Cultivating Character in Young Oaklings is a column that celebrates the good gift and the sacred charge to the people of God to participate with Him in nurturing the youngest among us—our oaklings—toward transformation into the image of Jesus Christ. As those who belong to the One who called children to Himself and proclaimed that “the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Luke 18.6 NIV), we will explore what it means to invite children into Story of the restoration of all things, and how they might grow in Christ-like virtue as they take their God-given place in that Story.
Every year, on the Thursday before Easter, my family of six files into our usual pew at our church, juggling bulletins, crayons, and snacks, just as we do on any given Sunday morning. But on this particular evening, we also come with fluffy towels and plastic tubs tucked under our arms.
This is no ordinary weeknight. It is Maundy Thursday, the day we remember the mandate Jesus gave on the night before He was betrayed, to love one another just as He has loved us. In a participation in and demonstration of this love, we do just what He did that long-ago Thursday night—we wash one another’s feet and receive communion together (see John 13.1-34, Luke 22.7-23).
And as if that weren’t special enough, this is the service each year when the cousins join us at our church—what joy!—along with aunts and uncles and Grandma and Grandpa.
After the sermon, the priest releases the congregation to the sides of the sanctuary where pitchers of warm water wait. The mass of Mellemas stand up together and shuffle across the aisle carrying towels and basins. We settle in as quickly as a crew with ten kids, ages ten and under, possibly can, shoes and socks a-flying. We pour the water into our plastic tubs, and then ensues the dearest chaos you ever did see:
The biggest cousins wash the baby cousin’s tiny toes, eliciting a fit of giggles.
The mother-in-law washes her daughter-in-law’s feet while she whispers to a little one that he’s about to put on his brother’s sock rather than his own.
The three littlest girls wash Grandpa’s feet then scooch over so the twins can dry them.
My husband washes my feet with the help of our youngest son, who looks up at me with his perfect hazel eyes and says, “I am doing this for you because I love you!”
I have to imagine this scene is more chaotic than when Jesus washed His disciples feet in the upper room. Yet even with the little-kid wiggles, accidental water sloshes, and misplaced shoes, repeating this act year after year as Jesus commanded is doing exactly what He intends it to do. It is shaping us as a people who imitate our Savior by lowering ourselves in love.
It is creating fertile soil in which the virtue of charity can grow.
Perhaps the use of the word “charity” in this context surprises you. It should. In our modern usage of the word, charity is a synonym for generosity, altruism, or fellow-feeling. This was the extent of my understanding of charity’s definition before preparing for this edition of Cultivating. But there are ancient riches to be discovered in this virtue. Much more than mere generosity, charity by its earliest definition shares the meaning of the Greek word agape, or the highest form of love. This love is selfless, unconditional, sacrificial. Charity is not merely giving your resources to those in need, as we currently think of this virtue, it is giving your very self, wholeheartedly, in love.
In the Christian tradition, we confess that this form of love is not just a philosophical concept or aspirational virtue, but fully embodied in a person, Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Scottish poet and abolitionist James Montgomery wrote in his 1834 hymn, “Faith, Hope, and Charity, these three”:
Faith, that in prayer can never fail,
Hope, that o’er doubting must prevail,
And Charity, whose name above
Is God’s own name, for “God is love.”[1]
By beholding Jesus Christ—Charity Himself—we can begin to understand what it means to cultivate charity as a virtue, both in ourselves and in our oaklings. The 1910 edition of The Catholic Encyclopedia describes Christian charity as “a divinely infused habit, inclining the human will to cherish God for his own sake above all things, and man for the sake of God.”[2] The charity that flows from the heart of God, when received into our hearts, refracts like light through a prism, reflecting love not only to the Source of Love, but also to our neighbors. It is this self-giving, divine love that Jesus calls us to extend to one another when He returns to the table after washes the disciples’ feet (John 13.31-34).
It is a noble and good thing to desire to grow in the virtue of charity. Yet if we have any hope of obedience to Christ’s calling, we must first admit that we do not have what it takes within ourselves to do it. If charity is “divinely infused,” in order to extend charity to others, we must first encounter it ourselves.
In contradiction to our modern, Western sensibilities, we need to “receive charity.”
The connotation of this phrase as we use it in our culture is largely negative. The need to be on the receiving end of someone else’s benevolence implies being an object of pity or condescension. Fair or not, welcomed or not, in the concept of “receiving charity” lies an accusation of not having what it takes within our own character or efforts to provide for our own needs. In our culture, admitting this kind of need is often closely associated with feelings of shame.
Yet an encounter with true charity helps us recognize the depth of our need in a way that frees us from shame.
A late-19th-century translation of the well-loved words of Paul to the church in Rome says:
And hope confoundeth not: because the charity of God is poured forth in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost, who is given to us. . . . But God commendeth his charity towards us; because when as yet we were sinners, according to the time, Christ died for us (Romans 5.5, 8-9 DRA).
While we may balk at the modern idea of “receiving charity,” under the ancient understanding of charity, we can’t afford not to receive it. It is the foundation of our hope for salvation, and by it the Spirit is renewing in us hearts that can channel this same charity to the world.
Our oaklings receive charity before they are even aware. Late night feedings, gentle answers, patience given in response to natural immaturity, an unshakeable sense of belonging—all of this is pure grace. It is often not until adulthood or when we ourselves are tasked with the care of children that we begin to fully realize the gravity of the merciful, continual, unconditional love we have received throughout our lifetime. We awaken to a love so great that we cannot hope to repay it, but instead extend it—however imperfectly—to those we have been given to love.
To help our oaklings recognize the ways God is “pouring forth His charity” in their young hearts, we as the people of God can serve as narrators, helping them make sense of and name the divine displays of charity in their own lives. We point out when a sibling or friend readily offers them forgiveness, connecting it to the forgiveness extended to them in Christ. We frame their Children’s Ministry volunteers’ dedication, warmth, and excitement to teach them as a reflection of God’s love for them through His people. We can help our oaklings notice that food does not just magically appear on the table three times a day! In age-appropriate ways, we can invite them into the process of lovingly preparing food to sustain all who gather around our table.
In all things, in our coming and going, when we sit in the house or walk by the way, as Deuteronomy 6 says, we tell them the Great Story of God’s unceasing charity, and how it is even now making all things new, how it has held them and will hold them their whole life long.
A.B. Simpson, founder of The Christian and Missionary Alliance, described the surrounding, limitless charity of Christ, saying, “Christ is not a reservoir but a spring.”[3] God’s charity is enough and more than enough. It is naturally effusive, bubbling over to refresh not only our own hearts, but also slake the thirst of those around us.
Extending true charity, just as Christ demonstrated by washing the disciples’ feet, is not meeting another’s need with condescension or disdain. Instead, the one who reflects the virtue of charity lowers himself in love and solidarity, recognizing his shared need for divine grace. He offers the charity he has received in Christ, not in a way that elicits shame in the other, but that by the Spirit raises them up into their true identity as the beloved of God.
As we train our oaklings to recognize the ways God has poured His charity into their hearts and lives, we can encourage them to notice the many opportunities God gives them to selflessly extend this highest form of love to those around them in the power of the Spirit. We grow in the virtue of charity as our wonder at God’s deep love for us grows, asking Him in His mercy to let us be a channel of it to others as we go our way in the lives He has given us to live. By each act of charity, the Spirit continues to shape us in the image of Christ, causing us to love sacrificially with increased “ease and pleasure”[4] as this virtue matures in us.
A stanza in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1847 epic poem, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, beautifully describes the way God’s charity, as this virtue matures in us, flows unforced through us:
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father’s door, as the sunset
Threw the long shadows of trees o’er the broad ambrosial meadows.
Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen,
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,—
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience!
Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village,
Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women,
As o’er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed,
Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children.
My heart rises as I imagine my own children, so steeped in the charity of God, that it rises and diffuses from their own hearts as an aroma to every soul that crosses their path. Let’s bring our oaklings to the feet of Jesus, that they may encounter Charity Himself as He washes their feet and renews their hearts.
To pray:
O Lord, you have taught us that without love, all our deeds are worth nothing: Send your Holy Spirit and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of charity, the true bond of peace and of all virtues, without which whoever lives is counted dead before you; grant this for the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
—Book of Common Prayer (2019), Proper 20
To ponder:
“Charity is a virtue which, when our affections are perfectly ordered, unites us to God, for by it we love him.”
—St. Augustine
To try:
Attend a Maundy Thursday service with the oaklings in your life and experience washing each other’s feet. If that is not accessible to you for whatever reason, try it at home! Read John 13.1-34, wash one another’s feet, pray, and sing a hymn together. Afterward, whether you participate in a Holy Week service or practice this in your home, talk about what you experienced, ask questions, and encourage one another toward wonder at God’s charity toward us.
Endnotes
[1] James Montgomery, “Faith, hope, and charity, these three,” dated Jan. 27, 1834, in his personal manuscript, but was first printed in his Original Hymns in 1853.
[2] J. Sollier, “Love (Theological Virtue).” The Catholic Encyclopedia (Robert Appleton Co., 1910).
[3] A. B. Simpson, quoted by Cheri Fuller and Jennifer Kennedy Dean in The One Year Praying the Promises of God (Tyndale, 2012).
[4] A hopeful phrase from St. Thomas Aquinas, in Summa Theologiae, Second Part of the Second Part, Question 23, Article 2, in answer to the question: Is charity something created in the soul? Available in full at NewAdvent.org.
The featured image, “Oak Leaves on Addison’s Walk,” is courtesy of Lancia E. Smith and is used with her glad permission for Cultivating.
Danielle Mellema is a contributing writer for Cultivating Magazine and occasional guest host on the Anselm Society’s Believe to See podcast. She writes about welcoming the kingdom of God in our everyday lives and experiencing the presence of the risen Christ in the cracks and crevices of our days.
She lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband, four young children, and Pembroke Welsh corgi Perceval. She loves reading and talking about books, exploring along the trails behind her neighborhood, long conversations on her porch, and recommending just the right local restaurant to friends and strangers. She is endlessly grateful for the privilege of receiving and releasing the gospel that heals alongside the wonderful people of International Anglican Church.
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