A God Who Questions. Leonard J. DeLorenzo

see, sometimes it is important to reckon with the translation itself and be aware of how particular words or images in Scripture are meant to draw us to other parts of Scripture, which may or may not be apparent due to a given translation (see, for example, chapter 10). Regardless of the order in which the reflections are presented or read, and the translations used, this is not a book that attempts to crack a code, as if Jesus talks in riddles and I have figured him out. Instead, this book represents a concerted attempt to really listen and to allow Jesus’ questions to disturb me, awaken me, locate me, and transform me. I hope to hear more in the future, and I hope you will hear more than I have through your own engagement with Scripture.

      It would be strange and inappropriate to engage in an exercise like this for some kind of practical benefit. All the same, I have found benefits from these reflections on Jesus’ questions. Since some of these reflections emerged in the context of liturgical seasons, they have become entry points to penitential prayer and increased longing. I have already begun using some of these reflections in my teaching at the college level, as well as in my presentations in pastoral settings. They have found their way into retreats that I’ve preached and parish missions that I’ve led. I hope you find them to be useful in a variety of ways, too, even though that’s really just an extra benefit.

      My greatest hope is that you’ll let yourself be startled by the fact that we have a God who questions. He does not need to, but he does. The divine question, the person of Jesus, addresses us directly, and asks questions so we can be drawn out of hiding into contact with who he is and what he bears for us. We find each other in him, too.

      It turns out that the project of salvation is not some hostile takeover — it is communion. It apparently matters that we want to be healed, so he asks if we want it. Likewise, it matters what and whom we seek; so again, he asks. If we find that the questions of Jesus are just what we expected, then we can be sure that we didn’t hear him correctly. Our expectations are to his questions what color blindness is to the rainbow. They delude us into thinking we have grasped all there is. And that analogy runs the other way, too. If we can imagine the rainbow’s colors piercing through and healing our blindness so that all of a sudden we do see the whole spectrum, then that is something like the effect these piercing and illuminating questions might have on us, because that’s who Jesus is in all his glory. He is the divine question.

       Chapter 1

       What do you seek?

      The next day again John was standing with two of his disciples; and he looked at Jesus as he walked, and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. Jesus turned, and saw them following, and said to them, “What do you seek?” And they said to him, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are you staying?”

      He said to them, “Come and see.”

      — John 1:35–39

      This question is the first thing Jesus says in the Gospel of John. This is the same Gospel that begins by introducing the Word, who was with God, who was God. This is the “Word [who] became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14). After that verse, “the Word” is not mentioned again; this Word-made-flesh is named Jesus, and he now speaks human words. His words carry the force of the Word of God, and the very first words from his lips in this Gospel form not a declaration or a commandment, but a question, asking these two disciples of John the Baptist what they are looking for.

      This is the question that Jesus asks every would-be disciple, and, really, it is a question that never fades away. What do we really want to find? What do our hearts desire? What would we be willing to accept? The humility of the Word of God is on full display here: He is the reason and the order for the whole of creation, yet he deigns to ask those initially drawn to him what they seek.

      These two disciples of John respond to Jesus’ question by divulging how they view Jesus. They call him “Rabbi.”¹ So what are they looking for from this teacher? Are they seeking instruction, enlightenment, wisdom? In him, they will find all this, but is a teacher all they want? They ask him a question about where he is staying, so they can find him later to obtain what they seek. Which brings Jesus’ initial question even more clearly into view: What do they seek?

      Jesus’ response to the disciples’ question is not a response in kind. They ask for information from this rabbi, but he gives them none. They want an address, but he yields no location. They want to picture where he will be, but he offers no such image. Instead he says, “Come and see.”

      He will answer their question about where he is staying, but not on their terms. They have to move toward him if they want to really see where he is at home. There is nothing distant or impersonal about that. Regardless of what they think they want to find, what they think they are seeking, the only response he will give is to invite them to draw near. What they’ll see is more than they want.

      Even the question the disciples ask Jesus is about far more than they realize. To see where Jesus is at home, to know where he dwells — that would mean knowing him for who he is. Who is he? John the Evangelist told us in the prologue to his Gospel. Where does he come from? He comes from on high.² Where does he dwell? He dwells not in one place or another, but in the Father’s love, even as he makes his dwelling among us.³ Is this a riddle? No, it is his identity and his mission. When Pilate later asks Jesus, “Where are you from?” (Jn 19:9), Jesus gives no answer. To ask where Jesus is from, where he is at home, and where he dwells is really to ask who he is. Does Pilate want to know, since that would mean accepting Jesus for who he is? What kind of person would be prepared to receive that answer? It all depends on what you seek and what you are willing to find. The answer to the home and identity of Jesus is not something you can grasp intellectually, objectively, or from a safe distance. You cannot know him unless you follow him and draw near to him, and you cannot imagine him without knowing him. He asked these two disciples what they were seeking because, in the end, he means to teach these men to seek him.

      The first disciples of Jesus come in waves. From these first two (Andrew and probably John the Evangelist), Simon is beckoned. Then Jesus calls Philip, and Philip summons Nathaniel (Bartholomew). Those whom Jesus tells to come near (Andrew, John, Philip) do not merely tell others about what happened to them; rather, they invite those others (Simon, Nathaniel) to draw near as they have. When Nathaniel questioned Philip about this man who comes from Nazareth, Philip does not answer the question in terms of that backwater place. Instead, Philip tells Nathaniel what Philip himself has begun to understand from following Jesus: you have to “Come and see” (Jn 1:46).

      There is no stand-alone message or lesson to learn; there is only him. The disciples learn to follow and trust him.

      What exactly do those who “Come and see” begin to see? And what happens to them when they see? That, of course, is the drama of the Gospel, all the way through its last page and beyond. But there are already promissory notes here at the start, beginning with the first sign Jesus performs at the wedding at Cana. Along with Mary, Jesus’ disciples are there with him (Jn 2:2). They have “come,” and now they will “see.” What they see is a work that begins to reveal Jesus’ identity through his actions. In this work — this sign — they glimpse his glory, “and his disciples believed in him” (Jn 2:11).⁴

      They believed in him.

      This all begins with Jesus catching the attention of those first two disciples, and then asking them the question that never really goes away: “What do you seek?” If even the whiff of curiosity has turned your or my eye to this person of Jesus, we might imagine him confronting us with the same question. That question remains even if you and I passionately and zealously chase after him, even if we rest with him. What we seek matters. Do we remain willing to seek him?

      Prayer My Lord and my God,if what I desire is not your will for me,then change my heart.

       Chapter 2