November 1, 2010

For more commentary on this week's readings, see
the Reflections
on the Lectionary
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Some years ago, a small group in our church watched
the award-winning documentary The Fog of
, in which former secretary of defense Robert McNamara talks about his
life, especially the Vietnam War. At one point McNamara says this:

Never answer the question that is asked;
always answer the question that you want asked. That is an important rule that
I learned to follow and I still follow it to this day.

McNamara reminds me of what author David James Duncan
calls "answerizing," which he says grows out of the conviction that the only
right way to handle any question is to offer The One Correct Answer.

In the first several chapters of Job, Job's three
well-meaning friends come to him to try to explain what has happened. Job's
friends were experts at answerizing. They could not accept or tolerate the
inexplicable complexity and mystery of Job's suffering and were sure there must
obviously be One Correct Answer to his predicament. Job refuses their answers
by insisting that his suffering remains a mystery.

If you read on in the story, you know that God sides
with Job. And by the end of the story, you will know that there is no real
answer for Job. Before the One True God, Job realizes that all of life is
beyond answerizing--and we cannot explain suffering any more than we can
explain God.

Browning Ware, long-time pastor of the First Baptist
Church in Austin, Texas, was a hero of mine. Ruggedly handsome, tall, with a
gravelly voice and a dry wit, Browning was accomplished in the ministry of
listening. He was at his best listening to waitresses in a late-night coffee
shop or sitting and listening to a homeless man on the streets.

Some years ago before he died Browning wrote the

When younger, I thought there was an
answer to every problem. And for a time, I knew many of the answers.

I knew about parenting until I had

I knew about divorce until I got one.

I knew about suicide until three of my closest
friends took their lives in the same year.

I knew about the death of a child until my
child died.

I'm not as impressed with answers as once
I was. Answers seem so pallid, sucked dry of blood and void of life. Knowing
answers seduces us into making pronouncements. I still have a few friends or
acquaintances who are 100 percent sure on most anything and are ready to make
pronouncements on homosexuality, AIDS, marriage problems, teen-age pregnancies,
abortion, sex education, or whatever is coming down the pike. But when we get
shoved into our valley of the shadow, a pronouncement is the last thing we

A friend wrote recently, 'I too get Maalox
moments from those who know. I'm discovering that wisdom and adversity replace
cocksure ignorance with thoughtful uncertainty.'

More important and satisfying than answers
is the Answerer. 'Thou art with me' - that's what we crave. There may or may
not be answers, but the Eternal One would like very much to be our companion.