Marked as Christ’s Own
Every Baptism Sunday, Dan cradles a baby in his arms, gently tracing the sign of the cross with oil on their forehead and proclaiming, “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.” In that moment, something both tender and profound is declared: God is at work.
In our Anglican tradition, baptism is not first about what a person can understand, articulate, or confess—though those gifts will unfold as a child grows and later stands to confirm their faith. Baptism begins with God’s action. It rests on the promise that God is already moving, already claiming, already loving.
And there, in Dan’s arms, is an infant—wholly and utterly dependent. Nothing is required of them. They do not need to reason, respond, or speak in order to receive. They may be sleeping peacefully or crying in protest. Still, the promise stands. The Church speaks confidently of God’s work in the baptismal waters, trusting that grace is not constrained by language, comprehension, or developmental stage.
If God’s grace precedes understanding and God’s Spirit moves before words, then it reshapes the way we see our children, the way we listen to the Spirit, and even the way we see ourselves.
Learning to Listen to God at Work
In baptism, we proclaim a truth that both comforts and unsettles us: God is already at work from the very beginning of our children’s lives. Our children are not blank slates waiting to be filled, nor are their spiritual lives on hold until they can speak the right words. Scripture reminds us that “the Spirit helps us in our weakness… with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). God meets us precisely where words fail. If this is true for us, it is certainly true for our children.
It is easy to overlook the spiritual lives of babies and toddlers. However, when we assume that the Spirit’s work depends on abilities they have not yet developed, we risk placing limits where God does not. In doing so, we may miss the communication that is already happening—even if at times it is difficult to see.
Much of babies’ and toddlers’ communication is embodied, emotional, and relational. A reaching hand, a searching gaze, the comfort found in a familiar face, the insistence on hearing the same story again and again—these moments are rich with glimpses of the Spirit at work. They express deeper longings, longings that echo the very questions we continue to carry into adulthood: With whom do I belong? Who am I? What story am I part of?
To notice this, we must slow down. We must learn to watch and to listen for what Lacy Finn Borgo calls “the unspoken language of the heart.” The invitation is not to make something happen, but to pay attention—to listen for the Spirit who is already moving.
Becoming like Children
If we are learning to listen for the Spirit at work in our young children, we soon discover that the invitation turns toward us as well. In Matthew 18:3, we are called to become like little children. At the heart of that call is a posture children embody so naturally: dependence. A newborn’s cry, a toddler’s outstretched arms, a child returning again and again to the safety of a parent’s presence—these gestures are not only signs of need, they are invitations to listen. In their reliance, we hear something true about the way we all stand before God.
As we witness their dependence, we begin to recognize our own. Romans 5:8 reminds us that God’s love did not wait for our readiness or righteousness; it met us while we were still sinners. Our lives in Christ begin not in strength, but in need. The baby’s cry and the toddler’s trust echo our own story: we are completely reliant, utterly held. When we listen closely, their small, daily gestures become a living reminder of our need.
This shared dependence reshapes the way we attend to the children entrusted to us. We listen not as those who have mastered faith, but as fellow recipients of mercy. We listen with trust—trusting that the Spirit who has been faithful in our story is faithfully at work in theirs.
And we listen expectantly. We listen to their questions, their repetitions, their joys, and even their meltdowns. We listen for what God might be revealing through their need and through our own. In this mutual posture of dependence, listening becomes more than attentiveness or awareness; it becomes an act of faith. We wait, we watch, and we trust that the God who met us in our weakness is already speaking and moving in them.
Listening at the Waters
Baptism declares that God speaks first. Before we understand, before we articulate, before we respond—God acts. At the font, we witness a grace that does not wait for readiness. We see a child who cannot yet profess faith, and we proclaim over them a promise that rests entirely on God’s faithfulness. Baptism anchors us in this reality: we belong to Christ not because we have mastered the language of belief, but because he has marked us as his own.
But baptism also teaches us how to listen.
If God is at work before words, then our task is not to manufacture spiritual life in our children, but to pay attention to the Spirit already working. The same waters that mark them as Christ’s own invite us to watch for the Spirit’s movement in their gestures, their attachments, their questions, and their quiet longings. We listen at the font. We listen in the nursery. We listen in the everyday moments that seem small but are, in fact, filled with holy mystery.
Grace,
Mikala Thompson
Assistant Director of Redeemer Kids
