Contrary to traditional adult-child relationships, this mom presents a gentle parenting method rooted in child liberation theology, which calls for respecting and empowering children. 

It had been one of those days. Nothing was going right. The house was a mess, I had a headache, the day had been long, and my husband, Zach, was having to work overtime that evening. Bedtime was up to me, and I was at the end of my rope. 

I was rocking Savannah, my 1-year-old, while Sophia, my 3-year-old, was supposed to be slipping on pajamas but got distracted playing with her dolls. Pajamas still in a wad on the floor beside her, I felt the anger, frustration, and exhaustion that had been simmering in me all day finally bubble to the surface. I harshly reminded my toddler to get into bed. 

I instantly felt guilt, but the rage didn’t dissipate until Sophia looked at me, and with nothing but compassion in her sweet, blue eyes said, “Mommy, you are using an unkind voice. Is something wrong? Here, let’s take deep breaths together.” And with her little toddler hands—not even half as big as my own—she grasped my hand and started to breathe deeply. 

How had my 3-year-old not only remained calm in the midst of my chaos, but also recognized that I was struggling and needed to regulate my own body and emotions? Whenever she was experiencing big feelings, she wasn’t punished or shamed for it. Zach or I would instead help her regulate her emotions through hugs, deep breaths, sitting with her through it, and eventually talking it out. We tried our best to approach tantrums and outbursts with curiosity and compassion, and now that I was, in a sense, having my own tantrum, Soph reacted in the same way. 

This particular incident was a turning point for me where I realized that gentle parenting was more than another strategy of behavior modification. It was a way of being with children that respected them as a whole person in such a way that they would naturally learn respect and empathy for others. 

When the norm in a household is kindness, respect, grace, gentleness, and compassion, children are equipped to be confident in their own worth and the worth of others, even if a member of the family temporarily steps outside of the household norms. My daughter wasn’t afraid of my outburst, nor was she afraid to let me know that I was speaking “unkindly” to her. She knew she deserved respect while also respecting me in the midst of my own big emotions. 

But there is even more to it than that. We shouldn’t just teach children respect because it models empathy and kindness. We shouldn’t just respect children because their brains are still developing. Ultimately, it all boils down to this: We should respect kids because it is their right to be respected. 

A Different Message 

Yet, almost every time I picked up a book on Christian parenting, a very different instruction was given. In some way or another, most of these Christian parenting books communicated a similar message: 

• Your children are corrupt and sinful from the moment of birth. 

• You must teach your children instant obedience to your every command. 

• Children must be punished, often through pain, in order to learn right from wrong. 

• God commands children to respect the authority of their parents, and parental authority gives parents the right to rule over their children. 

These messages deeply disturbed me, even when I was only beginning to learn the ropes of parenthood. It seemed to me that the messages being communicated to Christian parents were those of power and control, not ones that revolved around the fruits of the spirit. 

I’ll never forget the first time I read the widely popular Christian parenting book To Train Up a Child, by Debbie and Michael Pearl, originally published in 1994. As I turned each page, I felt more and more astonished at what the authors touted as genuine Christian parenting. In one memorable chapter, the authors state: “Prove [to the child] that you are bigger, tougher, and more patiently enduring and are unmoved by his wailing. Defeat him totally. Accept no conditions for surrender. No compromise. You are to rule over him as a benevolent sovereign. Your word is final.” It was at this point that I put the book down to process what I had just read as the words of Christ echoed in my head over and over: “Whatever you do for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you do for me.” 

Could I imagine “defeating” Christ? Would being “unmoved” by the wailing and crying of Christ be right? Would I “rule over” Christ “as a benevolent sovereign”? If I could not fathom treating Christ in this way, how could I rightly act this way toward my children? Are children not also included as the brothers and sisters of Christ? 

As I read those words, it became incredibly clear to me: Much of what has been popularized as proper Christian parenting doesn’t actually have a lot to do with Christ, but rather, it has a lot to do with power. This worship of power by the parents is antithetical to the message of Christ—of a God who willingly forsook power and glory for the sake of all humanity. I knew in my heart that there must be another way. My Christian parents did not raise me this way. I did not want to raise my children this way. Christian parenthood did not have to look like this. In fact, I deeply believed that honoring Christ meant running far from this punitive model of parenthood. That is when I discovered the concept of child liberation. 

Child Liberation Theology 

When I first stumbled upon the term child liberation theology, I was immediately intrigued. I had heard of the liberation theology of Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez in which he emphasized the Christian duty to the poor and suffering, and Christ as the redemptive figure of the marginalized. I had also heard of various other liberation theologies, including Black liberation theology, womanist liberation theology, Indigenous liberation theology, LGBTQ+ liberation theology, and more. But I had never once heard of or even considered a theology of liberation for children. 

When I first picked up the book Suffer the Children: A Theology of Liberation by a Victim of Child Abuse by Janet Pais, I could not put it down. My eyes scanned each page as my body was filled with a feeling of excitement and purpose. Finally, while not a parenting book by any means, here was a book that addressed the topic of parenting and children from a Christian perspective that advocated for the dignity and rights of the child and advocated against domineering parental control. Through her theology of liberation for children, Pais affirmed the dignity of children as made in the image of God and challenged the norms of how children are treated by adults. 

As I learned more about this, I wondered, “How does this line up with Franciscan theology?” At the time, my evenings after my children went to bed were spent studying, reading, writing, and completing assignments for my master’s degree in Franciscan theology. My day-to-day life was often filtered through a Franciscan lens as I studied and applied what I was learning to what I was experiencing. This was no different. I became engrossed in the topic of child liberation, and the more I considered it, the more I realized that it aligned with the Franciscan vision of the call to, as Francis proclaimed, “follow in the footsteps of Christ” in all that we do. 

There are several fundamental beliefs held within child liberation theology: 

1) Children are born good, not tainted with evil or original sin. 

This fits with the positive view of humanity held in Franciscan theology—that God intended for every human being to exist, that existence is only born out of divine desire and the outpouring of God’s overflowing love, and that sin does not change the fundamental goodness of humanity. Yes, human beings sin (children included!), but sin does not change who we are at our core: good creations made by a good creator. How could assuming the goodness of children affect our interpretation of their behavior? 

2) Children deserve dignity and respect and should be empowered instead of oppressed. 

This goes right along with the Franciscan commitment to uplifting the poor, marginalized, and oppressed. Sts. Francis and Clare were committed to this. If children are being oppressed, then addressing and challenging this oppression is deeply Franciscan. How could a deep, Franciscan commitment to challenging oppression move us to examine how our actions may perpetuate oppression in our own homes, schools, and elsewhere in our society? 

3) Adults must critically examine how adult power is misused in order to control children in unnecessary ways. 

St. Francis, like Jesus, modeled a voluntary giving up of power for the sake of the other because Francis believed that all people are called to follow in the footsteps of Christ. It is this voluntary giving up of power and control that must be committed to for the sake of child liberation. We must replace a “power-over” mindset with a “responsibility-toward” mindset. What would it look like to counterculturally lay down our own power for the sake of our children like Francis did for the sake of the most vulnerable in his life? 

Honor Children, Honor God 

Ultimately, child liberation theology includes the radical idea that the misuse of power by adults over children not only dishonors children who are all made in the image of God, but also dishonors God. Just as Sts. Francis and Clare believed that we honor God by honoring those around us, the same is true of the way we treat children. To honor God, we must honor children, and to truly honor children, we must examine the ways that we may, knowingly or unknowingly, cause them harm and treat them as less than. 

Each time a parent chooses to respond to children in a respectful way—getting on their level, seeing the world through their eyes, being mindful of their developmental capabilities, and showing them grace and love—they are leaning into the reality of the Gospel. When a parent stands against the cultural norms that say a child must suffer in order to learn and instead chooses to teach the child in a way that honors their humanity and stage of development, that parent is modeling the countercultural nature of both Jesus and Francis, who likewise affirmed the dignity of the most vulnerable. 

To parent according to the truth of the Gospel is to parent in a way that respects the dignity of the child and to recognize that the child is just as worthy of respect, grace, and love as any adult. The Gospel invites us to reconsider our views on punishment, status, and power, and likewise invites us to live into the reality of the love through which we were created. If we are to parent in light of the Gospel, we must rethink the traditional adult-child relationship and work to cultivate relationships with the children who have been entrusted to us based on mutual respect and truly unconditional love. 

Parenting That Is Christlike 

In the widely circulated Gospel Coalition article “Is Gentle Parenting Biblical?”, the claim is made that gentle parenting, while having some good qualities, ultimately is not biblically based. The author states, “If we want to produce gentle children, we’ll need more than gentle methods—we’ll need biblical ones.” 

To parent with the fruits of the spirit with unconditional love, patience, gentleness, and self-control is to parent biblically. To lay down our power, to refuse to use harsh punishments for every mistake, to refuse to exert our strength to cause physical pain to the child, to refuse to shame and isolate, and to refuse to treat the child as a piece of clay that can be molded however we desire is to model our parenting after the humility and vulnerability of Christ. So yes, I do believe that gentle parenting is not just biblical, but Christlike. 

Every time I think back on the story of my daughter, I am reminded that gentleness can indeed foster gentleness. Sophia showed me that day that children will emulate what is modeled. She displayed the fruits of the spirit far better than I did on that night, which is not something that can be ordered or forced in any genuine way. She was gentle, patient, and loving in her response to my outburst. She gave me the opportunity to practice humility and repair, and she gave me the gift of forgiveness. There was grace amid hurt, growth amid mistakes, and patience amid tension. 

In a faith that prizes forgiveness, grace, and vulnerability, I must ask: What could be more Christian than that?

During the final months of the year, in homes all across the world, statues and other artistic depictions of God are not ones characterized by grandeur, might, and power, but rather of a small, helpless child. Such an incredible paradox—that of God and child, power and powerlessness becoming one—has perhaps become so normalized and sentimentalized that the radical message it brings to humanity may often be overlooked or lost on us entirely. There is no doubt that Christmas is a time when many contemplate the beauty and mystery of the incarnation—the miracle of God becoming human for the sake of God’s beloved creation. Sometimes I wonder, though, if in our songs and celebrations we miss a key message that the baby in the manger brings to us. The babyhood of God is a call to all of us to willingly lay down our own power for the sake of others. 

The all-powerful God, the creator of the universe, willingly became the most helpless creature in all of creation: a newborn. God could have manifested on earth as a King, or even a grown man, but instead God willingly gave up all power and embraced utter vulnerability by becoming a baby, entirely dependent on others for his needs and safety and at the very bottom of established social hierarchies of the time. Yet, we often embrace or create hierarchies of our own, sometimes even attempting to control others in the name of God. 

Unfortunately, the claim that God grants some people to have power over others is flourishing today, as it has throughout Christian history. Since the beginning of the faith, people have used the name of God as a means to validate their otherwise unjust control over others. The name of God has been used to justify men controlling women, parents exercising dictatorial control over children, kings taking control of someone else’s homeland, white people’s power over non-white people, colonizers’ power over Indigenous people… These abuses have been happening for centuries and take new forms today. 

But is it possible to actually have God-ordained power over another? I believe that the God-child in the manger gives us a very clear and resounding answer: no. When God became child, our man-made power structures were flipped upside-down. By becoming a newborn child—one who had no real power physically, mentally, and socially, and who would have been subject to the will of his parents, elders, the state, etc.—God ultimately declares all man-made power structures null and void because the one who was supposed to be at the top of the ladder became the one at the bottom, thus leveling the ground between all humanity once and for all. Christ’s voluntary vulnerability—his willingness to give up all power—was a radical dismantling of all supposed God-ordained hierarchies. This willingness to let go of all power for the sake of humanity forever invalidates anyone else’s attempts to hold power over another in the name of God. 

Leadership—whether in the Church, in our families, or elsewhere—must always follow the model Jesus set for us during his life on earth. Jesus’ leadership was not based in power over others, but in a responsibility towards them. Yes, during his ministry, Jesus taught others and led them with authority. People followed him and trusted his words. Yet, he never used his influence to rule over others. Instead, it led him to serve others. While God does give some certain responsibilities toward others—such as the Church to her people, parents toward their children, political leaders toward their communities—and while this may seem to be God-ordained hierarchy, it is actually an opportunity for those in positions of leadership to lead through humility and love rather than power and control. There can be no true hierarchy when God—the one at the top of the hierarchy—is the one knelt in the dirt washing feet. In this way, Christ-centered leadership must always lead us to humbly “wash feet” rather than seek to gain control over someone else. 

In Matthew 25:40 Jesus proclaims, “Truly I tell you, whatever you do for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Christ became oppressed so that there can be no way to justify oppression in the name of God. God became weak and vulnerable so there can be no rightful power over the weak and vulnerable. The way we treat others is the way we treat Christ, and we cannot hold power over Christ. 

As the Christmas season quickly approaches, and as the world continues to remain locked in an ever-deepening power struggle, may we look to the tiny boy in the arms of his mother—the God-child who voluntarily laid down all power for the sake of love—and remember that we are called to do the same. May we work toward collaboration over competition, embrace equality over hierarchy, and use our own unique strengths to empower others rather than to gain power over others. The nativity story is one that tangibly reveals to us the shocking reality that God is less like a domineering king and more like a vulnerable, crying baby, and we are forever invited to let the Christ child lead us deeper into vulnerability for the sake of love. This Christmas, may we willingly step into vulnerability and be willing to set down our own power and privilege in order to be a vessel of Christ’s love in the world. 

May we allow our spirituality to be the hand that guides us back to these fundamental truths that we have long since forgotten—truths that were etched into our hearts as children as we innocently marveled at the glory of God around us. Perhaps then, our spirituality may manifest in our lives as action, advocacy, and care for this beautiful planet we call home. 

—from St. Anthony Messenger‘s “Loving God, Loving Creation“
by Carie Moore

When we allow ourselves to be as open as a child in our relationship with creation, we are one step closer to bringing about the kingdom of God. 

Sometimes, the things you learn in books, in the classroom, or in church become suddenly relevant and clear at random moments in your life. One such moment came for me when I found myself singing “Amazing Grace” at a somber backyard funeral for a honeybee. My oldest daughter, Sophia, not quite 4 years old, stood in front of me, with tears making streaks in the dirt on her cheeks. She sang the words to the familiar hymn along with me, pausing at times to sob a little more as I hugged her tight. In front of us was a small circle made of little pebbles and stones with a single flower, plucked from my garden, placed in the middle. 

About 30 minutes prior, my girls had been playing in their mud kitchen when they decided to go jump on the trampoline. As Sophia climbed up the little plastic steps, she noticed something in the netting wiggling around. It was a small honeybee, buzzing weakly as it tried to shimmy its little body through one of the holes in the net. 

“It’s stuck!!” Sophia cried. “We have to save it!” 

Rescuing a Honeybee

“Sweetie,” I said in my most sympathetic voice, “I don’t know if we can save it. It looks very stuck, and I’m afraid we would squish it if we tried to get it out.” 

“No!” Sophia said. “I’ve done it before. I push something against them, and they fall out and they fly away. Let me go get a rock.” With that, she jumped down and scoured the yard for the smoothest rock she could find. 

I watched as my daughter carefully pressed the smooth side of the rock against the bee, which by now had stopped buzzing and wiggling. It didn’t take long for the little bee to fall out of the netting where it had been stuck and fall onto the blue mat surrounding the trampoline. I cringed as I saw it lying there, motionless. Our honeybee didn’t make it. 

“I’m sorry, Soph,” I said, as she hurriedly crawled around the outside of the net to check on the bee. 

“Did it die?” she asked, looking up at me. As the sunlight reflected off the tears shimmering in her bright blue eyes, I knew she already knew. “Yes, baby. It died. You tried so hard to save it and you did a wonderful thing. It’s not your fault. The little bee was lucky to have a girl like you who cared so much about it.” 

Sophia burst into tears. As she wept over the bee, she asked me if we could bury it, and that’s how I ended up spending my afternoon singing hymns beside the grave of a poor bee that accidentally flew into our trampoline net. 

Spirituality and the Environment

As the afternoon darkened into evening, the whole incident remained on my mind. I had recently begun my second year as an online graduate student with the Franciscan School of Theology, and most of my evenings were spent delving into the spiritual profundity of Sts. Francis, Clare, and Bonaventure, Blessed Duns Scotus, and other theologians within and outside of the Franciscan tradition. We had learned about St. Francis’ care for the earth and his belief that each element of the universe, each creature, and each human being are all family. Throughout my time exploring all of this, I have asked myself, How important is spirituality in modern environmentalism? 

Is there room for spirituality in the 21st century—one characterized by the imminent threat of environmental disaster and fueled by capitalism and consumerism? With the rampant environmental destruction that threatens all human and nonhuman life on earth, one may plausibly ask such a question. It may seem difficult, if not irresponsible or misguided, to place any emphasis on spirituality during a time when the physical world cries out for our attention and care. Undoubtedly, the surface-level problems that contribute to the destruction of the earth are physical: deforestation, excessive oil drilling, pollution, greenhouse gas emissions, the overuse of nonrenewable resources, and widespread consumerism, to name a few. Similarly, plastic usage has caused problems in landfills, animal habitats, humans, and wildlife. 

Scientists, environmental advocates, Indigenous communities, and activists have fought for systemic change and, in many cases, there are viable and specific solutions that exist and have been proposed. Yet, such changes are, in most cases, slow to occur. Despite the ever-increasing evidence that the natural world is deteriorating at levels that will alter life on earth if human action remains unchecked and unchanged, such harmful practices are still rampant. It is because of this that we must be moved to consider the fundamental causes of such damaging human behavior and seek solutions that address these issues. What is an effective way to change human behavior if knowledge of the harm caused by these behaviors is widely known and understood and, when practical, science-backed solutions are equally apparent? 

Love the World to Bring Change

In the introduction to his book How to Raise a Wild Child: The Art and Science of Falling in Love with Nature, paleontologist and environmentalist Scott D. Sampson states, “Greener technologies, simpler lifestyles, and restructured economies are essential, but insufficient. Exterior transformations must be accompanied by an interior revolution in thinking.” Likewise, in her book Saving Us: A Climate Scientist’s Case for Hope and Healing in a Divided World, climate scientist Katharine Hayhoe asserts that “personal and lived experiences [are] far more compelling than reeling off distant facts,” and experiences connecting one to nature are a far greater indicator of the likelihood that one will want to care for the environment than the actual knowledge of scientific facts surrounding the climate crisis and sustainable solutions. 

Simply put, we must foster a genuine and affectionate connection to our world before we can effect change within it. Before we can progress to the practical solutions in a way that will be sustainable and transformative, humanity needs an inner conversion—one that recognizes the innate value of the earth and our fundamental connection to all that exists within it and even outside of it. 

This returns us to my first question: Is spirituality relevant in the face of a climate crisis? My answer is yes—that is, if our spirituality leads us into deeper love and communion with the natural world. This is not to say that spirituality is more important than science-backed, practical solutions. On the contrary, my hope is that spiritual transformation would prompt further practice and acceptance of such solutions. 

It is also important to keep in mind that one approach to spirituality will not apply to everyone universally, nor is there only one spiritual perspective that may prompt a deepening connection to and care for the environment. Even within a single faith tradition, spiritual practices will be as varied and unique as there are people. Franciscan spirituality can act as a guide through one spiritual path among many that may be applicable and transformative for particular people within the context of various spiritual and religious traditions. 

During his life, St. Francis of Assisi loved the bees. He was known to set out various forms of sustenance for them in the winter so that they didn’t starve. His love for the world was holistic: He believed that everything within creation owed its existence to the outpouring of God’s self-diffusive love. He recognized this in the smallest of insects, in the trees, in the moon and sun, and in the people he met. Each thing and each being existed simply because God desired it so. St. Francis lived in this reality by treating all that he encountered with respect, love, and care. 

It is through God’s love for us that we may begin to love God’s creation, and it is through God’s creation that we may then learn to love God. In The Universal Christ: How a Forgotten Reality Can Change Everything We See, Hope For, and Believe, Father Richard Rohr states: “St. Bonaventure taught that to work up to loving God, start by loving the very humblest and simplest things. . . . Don’t start by trying to love God, or even people; love rocks and elements first, move to trees, then animals, and then humans. Angels will then seem like a real possibility, and God is then just a short leap away. It works. In fact, it might be the only way to love, because how you do anything is how you do everything.” 

In this way, one’s spirituality—the means through which one engages with and loves God—involves stepping stones that naturally lead to love for creation as well. When we become more aware of the reality that nothing in creation exists outside of the love of God, we may then be led further into love for the world around us. The spirituality of St. Francis was one that looked at the world from the ground up. He recognized the unique value each creature, each person, and even each created thing held, and it was through this that he lived his life in radical love for the sake of others and creation. 

A Radical Conversion

Unless we learn to weep for the suffering of a bee, we will not understand what it is to weep for the suffering of the earth. What St. Francis’ life can show us is that our actions on behalf of creation may be strengthened when we first experience a radical conversion of the heart—one that, like St. Francis, recognizes the innate value of the small things, the unloved things, and the forgotten things. In this way, his story can invite us to adopt an environmentalism that is motivated by our spiritual convictions and by the love that those convictions must naturally bring to the surface—an environmentalism of the heart. 

Our spirituality can be a means by which we are led more deeply into the reality of the love of God manifest in all things, and, through this revelation, we may be led to deeper love ourselves. When we believe the wind to be our brother and water to be our sister, when we call a tree by name or lovingly gaze at an insect, when we truly recognize that the earth and all her creatures are family, we can venture to love them, not just for their usefulness, their beauty, or their purpose in our own lives, but for themselves. 

Jesus said that nobody can enter the kingdom of God unless they become like a little child (Mt 18:3). My daughter didn’t study theology or memorize St. Francis’ “Canticle of the Creatures.” It was the inherent value of the bee—its worthiness of being saved, wept over, and buried—that was innate within her. Might our children be the ones to show us the kingdom of God all around us? For what awaits is to behold the world with that childlike wonder and awe and to recognize that every atom of our universe is a miracle spoken into existence by the loving word of God. To see the kingdom of God in our midst, we need to become like children: This will mean weeping, like a child does for the honeybee; it also means pursuing the rescue of the honeybee, even as an older voice might tell us it’s too hard or impossible. 

May we allow our spirituality to be the hand that guides us back to these fundamental truths that we have long since forgotten—truths that were etched into our hearts as children as we innocently marveled at the glory of God around us. Perhaps then, our spirituality may manifest in our lives as action, advocacy, and care for this beautiful planet we call home.