Chuck Larsen

Most of us will admit we struggle with weak faith from time to time. My faith often feels more like a mustard seed than a mountain mover. When that happens, I tend to do what many religious overachievers do—I try to muscle my way into stronger faith. I grit my teeth, pound the pulpit of my soul, and raise the volume of my prayers as if God might be hard of hearing. Strangely, there seems to be an inverse relationship between faith and loudness. The more insecure I feel, the louder I get. It is not conviction—it is self-convincing. It is as if I am trying to give myself a pep talk: “Come on, faith! Work harder!” But forcing faith rarely works. If the key to faith was emotional intensity, Pentecostal coffee shops would be handing out miracles with every espresso. Real faith does not come from noise, sweat, or flexing spiritual willpower. It is not self-generated at all.

Faith grows not by pushing harder but by leaning deeper. Reaching out to God in honesty—rather than trying to impress Him—is what steadies a shaken heart. I once read a fascinating description of mustard seeds. Each seed contains only enough nourishment to begin life. After the first tiny green shoot breaks through the shell, it must quickly pull strength from outside itself—soil, rain, and sunlight—or it will shrivel and die. The writer made this comparison: “The same is true with our faith. Because it is so weak, it must reach beyond itself for sustenance and growth. It should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.” Faith that depends on emotion burns out. Faith that depends on God grows roots. That is why trying harder often leaves us spiritually exhausted. We are digging in shallow soil—our own.

The apostle Paul seems to have learned this lesson too. In First Corinthians chapter two he writes, “I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling… that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.” Paul, the great missionary and theologian, openly admitted that he sometimes felt fearful and shaky. If faith were about personal strength, Paul failed the test. But his confidence did not rest in himself—it rested in God. William Blake once said, “Great things are done when men and mountains meet,” but mountains only move when God gets involved. Any honest believer can admit that progress has little to do with personal brilliance and everything to do with divine help. Even a mustard seed of faith, when planted in the right place, can grow into something steady and strong—not because of the seed, but because of the soil that surrounds it.

In Matthew chapter eighteen, Jesus does something brilliantly simple—He puts a child on His lap and tells a group of adults arguing about greatness that they must become like children if they want to enter the kingdom of heaven. Imagine the scene: grown men debating their rankings like a fantasy football draft, only to have Jesus interrupt them with a child who still thinks dirt is a snack. Then in Matthew nineteen, when the disciples try to act as Jesus’ scheduling committee and keep children away from Him, He corrects them again: “Let the little children come to Me.” That is striking when compared to how Jesus talks about reaching adults. In Luke chapter fourteen verse twenty-three, He says, “Compel them to come.” Adults often need to be pushed, persuaded, coaxed, and occasionally dragged. Children? Just open the door—they will run in. One evangelist once said, “There are no real converts after age sixty-five.” That may be an exaggeration, but it makes a point: children tend to embrace Jesus with open hearts, while adults tend to embrace Him with open arguments.

Dr. Lois E. LeBar, in her book Children in the Bible, argued that children’s ministry is not a side program—it is strategic. She wrote that a child’s heart is fertile soil for the gospel. Why? Because faith comes naturally when dependence is already a way of life. Toddlers believe juice boxes appear by magic and fathers know everything. Trust is built into childhood. Spiritual habits formed early leave long fingerprints on life. Think about this: Matthew Henry was converted at eleven, Isaac Watts at nine, Jonathan Edwards at eight, and Richard Baxter at six. No wonder their lives made such a profound impact—they had time to grow deep roots. D. L. Moody once said that at one of his services “two and a half” people were saved. When asked if he meant two adults and one child, Moody shook his head. “No,” he said, “two children and one adult. The children have their whole lives ahead of them; the adult’s life is already half spent.”

But it is not only children who benefit from children’s ministry—adults do too. Teaching children forces us to rediscover what Jesus said grown-ups tend to lose: simple faith. Try explaining the Trinity to a room full of eight-year-olds armed with juice pouches and curiosity. It will sharpen your theology and your prayer life. Jesus used children as an object lesson not because they were cute props, but because their faith revealed what adults had forgotten. In Matthew eighteen verse three, Jesus said, “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” When God spoke from heaven in Matthew seventeen and said, “This is my beloved Son… listen to Him,” He was talking to adults who still struggled to trust. Perhaps children understand something essential: faith is not complicated—it is humble, trusting, and eager to come close to Jesus. Adults may need to be compelled, but children just need to be welcomed.