My son recently had one of those sudden, pre-teen growth spurts, which meant an overdue and somewhat ruthless reckoning with his wardrobe. T-shirts once worn on repeat were reluctantly set aside. Of everything he outgrew, one loss hit hardest: a beloved black T-shirt so worn that more of its silk-screened design had vanished than remained. What lingered was a faint pink aquatic creature and the barely-there words, “I Axolotl Questions”—a testament to the inquisitive nature that has become a proud part of his identity.

Kids, of course, are famous for asking the darndest questions. Why can’t I see the air? Where do squirrels sleep? Does the letter “W” start with a “D”? Their curiosity is relentless, unfiltered and often disarming for even the most prepared parent.

But children aren’t the only ones who ask the darndest questions. Jesus did, too—and a lot of them!

It’s often been observed that Jesus asked far more questions than he answered. More than 300 questions appear in the recorded words of Jesus in the Gospels. We hear him ask things such as, “Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (Matthew 6:27); “Why do you call me good?” (Mark10:18); and, perhaps most profound of all, “Who do you say I am?” (Luke 9:20).

He posed questions to disciples and Pharisees, to seekers and skeptics, to those in need of healing and those convinced they had no need at all. Though he knew everything, Jesus repeatedly chose the posture of curiosity. His questions weren’t for himself, but for others—an invitation to pause, reflect and wrestle honestly with what they believed.

Andy Bannister, author of How to Talk About Jesus Without Looking Like an Idiot, suggests that we can learn a lot from Jesus’ posture of curiosity and his tendency to ask thoughtful questions. Rather than struggling to find the perfect response in difficult conversations, Bannister encourages us to follow Jesus’ lead: to slow down, ask questions and allow meaningful dialogue to flow from a place of listening. It’s a simple shift, but a powerful one, especially when there’s a temptation to become defensive, or when we’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.

For example, imagine a friend says, “I just think faith is a crutch for people who can’t handle reality.”  Instead of immediately jumping in to defend or debate, we could respond with a question: “That’s interesting—what makes you feel that way?” Or even, “Have you always thought that, or did something shape that perspective?”

Suddenly, the tone of the conversation changes. It’s no longer about defending our faith by delivering the perfect answer, but about understanding the person in front of us. And in that curious, open and unhurried space, relationships have room to grow.

This approach works in all sorts of ways and across all kinds of conversations. We can respond with curiosity when someone challenges us at a party on the ethics of abortion or sexuality. We can respond with curiosity when a family member steers the conversation at a holiday gathering toward politics. We can respond with curiosity when a coworker asks us about Christianity. In each case, the goal isn’t to win an argument, but to open dialogue.

Of course, engaging in conversations with curiosity doesn’t always come naturally. It can take time and intention to learn how to ask good questions. Good questions are often open-ended and gently probing. They invite reflection rather than demand agreement. They may even expose hidden motives and assumptions. Above all, they help create respectful conversations and foster healthy relationships.

While my son’s well-worn shirt is now tucked into his memory box—it was too beloved to fully part with—I hope he continues to embody the playful invitation in its faded words: “I Axolotl Questions.” It’s a posture worth holding on to.

In a world quick to argue and slow to listen, adopting a posture of curiosity can feel countercultural. And yet, it’s a beautiful way that we can reflect the heart of Jesus—one question at a time.

CAPTAIN LAURA VAN SCHAICK is the corps officer at Barrhaven Church in Ottawa, and the territorial gender equity officer.

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