A Question...

My last post was done at dawn and in exhaustion.  I suspect the logic was more than a little faulty...not because I was particularly off-track, but because I failed to give enough information to support my arguments. Some writing is worse than others. I realize that great painters often paint several versions of a landscape or portrait, readjusting things or perspectives until they find the masterpiece that was hidden in thei hearts...and people are often glad to see the intermediary steps to beauty because it helps to understand the struggle that goes into creating.

Someday, before I die, I'd like to create a masterpiece...but if I don't, perhaps it is the exercise of creatot to asking that is sufficient to make God smile. I posted a bunch of drawings my grandchildren created in response to our boating adventure. In them, are the masterpieces of their hearts...just beginning to form.  I was delighted to see what was important to them, what they chose to remember. How they "improved" our journey with things they desired, how they combined ideas from different days...and how each one of them responded to the other with "corrections." All of which they received from each other with laughter.  No hurt feelings anywhere...

When they drew portraits of me, I looked at them and thought, "Oh, do I look like that to them? How wonderful! I would like to see me that way!"

"A question...Since before your sun burned hot in space and before your race was born, I have awaited a question."  A line from Star Trek's "City on the Edge of Forever."  Fr. John spoke in his homily about questions. He said he got the idea from a commentary I had not read...and I forgot to ask him who wrote it!  But the idea was about coming to Jesus/God/heaven as a little child.

Children approach things so much more easily than we do.  They are not afraid to ask questions. They do not have the fear of looking stupid, or weak, or ignorant. They just want to know...is there a heaven? Did Jesus really walk on the earth? How do I get into heaven? 

Suddenly I think about that question a child will eventually ask, "Where did I come from? How did I get here? How was I made?" And we adults stumble all over ourselves trying to answer it...because we still hold the shame that we learn over ther years for the most basic, important act of our lives. We llive in fear of too much information or too little. We worry about our response and we worry about worrying.

A child asks a question. And believes the answer. How often do we ask of our spouse or our parent, "Do you love me?" and we get "Yes" as the answer.  Do we believe the answer? Why do we need reassurance? Why do we ask over and over again? Why don't we believe? What has happened to us to not believe? And what inside us, when we are asked, don't often tell the truth? We say what someone wants to hear. What we think they want to hear. What we want them to want to hear.

Why can't we be like children? My granchildren love each other, but they get into fights regularly...with five, there will always be a chance of disagreement!  Mom and Dad recognise it long before I do. They name it. They ask a question. Then they say, "Ask for forgiveness." and expect it to be specific and correct to the problem. Then the jilted one is required to respond with a hug of acceptance. If reconciliation does not happen, then time and space is provided for the one still angry to 'think about it.' Perhaps a little discussion after quiet time to help understanding. There is less emphasis on who is right and who is wrong, but rather on what is right and what is wrong. But the kids work it out. Heaven returns to the family unit.  Pretty cool. 

Perhaps in a few years, it may take more work to work it out. But for now, these children get along. That's something I wish we as grown-ups could do also.

I have wandered, but Fr John brought me insight...about the idea of the question.

We have to ask the question.  God knows our hearts, but we don't.  We have to learn. That comes from asking the question. Assuming just gets us in trouble. Hiding our ignorance and calling it faith really pulls us away from God rather than into God. We must ask the question. God can give us answers galore though the Holy Spirit, through the Bible, through the Mass...but unless we ask the question, those answers only partially satisfy us.  They only get us halfway there.

I disagreed with Fr John on one point, though. He said it was alright to ask God questions, but not to question God.  I should have asked him for clarification on what he meant, but I'm already writing...so forgive me Father.  I think it is part of who we are to ask questions. Animals do not ask questions. They get confused by irratic behavior, or crisis...but they don't question it. They just deal with it. Perhaps animals are more blessed that we in that way. 

But when a child dies, or a spouse has cancer, or you lose your job...I think it is part of healing to question God. "What were you thinking, God? Why did you let this happen? Haven't I always loved you? Why did you do this?" To offer to God our confusion and anger is also a prayer. It is not a sign of not loving. It is disrespectful I suppose, but in a family, if we are hurt, we often behave like children...we have to go through our pain...and pain is never pretty...until we calm down, go into our time out...and then realize that God will NEVER let us down. We may not get the answer/decision we want, but when we calm down, we realize how much He loves us and gives us only good things. It's really hard to do. 

 But we have to ask the question. We have to lament. We want to understand. We want to be reassured. We need to be vulnerable...and felt protected. That can't happen (at least for me) without a question.

And Jesus knew the importance of asking questions:

"Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Jesus didn't need to ask...He knows everything....but in the asking, He helps to know, too, what is in our hearts.  We need to speak it out loud. "Yes, I love you. I have always loved you."

"Wow...did I really say that?  Have I always loved you, God? Yes, I think I do. Even when you don't give me what I want, I still love you. Do you still love me?"

A question.

"Feed my sheep."

Love, Cindy