Why Jesus Rarely Gave Straight Answers
The surprising wisdom hidden inside the contradictions of the Gospels
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Now, on to today’s reflection.
One of the hardest parts of parenting older children is watching them make mistakes you can see coming a mile away.
When my children were younger, my role was straightforward. I protected them. You know the kind of thing; sharp corners, hot ovens, busy roads and bad ideas all fell within my jurisdiction. If something threatened them, I stepped in.
Parenting older children is very different.
Sometimes I can see exactly where a decision is heading because I have already made the same mistake myself. I know how the story ends and the disappointment waiting around the corner. I know the lesson that is about to be learned the hard way.
Naturally, I offer advice.
Sometimes they listen.
Most of the time, they roll their eyes and carry on.
As a parent, that can be frustrating. Every instinct wants to intervene and prevent the mistake before it happens. Yet experience has taught me something important.
Some lessons cannot be given.
They have to be discovered.
There are moments when the most loving thing a parent can do is step back and allow someone to wrestle with reality for themselves. Not because you don’t care, but because you do. Growth often happens in the struggle.
Lately, I have wondered whether something similar might explain the way Jesus taught.
— • —
Many people imagine Jesus as a dispenser of clear answers. We assume his role was to provide certainty, settle arguments and tell people exactly what to think.
Yet when you actually read the Gospels, that isn’t what you find.
Again and again, Jesus says things that seem to pull in opposite directions. He tells people not to judge, then speaks about judging rightly. He says the first will be last and the greatest must become servants. He teaches that those who try to save their lives will lose them, while those who lose their lives will find them.
At first glance, it can feel confusing. Some readers see contradictions. Others spend enormous amounts of energy trying to reconcile every apparent tension. I wonder, though, whether the tension itself might be part of the point.
Perhaps Jesus was not trying to create a neat philosophical system.
Perhaps he was trying to teach wisdom.
There is a difference.
Information can be transferred. Wisdom usually has to be cultivated. A simple answer can be memorised, but a paradox must be lived with.
Take one of Jesus’ most puzzling sayings:
“Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”
At first glance, it sounds almost nonsensical. How can losing your life possibly help you find it?
Yet I think Jesus was describing something many of us eventually discover for ourselves. People who cling tightly to comfort, security and control do not always become happier. In fact, some seem to become increasingly anxious, guarding what they have and fearing what they might lose.
By contrast, many of the people I most admire have given themselves away to something larger than themselves: a cause, a vocation, a family, a community or a faith.
They have sacrificed time, energy and opportunities that might have benefited them personally. Yet they often possess a depth of purpose and fulfilment that cannot easily be explained.
The paradox begins to make sense.
Sometimes the life we are trying so hard to preserve is the very thing preventing us from truly living.
Perhaps that is why Jesus spoke in paradox so often.
He was not merely trying to inform people. He was trying to transform them.
The paradox opens up a richer understanding than either statement could achieve on its own. Life itself often works this way. Strength and weakness are not always opposites. Freedom and surrender are not always opposites, either.
Many people discover their deepest sense of freedom only after committing themselves wholeheartedly to a cause, a vocation or a relationship.
The world is full of truths that seem contradictory until we experience them for ourselves.
— • —
During my agnostic years, one of the things that frustrated me about religion was the certainty with which some believers spoke. Everything appeared neatly resolved and came with a pre-packaged answer.
When I eventually returned to reading the Gospels more seriously, I found something rather different.
Jesus seemed remarkably comfortable with complexity. He answered questions with questions and told stories that could be interpreted from multiple angles. He spoke in ways that forced people to think rather than simply agree.
Far from eliminating tension, he often created it.
That does not mean truth is unknowable. It simply means that truth is sometimes deeper than a slogan.
As I write this, the United Kingdom is reflecting on ten years since it left the EU. The referendum campaign was a masterclass in how small, catchy slogans on buses and billboards can capture the public imagination. But behind those simplistic claims lay much complexity, and we have been a nation divided more than ever since.
The most important questions in life rarely fit into tidy categories.
Love is complicated.
Forgiveness is complicated.
Faith is complicated.
Human beings are complicated.
Perhaps spiritual maturity is not about collecting simple answers. Perhaps it is about learning to live faithfully within the tensions that life inevitably presents.
That is not always comfortable. In fact, it can be deeply challenging. I am sure most of us would often prefer a rulebook to wrestle with rather than a paradox. Yet wisdom often grows agonisingly slowly. It develops through reflection, experience, failure and grace.
Like children becoming adults, we learn through the process itself.
As we read through the Gospels and are faced with apparent contradictions, maybe we should ask ourselves:
What if Jesus knew exactly what he was doing?
What if the apparent contradictions are not flaws to be solved but invitations to think more deeply?
What if faith was never meant to remove every mystery from life?
Perhaps that is also why these ancient teachings continue to provoke conversation two thousand years later.
Jesus trusted people enough to wrestle with difficult truths.
Perhaps he still does.
Thank you for reading today’s reflection.
Paul.