Adoption: on earth as it is in heaven?

[note - I'm writing this about an issue that I think exists in the Christian adoption community. As such, it's written from an explicitly Christian perspective].

Having adopted two tiny humans, I have become so much more aware of what God did when he adopted me - not because of the similarities, but because of the differences. And I've become convinced that these differences are important. I think that those of us who are Christians in the adoption community can be guilty of overplaying the similarities between God's adoption of us, and our adoption of children. I think that when we do this, we are at risk of wrongly casting ourselves in the role of 'saviour', or trivialising the amazing truth of God's adoption of us (or both).

Here are five reasons that I think overdoing the links between human adoption and divine adoption can be confusing - for us, our children, the church, and the rest of the world.

1) When God adopted me, he adopted someone who is totally unlike himself.

Personally, I think this is the biggest difference between my adoption by God and my adoption of children. I am able to adopt children because I am in comfortable circumstances, and they need adoption because of profoundly uncomfortable circumstances, but there is absolutely no difference between us, really. I am richer, and older, but that's it. If the world had been ordered differently, the adoption could easily have been the other way around. But for me and God? There are huge differences between me and God, and these are in our fundamental, essential natures. Him: creator, sustainer, redeemer of the Universer, totally holy and totally righteous. Me: a frail human sinner, totally unworthy to be in his presence. But rather than rejecting me, he makes me part of his family. He makes me part of his family. Once we understand who God is, and who we really are, this is staggering. It should amaze us.

Not so, my adoption of little people. Two big sinners adopting two little sinners, and we become a human family. Wonderful, joyful, but not unnatural. Not staggering.

We should not forget this difference. It affects how we think about the worth of our children.

2) When God adopted me, my adoption was a totally good thing.

No grief, no pain, just rejoicing. Out of darkness, into light. How could I not be grateful and glad?

I'm hoping that I don't need to explain how this is different from our children's human experience of adoption. They gain a new family, but this is coupled with huge losses. Our children have birthfamilies, whether living or dead. In even the very best adoptions, our children will need to face the sadness that comes from knowing that their birthparents were unable to raise them.

There will be hard days, maybe years, maybe a lifetime, when their adoption does not seem to them to be a good thing. And, hardest of all, some of them will be right.

We should not forget this difference. It affects how we think about the realities of adoption for our children.

3) When God adopted me, I needed to be adopted because of my own sin.

All too often, adoption is surrounded by human sin. Sometimes, children need adoption because of the sins of their birthparents - such as rape, abuse or neglect. Sometimes, children need adoption because of the sins of others - such as greed and exploitation, leading to overwhelming poverty. Sometimes, there is no sin at all, just tragedy. But it's pretty much never because of anything the child themselves has done.

Not so for me. I needed adoption into God's family because of what I, myself had done. I was no victim of circumstance. I needed him to show mercy, and he did. He really did save me, which is just as well, because I really needed saving.

Let's not forget this difference. It affects how we think about the dignity of our children.

4) When God adopted me, there was no other way that I could have been saved.

In order to bring me into God's family, Jesus had to die. It couldn't happen any other way. God takes my sin that seriously. That fact takes some pondering.

And of course, I baulk at using the word 'saved' to describe the adoption of a child. And maybe this point should end exactly there - at our best, we take children with no home and joyfully become a family together. And orphanages are bad, obviously, and I've fed two badly malnourished children back to health so I know what I'm talking about here but I didn't actually save my children. But even if adopting them did save their lives, we were not their only option. If we had not adopted our children, they would still have a home. In fact, we know the people who would have adopted them, the people who were next on the list, and they are a delightful family.

These is true for any of us adopting from anywhere where there is a waiting list. Once there is a queue, it's important that we realise that we aren't doing anybody any favours by adding our names to that queue.

Let's not forget this difference. It should stop us getting a saviour complex.

5) When God adopted me, I was also born again.

We need to remember that adoption is not the only description used for the way we join God's family. The themes of adoption and the new birth twine together through the New Testament, and both are equally important (and equally true). I don't think the new birth is a command to make babies. Similiarly, I don't think that our adoption by God is primarily a command to adopt children. I think that mostly, it should be a reason to worship.

Since he uses both of these to explain how we came to be his children, I think we can safely say that God approves of both adoption and birth. I think that as adopters, we can be in danger of assuming that our families have some kind of spiritual 'edge' because of how they are formed, or worse, that we (the adoptive parents) are somehow more holy than parents who add to their families the usual way. I'm convinced that, to God, it just doesn't matter whether we form our families by birth, adoption, or both. Birth families are no more 'real', and adoptive families are no more Godlike.

Let's not forget this difference. It should stop us from having either an inferiority or a superiority complex about our families.

So, those are five differences that I see. Please don't misunderstand me - in a world where adoption is undervalued as a way to make a real family, I draw great encouragment from the fact that God adopted me. The fact that God adopted me, long before I adopted anyone, does help make me feel good about the way we formed our family. And there are so many similarities between God's adoption of us, and our adoption of children. We were strangers, and then we became a family. A proper family. We are are joined by permanent, legal bonds. We are joined by love. And out of ashes, comes deep joy.

These truths are wonderful. But I think that it's tempting for Christians thinking about adoption to stop at this point. I fear that, for those of us in the Christian adoption community, it's too easy just to let ourselves melt into sentimentality when we talk about these things, and not go any further. Let's challenge ourselves - as Christian individuals, and as a Christian adoption community, to think hard about the way we talk about adoption. Let's never use Christian adoption as an excuse to be lazy about adoption ethics. Let's celebrate our families, but not confuse ourselves with God.