“I don’t know why,” I answered, greatly disturbed.
The question had never entered my head. I wept because – because of something inside me that gelt the need for tears. That was all I knew.
“Why do you pray?” he asked me after a moment.
Why did I pray? A strange question. Why did I live? Why did I breathe?
“I don’t know why,” I said, even more disturbed and ill at ease. “I don’t know why.”
After that day I saw him often. He explained to me with great insistence that every question possessed a power that did not lie in the answer.”
— Elie Wiesel
Questions leave us vulnerable, weak, needy. They open up gaping holes in our personality, our theology, or our lifestyle. Questions force an honesty that we are unwilling to confront – an honesty that requires us to live with our lives unresolved. We don’t like that. Especially when we’re trying to sell a theology that has an answer to every problem we face.
I once counted 288 question marks in the book of Job. Many were from the mouth of Job; others were spoken by his counselors. But surprisingly, when God finally speaks in the closing chapters, his answer to Job comes in the form of more questions – 78 of them, to be exact. Of the 288 question marks in the book of Job, 78 of them belong to God; they are his answer to Job.
Sometimes God answers us with questions – questions that leave us humble, awed, speechless, weak, and believing – believing not because we’ve found the answer, but because we’ve seen God. It doesn’t matter that we have more questions now that when we started. It matters that we see God, for in the seeing, we discover that the truest answer to all our questions is to worship God.