Questions

A few years ago, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine that still sticks with me to this day. He and I had countless discussions/battles of wits/arguments about everything from which Simon and Garfunkel song was the best to aspects of Calvinism. Most of these talks sort of blur into each other, but this one stands out particularly in my mind. I don't remember how we came to talk about it, but at one point he told me that it was wrong to question God. In all fairness, this guy had faced more than his share of struggles in his life, but I couldn't quite buy into what he was telling me. He was convinced that as Christians, we are to accept anything and everything without so much as a batting of an eyelash.

For those of you who know me best, you can guess what my response was...that's right, of course I argued with him. It was one of those discussions, though, that came with no resolution. Neither of us would be swayed (one of the things I admire about this guy...he's strong in his convictions).

I've been thinking a lot about questions lately. Mulling things over. It never fails that I walk out of my Old Testament class in a pensive mood. Today the lecture was on Jeremiah (we're pushing through the classical prophets these days...there's no way we're going to finish before the end of the semester). This professor is one of my favorites, and the thing I love most about him is his combative nature...he's totally comfortable questioning our notions of religion and society. He's not afraid to step on toes when need be.

Anyway, Jeremiah. So the lecture concluded with a quick discussion of Jeremiah's lamentations and prayers that are scattered throughout chapters 11 through 20, and we mainly focused on the fact that these lamentations represented real, heartfelt, angry prayer. I can totally identify. I have spent 21 years going through cycles of this questioning...some of my prayers are totally full of thanksgiving while others involve me beating my fists on the ground and screaming out my frustration. There is so much I don't understand, and sometimes that just builds up in me so much that I have to let it out. But even if I didn't, even if I never verbalized it or even prayed it, God would know it. The psalmist says He knows my inmost thoughts. There isn't anything that I can hide from Him, so it is my firm belief that I may as well scream it out.

But what sticks out in my mind most is this question asking...it's true that many people's vision of who God is tends to be shaped by their earthly fathers, and in this case, it is true for me. My dad has this habit of throwing some statement or doing something and then pausing. And waiting. And waiting still...until I finally sigh, roll my eyes and give in. "What do you mean, Daddy?" is the response he waits for every time. He sits there and waits in eager anticipation for me to ask...for me to question whatever is going on. And I don't think God's personality is too far off from that. He sits there waiting for us to ask Him, to let out our frustrations and beat on His chest and cry into His shoulder. He waits for us to let it all out, and then He brushes back the hair from our face and cups our chin in His hand and says, "I'm glad you asked."

God is a God bigger than our questions, bigger than our fears, even bigger than our doubts. He is patient and enduring and waiting for us to release our anger and ask...so He can open our eyes to His plan. Selah.