You may have noticed a lack of posts in the last two weeks. This is because we have just returned from Western France, 50 miles south of the Loire River.
I’d like to say that it was sweltering hot and we crashed out by the beach every day with a cool beer, but sadly, if I was Pinocchio, I would have a nose so long it would reach Scarborough.
While on my hols I finally got to read Harry Potter and the Deadly Hallows. And it was well worth the wait, though I apologise to my family for not seeing me for a couple of days, but I hear they had a good time.
One of the things that struck me through the Harry Potter series is the amount of questions that Harry asks. In fact, you could say that Harry Potter is about one big epistemological question: who am I?
Like Harry, things happen to us that we don’t know why and we can get frustrated by the lack of response back.
On the way back on the ferry to Portsmouth last night we saw the film Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and I forgot how angry Harry had become with the elusive Dumbledore.
The headmaster’s avoidance of the boy made Harry resentful, but it did force him to work things out for himself and, as a consequence, learn some valuable stuff that was only possible by him doing it the stuff.
Was Dumbledore mean? And why did he allow Harry to go through the pain. Surely the world’s greatest wizard should have found another way to defeat Voldemort?
Alright, try another question. Was Dumbledore, ever resentful of Harry’s continuous questions?
Without hopefully spoiling the plot, no I don’t think so. (Of course, if you have never read Harry Potter then this is probably a meaningless post anyway and you probably really don’t care.)
I was told sometime ago by someone who was brought up in a household that they were never allowed to ask tricky questions at the meal table or given space for honest debate on some of the grittier issues about life. As a consequence, they found me initially quite threatening for wanting to debate certain presuppositions. They didn’t mean to but they found themselves getting very defensive, angry and then mentally closing down on me.
At a previous church I found myself speaking in passing about Israel and the promise of a new land. My comment was more of a reference than a doctrinal point, but I remember receiving a thirteen-page letter two days later telling me how wrong my theology was and if I didn’t accept things their way then affectively Hell and damnation awaited me. All in love, of course.
I would have happily engaged in a conversation, but the person decided a written monologue was the best course of action. The result was a broken relationship. Quite sad.
Jesus was asked many questions, some in the spirit of humility, some in the spirit of religious arrogance, and he often responded himself with a leading question back. Often exposing the person’s true motive for asking the question.
Going back even further, in the Old Testament we see Abraham constantly questioning God (Genesis 18). In fact, the more we see Abraham ask God questions the more God seems to be engaged with this remarkable man. The Creator doesn’t see this as arrogance or conceit, but recognises his desire to know the Father’s heart.
This appears to be also one of the qualities that marks out Harry Potter from his father James. By contrast, he is a reluctant, slightly awkward anti-hero earnestly pursuing truth and freedom.
I like what Rob Bell has to say in his book Velvet Elvis. Questions don’t have to be scary, they can be liberating.
When our faith has no room for questions then there is little room for our faith to grow in any form of maturity. We, perhaps, want to opt for a monochrome God with a safe worldview, but that all sounds rather boring to me. Do we really want a faith-life structure that is totally concrete, solid and untouchable that sees us becoming ‘Defenders of the True Faith?” If so, we might never reach others outside the thick church walls.
Or explore this.
Do we feel threatened when we are asked questions like:
“Why did my wife have a miscarriage at 20 weeks? Aren’t we good enough?”
“Why does a paedophile go free to offend again but my little girl dies of cancer?”
“If God is so in control of the world why do millions of innocent people die of HIV Aids in Africa while he stays silent?”
One of the many positive things to take out of this is that we should be more worried if people can’t even be bothered to ask the questions.
As for ourselves, we can’t possibly know all the answers because we don’t possess the mind of God. In humility, we search for the clues in the hope it draws us closer to God and releases the full joy of what is to know Jesus. Maybe the best way forward is to encourage one another to explore with open hearts, not with clenched fists.
Okay, some last questions.
Are we prepared to live with mystery? Will it affect our salvation if we don’t have all the boxes ticked? Can we grow in faith with some grey areas in our lives, rather than having to have everything in black and white? Do we try and give people the answers before they have even asked the question? Are we prepared to have honest-to-goodness dialogue, rather than the traditional monologue?
Questions, questions, questions…
Hey! Isn’t the Christian life fun? But if ours is boring maybe we never to ask ourself a few immediate questions. We could do worse than take a leaf out of JK Rowling’s books.
Hello?
ASD
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