Don’t you love it when people ask you questions you don’t know the answer to? I’m sure most of us here in this room have been asked at least one question in our lifetime that we have found ourselves hemming and hawing over–trying desperately to come up with something that shows we have at least a modicum of intelligence.
Those of us who are parents know this feeling all too well. Our kids seem to ask incessant questions. First it begins with the dreaded "Why?" and then it moves into a bit more difficult areas. I mean, when your kid asks you, "Why is the sky blue?" You can’t simply retort, "Because I said so." That doesn’t make much sense to kids. So, we adults are left with trying to come up with reasons and explanations, and if we don’t know the answer, sometimes we make it up.
That’s one of the reasons I like the comic strip "Calvin and Hobbs." Some of you may remember this comic strip from years ago. I grew up reading it in the Corpus Christi Caller Times, and I always looked forward to see what kind of stunts the little guy in the strip was going to pull off. Sometimes, Calvin would ask his dad a question, and you have two such instances in the insert in your bulletin today.
Please take a moment to look at the first comic strip with Calvin asking, "Why does the sun set?"
Dad looks at him and says, "It’s because hot air rises. The sun’s hot in the middle of the day so it rises in the sky. In the evening then, it cools down and sets."
Calvin asks, "Why does it go from East to West?"
Dad replies, "Solar wind."
Mom chimes in, "DEAR!"
For a kid, this explanation works, and he or she understands it. Never mind that it’s a complete lie. For the time being, the kid is satisfied and has an answer, and the adult is satisfied because the kid has stopped asking at least one question.
But is that such a good idea? Is handling tough questions, or questions we don’t have answers too in this manner the right thing to do? I’m not so sure.
You can believe me if you choose, but I’m someone who deals with a lot of tough questions. The questions I get from people are not quite as simple as why is the sky blue or why does the sun set. I know the scientific explanations of these things, and I think I can explain them to my kids in a way they can understand. If only these were the questions I was asked. Instead, I get asked things like, "Why did my loved one have to suffer and die from cancer?" I get asked, "Why did our child die in utero? Why can’t we be blessed with children?" I get asked, "Why isn’t God letting it rain?" I get asked, "How come the church doesn’t follow the Bible?" I get asked, "Why doesn’t God just give irrefutable evidence that He exists?" I get asked, "I know we are saved by grace, but isn’t there something we still have to do in our Christian faith? Aren’t works a part of our lives? And aren’t we judged by those works?" And I get asked, "How does this Trinity thing work? How can God be both one in three and three in one?"
The temptation is to come up with answers. The temptation is to come across definitive and authoritative. The temptation is to make something up and hope that no one will check your references and see that you really haven’t figured it out. The temptation is to come up with a well used, well worn cliche which satisfies for the time but leads to frustrating questions later on.
And that can be a really tough thing to deal with later, for if the answers you provide come under scrutiny, your trust level can be called into question. For instance, what is going to happen to Calvin’s trust of his father when he eventually finds out the earth revolves around the sun and while revolving the earth spins? What is going to happen when he finds out this is the reason the sun rises and sets and moves from East to West? What is Calvin going to do when he finds out his dad made stuff up? Will he be able to take his dad seriously? Will he have trust in his father as time passes?
The same questions can be asked of me or any other person of faith when wrestling with those big questions I asked earlier. Let’s just take one example. How do you deal with parents who have lost a child–either still born, a terminated pregnancy, or miscarriage, or premature death? Do you try to give a perfect explanation? Do you try to tell the parents, "It’s God’s will."? That’s one of those cliche answers. Not sure it satisfies a grieving parent’s heart in the least. In fact, if someone told me that one of my children died because it was God’s will, I wouldn’t think to highly of a God who wanted to take my child away from me. Same goes for those other sayings like, "God needed the kid more than you. Or God needed another angel in heaven?" Really, God needed this child more than me? I thought God had legions of angels, why did He need one more? Can you see how such answers can lead not only to some even more difficult questions, but they can also lead to making people angry with God when they need God’s embrace and comfort more than ever?
So what do we do with those big questions? How do we even go about trying to answer them? What if...just what if...we recognized we are limited from the get go? What if...just what if...we admitted we didn’t have all the answers?
Take a moment to look at that second comic strip from "Calvin and Hobbs" that’s in your bulletin this morning. Perhaps we can get a little bit of knowledge from it.
Calvin asks, "How do they know the load limit on bridges, Dad?"
Dad says, "They drive bigger and bigger trucks over the bridge until it breaks. Then they weigh the last truck
and rebuild the bridge."
Calvin says, "Oh. I should have guessed."
Mom says, "Dear, if you don’t know the answer, just tell him."
If you don’t know the answer, just tell him.
What is wrong with the words, "I don’t know."? For some reason, it seems some people have a problem with these words. For some reason, it seems some people want to have every single I dotted and every single T crossed in their lives. They seem to be uncomfortable with mystery, with hanging endings, and with a lack of knowledge and understanding. Such people want everything tied up in nice, neat little packages, or they want to come across as knowing anything and everything.
But the fact of life is, we don’t know everything. We don’t understand everything. There are parts of our lives that are and will remain a mystery until the day that we die. St. Paul puts it this way in the middle of 1 Corinthians chapter 13. This is that great chapter about love that couples want read at their weddings time and time again. But there are a few very important verses that Paul pens right in the middle. Beginning in verse 9, they read, "9For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; 10but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. 11When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. 12For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known."
Now, we see in a mirror dimly. We cannot see clearly. Our vision is blurred. Our scope, our perspective is limited. Why do we have such a problem with that? Why are we so uncomfortable with mystery? Why can’t we admit we don’t have the answers now, but one day things will become clear?
Today, my brothers and sisters in the faith, is Trinity Sunday. It’s the one Sunday of the church year where we take some time to remember that our God has been revealed to us as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In some ways it sounds like we have three God’s, but we don’t. We only have one. And even though we say we have one God, we also say that this God is revealed as three persons. For centuries, folks have tried to explain how it works–how this can even be possible. But all explanations have fallen short.
So, let’s not even try to explain it fully. Let’s admit our limitations, not only in understanding the Trinity, but in understanding the totality of life. Sometimes we are surrounded by mystery. And that is perfectly O.K. We don’t need to have all the answers. We can live with the mystery. We can live seeing dimly. We can live by saying, "I don’t know how it works. It just does." And that answer can be good enough. Amen.
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