Season 4 - Episode 28
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In a previous denomination, as a part of my ordination, I sat around a table with a group of people trying to prepare me for an examination of my biblical and theological competency. Two men at the table had academic doctoral degrees - one in New Testament studies and one in Old Testament studies. One of them asked me a theological question that I wasn’t sure had a clear answer. I somewhat stumbled through a response based on logical conclusions to some things I believed were clear. When I finished talking, he pushed back with a follow-up question. After another reply, he followed with another follow-up. This continued for a couple of minutes until I finally said, “I think this is how I would tend to think about it, but I don’t know for sure.” At this, both men got big smiles on their faces. And the one who prompted the dialogue said, “That is the right answer!” These men who had devoted their lives to wrestling with big questions were convinced that sometimes the best right answer to those questions is, “I don’t know.” We’re going to consider this a little bit in today’s Covenant Weekly for March 18, 2025.
Many of you have been in positions or jobs where you felt it was your responsibility to have the answers. Whether a nurse with a patient, a contractor on a job site, a leader of a business, or a parent with inquisitive children, the pressure to have the answer - not just an answer, the answer - can weigh heavy. And, depending on the context, there can be a deep pressure to not make any mistakes or show any weakness.
It likely doesn’t surprise you that pastors - especially those who preach - can feel this pressure. It can be a societal pressure. It can be a pressure that comes from other pastors. I can tell you that when I later had a rather public examination of my theological and biblical competency, it was other pastors who pushed back against me when I said, “I don’t know.” Some of them insisted that it was our job to know…even on things that I remain convinced are very unclear.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this desire for certainty because of the sermon series I’ve started looking back at sacrifices. Because Jesus is described in the New Testament as our sacrifice it feels really important to understand exactly what that means. And because his description of our sacrifice is rooted in the Jewish understanding of Old Testament sacrifices it feels really important to understand exactly what they meant.
While I’m looking forward to digging deeper into the sacrifices, the more I read and study, the more I realize just how much we don’t know for sure! Post-modern, post-industrial people getting into the mindset and understanding of ancient people, their religious practices, and their ideas about deities isn’t just challenging. It is, in a very real way, impossible. Without getting into sermon spoilers, there is enough in the text for us to learn something and to be formed by it. But engaging with something so far removed from us forces us, if we are honest, to a place of humility because we have to admit, “I don’t know.” I might think or wonder, but I don’t know.
Where does this humility leave us? Hopefully, it leaves us open-handed - ready to receive the gifts of grace that come when we’re beyond our limits. It reminds us that God is not only bigger than our answers. God is bigger than our questions! So we ask our questions. We pursue truth and light. And we confess when the answers - what is true about God, the world, this life - are beyond us. Admitting “I don’t know” isn’t admitting failure. It is accepting an invitation into the mystery of the divine that by definition must be beyond us!
In his book “The Sin of Certainty,” Peter Ens says posits this:
Aligning faith in God and certainty about what we believe and needing to be right in order maintain a healthy faith–these do not maintain a healthy faith in God. In a nutshell, that is the problem. And that is what I mean by the “sin of certainty.”
It is a sin because this pattern of thinking sells God short by keeping the Creator captive to what we are able to comprehend–which is the very same problem the Israelites had when they were tempted to make images of God (aka idols) out of stone, metal, and wood.
In thinking about what happens when we come to the end of our limits, when we face unanswered questions about ancient people, about future things, or about the God who dwells in the past, present, and future, I’ve been reminded about the end of the book of Daniel. Daniel has a barrage of dreams and visions that he doesn’t understand and can’t make sense of. He pleads with the angel in his vision to tell him what things mean and how things will end. And basically, he’s told, “It’s a secret. You’re not going to know. You’re going to have to live with questions.” And then Daniel is given this admonition:
"As for you, go your own way until the end. You will rest, and then at the end of the days, you will rise again to receive the inheritance set aside for you.”
I love this reminder that we don’t need all the answers to “go our own way,” to live well in our place and our time in light of what we do know. The unknown doesn’t prevent us from loving God and our neighbour…and our enemy. Our questions don’t keep us from seeking justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God. In fact, admitting we don’t have all the answers just might help us do those things more effectively!