The children’s ministry teacher at our church told me my toddler was “this” close to asking Jesus into her heart during the lesson. On my car ride home with the two-year-old, she told me about “baby Jesus,” and how “Jesus died for me.” But she also asked about playing the octopus game.

That evening, her mother and I imagined our first-born daughter professing faith in Jesus before her third birthday, and discussed whether she was “old enough” to make that decision.

But from her teacher’s comment to the conversation her mother and I were having, something wasn’t sitting well with me.The same kind of thing that hasn’t sat well in the past when I’ve heard ministries report on the number of “salvations” they’ve witnessed. (For what it’s worth, “decisions for Christ” seems a much safer metric to me.)   

Were we trying to quantify something unobservable? Were we trying to demystify the deep, unplumbable work of the eternal Almighty? Like putting a glove on the invisible hand of God, something about the very question itself felt like trying to definitively know where He is—and isn’t—working.

Is that ever for us to claim to know?

The fact is that we seem to want concrete moments by which to mark our standing with God. If a Roman Catholic worldview points to the baptism of a baby as the distinctive removal of the stain of original sin, many evangelical denominations would point to the recital of a “sinner’s prayer” as the genesis of a regenerated existence in relation to God.

When, though, is someone capable of accepting Jesus as their Savior? Can a two-year-old make a decision for Christ?

Can a 30-year-old? 

No human being can attain to an age where time itself has matured within them an unalloyed, perfectly sincere will. Why then, do we weigh the authenticity of the prayer of a child in one way and the prayer of an adult in another?

It’s not without reason that we do this, but the contradiction does expose something that seems flawed in our thinking about our relation to God.

This isn’t a post about child baptism—I’m not experienced to discuss it—but the subject provides the prime example of the principle in question. 

Many Evangelicals reject infant baptism because the capacity to make an informed decision for Christ does indeed seem to belong to a more developed mind. Yet while such Christians might personally believe that a two-year-old in their own family could have said a salvific prayer to “accept Jesus into their heart,” it’s still seems unlikely that the baptism service at their own church would include anyone younger than six-years-old being fully immersed.

The desire of such a church in this instance is good: to preserve the sincerity and authenticity of the acknowledgement of a personal relationship with God. But, if not at two, at what age of the child can an adult be sure that said child has genuinely made a commitment to Jesus? If assurance on their behalf doesn’t come simply with the child’s capacity to speak for herself, at what age can the child’s commitment be trusted by the adult?

Knowing the absurdity of assigning anything like a “legal age” for a saving relationship with God, the adult is forced to acknowledge their desire for something only God can know with impeccable certainty: when someone else has truly placed their ultimate faith in Him.

The Evangelical may affirm that baptismal waters without willful, personal faith cannot save—yet surely he also knows, neither do formulaic recitations. Neither does someone’s number of years. 

If the desire is to allow for assurance of a personal relationship with God, why not simply look for signs of interpersonal faithfulness? If we desire to know whether someone can yet have a relationship with God—even at their young age—why not observe whether the evidences of sincerity are present? 

If someone wanted to know whom their child was friends with, they wouldn’t ask whether they’d ever made a formal declaration of friendship with anyone. They’d listen for whom the child talked about most, see whose company they enjoyed best, and watch for whom they were willing to do hard things. In addition to all this, they’d probably also just have take their kid’s own word for it.

In this sense, a child shouldn’t be expected to reach an age when they will be enabled to pray a legitimate “sinner’s prayer” for salvation. At no age will time suddenly grant a person’s mere words the power to tether their will unchangeably to God in one moment. Prayers alone don’t save a soul any more than water alone does. 

This story’s two-year-old turned three this week. She hasn’t prayed a sinner’s prayer. But I’ve seen her face when she sees the picture-book Jesus standing outside of the empty tomb. I’ve listened to her tell me, “Jesus makes me happy,” and “Jesus died on a cross for me.” I’ve heard her thank Him for Mommy and Daddy. She knows He’s the one that she should apologize to when she’s naughty, be thankful to when she’s glad. 

In other words, her relationship with Jesus is a lot like mine.

I don’t know how old my daughter will be when she gets baptized. I don’t know if she’ll ever be led to recite a certain kind of “prayer of salvation.” And whenever such a day comes, it will be dear to my heart, and it will be beautifully significant. 

But it won’t be the first day that she and Jesus were friends.