I have a question that doesn't require an answer. It's not a rhetorical question, but rather a real question that needs to be grappled with before responding. In our culture, I find that we respond too quickly to questions. We believe that we always have to find the answer. Solving problems, finding answers and seeking cures… We possess this inherent need to conquer the question. Could there not be merit in just asking a question so that we stop and critically think about the WHY? HOW? WHO? WHERE? or WHAT we are doing?
I recently wrote a letter to a friend where I posed some soul-searching questions. I didn't expect a response as this friend never writes back. So, why I would write with all these questions knowing that I wouldn't get an answer? It wasn't that I didn't already know the answers. Rather, I wanted to ask these questions and let her know that I was struggling with them. I wanted to share this moment of anguish with a friend who I trusted; someone who wouldn't judge me or my questions; someone who wouldn't try to “fix it” for me.
In my teen years I experienced a tragedy in my life which left many questions in my mind. I voiced some of these to my youth leader who began to quote Scripture and try to fix everything for me. Little did he understand that my questions weren't ones that I couldn't research and answer for myself. Instead, my questions were an attempt to reach out, to be comforted and reassured by someone I respected and trusted. Shortly after this, I stopped asking questions and started seeking answers of my own, on my own.
So why, years later, did I risk asking my friend questions that I knew she wouldn't answer? Because the answer wasn't the important thing at that moment─it was the asking that mattered. Her silence was not disrespectful but rather a complete understanding of a seeker's heart… a heart that was vulnerable to express its innermost thoughts… a heart that knew there was a safe friend who was listening wholeheartedly. As Henri Nouwen said: “The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.”
So I ask you: Will you listen to my question or will you try to answer it?
Captain Shari Russell and her husband, Robert, are the corps officers at Weetamah in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Shari also serves as the Territorial Aboriginal Ministries Liaison. Shari and Robert originally met in Winnipeg and were married there, so it is a joy for them to be back. They have three boys: CJ, Gavin and Brannon. As a family, they enjoy travelling, camping, playing sports and music.
I recently wrote a letter to a friend where I posed some soul-searching questions. I didn't expect a response as this friend never writes back. So, why I would write with all these questions knowing that I wouldn't get an answer? It wasn't that I didn't already know the answers. Rather, I wanted to ask these questions and let her know that I was struggling with them. I wanted to share this moment of anguish with a friend who I trusted; someone who wouldn't judge me or my questions; someone who wouldn't try to “fix it” for me.
In my teen years I experienced a tragedy in my life which left many questions in my mind. I voiced some of these to my youth leader who began to quote Scripture and try to fix everything for me. Little did he understand that my questions weren't ones that I couldn't research and answer for myself. Instead, my questions were an attempt to reach out, to be comforted and reassured by someone I respected and trusted. Shortly after this, I stopped asking questions and started seeking answers of my own, on my own.
So why, years later, did I risk asking my friend questions that I knew she wouldn't answer? Because the answer wasn't the important thing at that moment─it was the asking that mattered. Her silence was not disrespectful but rather a complete understanding of a seeker's heart… a heart that was vulnerable to express its innermost thoughts… a heart that knew there was a safe friend who was listening wholeheartedly. As Henri Nouwen said: “The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.”
So I ask you: Will you listen to my question or will you try to answer it?
Captain Shari Russell and her husband, Robert, are the corps officers at Weetamah in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Shari also serves as the Territorial Aboriginal Ministries Liaison. Shari and Robert originally met in Winnipeg and were married there, so it is a joy for them to be back. They have three boys: CJ, Gavin and Brannon. As a family, they enjoy travelling, camping, playing sports and music.
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