Sitting here this early morning, ruminating, especially
about family, allowing my mind to wonder back some forty years ago when
Michelle and Amy were born, then skipping down the years that followed. I remember how they came into my world. Barraging Bettyann and me with questions. As
infants, they were not doing the questioning.
It was Bettyann and me. But in
their own ways, their voices were heard and the questions poured forth. Why is she
crying? What does she need? How do I do this? Of course, it wasn’t long before
the voices shifted and it really was our daughters barraging us with questions
in a different way. Neither had to be the type who’s inquisitive nature left us
exhausted, it was just that they were two years apart in age. Just enough so as when the question of the
old was answered, the younger would ask “why.”
Before the miraculous events at the Red Sea even took place,
God instructed Moses to tell the Israelites that they were in the makings of
what would become a festival. To a
people yet bound in slavery, God commanded them to celebrate forever the things
that were about to take place. And God
added, "Then your children will ask, 'What does all this mean? What is
this ceremony about?
LORD's Passover, for he passed over the homes of the
Israelites in Egypt'" Exodus 12:26-27.
Your children will ask. What I was taught many years ago in my studies in developmental psychology, it is now that each of my four
grandchildren are asking questions because they are curious, because they are
interested, because they want to know, and because they believe I have the
answer. But I’ve noticed questions also form on the lips of one particular grandchild
simply because, I think, she loves to ask. Inquiry is an imperative part of a developing
young life, and my grandchildren’s lives are immersed in a culture of questions. Yet, I’m
thinking, as their grandfather, who gives short and succinct answers, am, like Srie; easily making the mistake that answers are all they are looking for. In other words; hearing
the question as a problem to solve with an answer. I'm thinking that a
culture of answers is not the answer for foundational living. While nerves and photocytes may explain the
glow of the firefly, perhaps the question was more accurately probing the
miracle of light. I’m asking myself, how many times have I silenced the wonder
of inquiry of my grandchildren, with a “quip from the hip” in place of
informing their curiousness.
It’s been sometime last summer that a study on the faith and belief of today's youth laments the growing inarticulacy of students when it comes to talking about what they believe. The study relates the language of faith to something like a second language in our culture. Acquiring a second language requires listening to others speak, studying the lessons of language, and practicing it until a person’s voice is found. The researchers were troubled as they realized how seldom teens found opportunity to practice talking about their faith. They were astonished by the number of kids who reported that this was the first time they had been asked by an adult what they believed. One replied as if he was caught off guard, "I don’t know. No one has ever asked me that before."
It’s been sometime last summer that a study on the faith and belief of today's youth laments the growing inarticulacy of students when it comes to talking about what they believe. The study relates the language of faith to something like a second language in our culture. Acquiring a second language requires listening to others speak, studying the lessons of language, and practicing it until a person’s voice is found. The researchers were troubled as they realized how seldom teens found opportunity to practice talking about their faith. They were astonished by the number of kids who reported that this was the first time they had been asked by an adult what they believed. One replied as if he was caught off guard, "I don’t know. No one has ever asked me that before."
I cannot help but add here: I
was so pleased, a few weeks ago when my eldest granddaughter was asked to and
without equivocation committed to giving her personal testimony of her
relationship with Christ on film.
Such a study, as this one, mentioned above, offers many angles
for analysis for me. But I often wonder if, in the spirit of this information
age, I boast in and practice getting endless and instant answers, all the while
failing to notice that I am too soon interrupting questions with explanation. I’m
asking myself; is this perhaps the abundance of answers stiffing my ability to
probe deeply the truths and mysteries of faith and religion? I’ve noticed over recent years that I have
seldom looked for opportunities to practice talking with my grandchildren, let
alone acquaintances about the things I cease to wonder at.
To the children who first celebrated the Passover feast,
inquiry must have been abounding with anticipation. The unleavened bread stood
out from what they were used to eating, the lamb was prepared with
extraordinary care, and the adults seemed marked by a hopeful sense of
urgency. "What does all this
mean?" would have come naturally out of eager mouths. Parents and
grandparents answered with the stir of recollection, "Today we celebrate
the LORD's Passover, for he passed over our homes in Egypt and brought us out
with his mighty hand." Their answer
offered within it the weighted truth of the Exodus—and no doubt their eyes were
filled with the same boundless wonder I will experience when I go beyond the questions of Grace, Sarah, Claire and Brayden.
