The man asked me a question

The man asked me a question.

The young college student was our waiter the week we fished in Canada.  He had a tattoo in Latin on his arm, and I’d asked him about it the day before.  To tell the truth I was a bit surprised when he asked me the next night not only what I wanted to drink (“the usual, lemonade and water” I told him); but “why was I a Lutheran?”

Maybe in some later blog I’ll share my answer if there’s any interest.  As I thought about his question, it occurred to me that I appreciate questions.  Maybe some of that’s because of my background in philosophy.  I also think a serious question can indicate genuine interest in a person or a subject, or both.

For some believers, it can appear that having answers is most important.  I know—I know that the Gospel is about the Truth, and the One who is himself the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Important as the Truth can also be the questions.  I certainly have mine, and believe that to be a sign of an active life of faith; not a lack.  It really does seem to me that in God’s heart, and in the hearts and minds of God’s people, there is plenty of room for questions.  So testify the prophets, the psalmists, the disciples, and God’s own Son.

I’ve been thinking since that day, that this blog can also be for your questions as well as mine.

The man asked me a question—and I appreciated it and him, all the more.