes see through us as if our souls were wrapped in cellophane. The child who knows the rules for snowball fights and tea-parties, and dispenses the firm justice of the playground. The child who knows how to tame animals more real than the ones of flesh and blood, the animals of the playroom, where Pooh Bear and the Lion King take tea together, and dinosaurs eat cookies from a plate. 

And all the while, the child oversees the Feast with serious attention, and a sense of what is fair and right that puts our adult tribunals to shame.

This is what the Justice and Lordship of Jesus is, the clear, focused reign of the Son of God. Under the watchful eye of this Child all our excuses and compromises are laid bare. Our efforts to bend the rules are exposed. Our lording it over one another, preying on each other like lions and tigers and bears — Oh, my! — is shown up for what it is.

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But the good news is that this Child who comes as judge is merciful as well as just. Though he sees right through us, perhaps because he sees right through us, he will also save us, for he knows we are worth saving. And his loving justice will begin to transform us, and redeem our corrupted nature as surely as it undoes the curse of Adam. The old curse is done away with, serpents become playthings, the ancient war between the wild and the domestic comes to an end. Under the miraculous rule of this divine child-king even our own rough nature is transformed, our rough coats of wolf-grey fur soften and turn to velveteen. Our shaggy lions’ manes are trimmed and turn bright gold, festive with bows and ribbons. Our leopard spots turn into polka-dots. Rough grizzly bears grow plump and soft and dip their blunted claws into a jar of honey. 

And all of us together gather around the table, colorful bows around our necks and ribbons in our hair, as the Child pours into our cup, and feeds us tiny morsels of bread, and we partake of the sacrament of peace — thus, and only thus, we come into God’s kingdom, at long last, precisely and exactly as he said we would have to come: as children.

May we then, dear sisters and brothers in Christ, be ready to enter the heavenly child’s-play of this miracle Child, the just and righteous rule of the Son of God, whose infant hands possess all might, majesty, power and dominion, henceforth and forever more.