Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. — Matthew 19:14.
There is a heart-wrenching weight in these words when held against the reality of our modern world. To “suffer” the children, in the archaic sense, means to allow them, to make room for them, and to protect their path. Yet, it is hard to conceive of a more piercing injustice than the betrayal of a helpless child—a soul whose only defense is the assumed goodness of the world around them.
We live in a time where the sanctuary of childhood is under constant siege. Whether it is at the hands of individuals, the cold machinery of governments, or even the tragic cycle of youth-on-youth violence, the headlines bear witness to a daily erosion of safety. We hear of the unthinkable: school shootings that turn places of learning into sites of trauma, and predators who exploit the very trust that makes childhood beautiful.
However, the injustices are often more insidious and quiet than a news headline. In a nation of unparalleled wealth, thousands of children wake up in the instability of homelessness or go to sleep with the dull ache of hunger. This is a systemic theft of potential, telling a child before they can even read that they are not worth the basic necessities of life.
We must acknowledge the thousands of children living under the shadow of “discipline” that is actually domestic or institutional terror. When parents, coaches, or teachers use violence and intimidation as tools of control, they don’t just break a child’s spirit; they distort that child’s understanding of love and power for a lifetime. Our educational structures often act as a sieve rather than a safety net, prioritizing those who “fit the mold” while allowing the creative, the struggling, or the differently-abled to slip through the cracks. We trade the vast brilliance of many for the narrow success of a few. In our modern age, we also see the abandonment of children to the unregulated wilds of the internet, where their self-worth is auctioned off to algorithms and their mental health is sacrificed for “engagement.”
As we move through this season of Lent—a time of reflection, repentance, and renewal—we are called to look at these “youngest and weakest” among us not as statistics, but as the very image of God. The scale of these problems can feel paralyzing, but the remedy often begins with the smallest of gestures. The injustice of being unseen is one of the most painful burdens a child can carry. Therefore, perhaps the most radical thing we can do is to notice them.
What does it look like to “suffer the children” to come unto us today? Slow down long enough to offer a child your undivided attention. In a world of distracted adults, a listening ear is a rare sanctuary. Ask a child what bothers them, what scares them, or what they dream of—and then believe them. Validating their inner world builds the resilience they need to face the outer one. Use your voice where they have none. Whether it is supporting local food banks, voting for policies that protect the vulnerable, or volunteering in mentorship programs, your “adult” power can be the shield they lack.
This Lent, let us resolve not to look away. If the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to “such as these,” then how we treat the children in our midst is the ultimate barometer of our own spiritual health. By protecting their innocence today, we safeguard the hope of tomorrow.
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