When Children Ask Tough Questions

Photo by Irina Murza via Unsplash. Creative Commons License

When Children Ask Tough Questions

reflections by Troy Cady

A friend posed a question some days ago about helping children process the problem of suffering. Two questions related to this include:

1. “If God is good, loving and all-powerful, why is there still so much suffering and pain in the world?”, and

2. “Why doesn’t God answer my prayers?”

I offered my friend a preliminary response, but then realized I didn’t speak to her specific question—which was whether anyone knew of any books that could help children process these questions. So, I am circling back now and adding these thoughts. I decided to share them here in case they may be of benefit to anyone else.  

Grace and peace,

Troy

………………………

            Dear friend,

            I am so grateful to you for starting this dialogue. I realized later that I didn’t actually address the question you were asking, which has to do with books that engage this concern. Sorry about that!

            In my opinion, the Godly Play story-method does the best job at providing space for this conversation with children. As you already mentioned, however: the big drawback to that approach is that many people do not have access to Godly Play.

            With that in mind, a few books come to mind that could perhaps equip families in this. Forgive me ahead of time if you are looking for children’s books. I haven’t been able to think of any, but maybe this list will be a help. That said, there are books adults could read that would be a help in nurturing a variety of relational skills that I find crucial in having conversations like these with children.

A book on practicing the Examen

The first resource I recommend is a short book called Sleeping With Bread: Holding What Gives You Life by Dennis Linn, Sheila Fabricant Linn and Matthew Linn. This book does not directly address the kinds of questions you are talking about but it commends to us a lifestyle of paying attention to both consolation and desolation in the human experience. When this kind of “paying attention” to both the dark and light becomes a habit, it can help us see the grace that is there even in suffering, pain and unanswered prayer (which are forms of “desolation”).

            Of course, you already know about this under the name of the Examen; I recommend this book, however, because of its accessibility and simple depth. Even children can practice it and this book describes the Examen in such a way that parents could easily find a way to practice it with their children.

            Practicing the Examen in community can help children process the problem of suffering in that the Examen process itself simply opens up space for conversations to be had without forcing any artificial responses. It also provides a language for talking about the mystery of life as a continuous mixture of light and darkness. It is a function of faith to search for language to describe what we are thinking and feeling, so this practice does that really well.

Two more books on childhood spiritual development

The second book I have enjoyed is The Mystery of the Child by Martin E. Marty, but it is somewhat academic and not all the chapters are helpful. The reason I like this book is that Marty does a good job of articulating the “problem-centered” approach to formation vis-á-vis the “mystery-centered” approach.

            I suggest that most discipleship materials we have been exposed to over the years take a “problem-centered” approach to formation. This approach has oriented us to an “assurance” model, where the primary concern is to be sure that there are certain (“right”) answers to specific questions. Of course, it is good to lay foundations, to reinforce truths which are unchanging and rock solid. Children need such a foundation, if trust is to be established. However…

            The problem with the assurance model is that it can only take us so far in our spiritual development. On this front, I encourage others to become familiar with James Fowler’s work Stages of Faith, as he describes that ultimately what we are aiming for in spiritual growth is a more reflective approach that views paradox as a pathway to becoming a more compassionate and empathetic person in adulthood.

            According to Fowler, one does not reach such a “reflective” approach to faith until adulthood but, in my own work with children, I have seen first-hand that they are able to enter into the realm of “mystery” even more fully than adults.

The mystery-centered approach to formation

Indeed, the word “mystery” is what Marty proposes as the basic building block when it comes to childhood spiritual development. He notes that with a problem-centered approach, we tend to employ strategies of “control.” With a mystery-centered approach, however, the primary mode is to explore, wonder, and practice curiosity. The process of formation can meander and the goal is not so much to train someone to produce a certain, specific answer but to form in us a practice of wondering that will better help us live into any number of mysteries as we age, the issue-at-hand included.

            Marty advocates a mystery-centered approach because he notices that when we treat spiritual formation in a problem-centered way it is not long before we start treating the child herself as a problem that needs to be solved. In a problem-centered approach, not only do we feel the need to control the answers, we also become inclined to control the one who is seeking answers. I have unfortunately seen first-hand how both children and adults can be marginalized by the problem-centered approach when their thinking does not conform to the “correct” way a leader thinks everyone should think. In the problem-centered paradigm, belonging is predicated on thinking the right way and producing the right answers. Those who think and say the right things are included and those who do not…end up feeling excluded, unaccepted.

            But people are not problems to be controlled; we are—all of us, at any age—mysteries to be loved. This will sound like heresy to many but I advocate an approach to childhood formation that is less concerned with providing right answers and more concerned with practicing healthy process.

A good book on healthy process

To those of us who are inclined towards a problem-centered approach, letting go of our need for right answers and letting go of our desire for everyone else to share those right answers is perhaps the hardest thing we will ever have to do in this life. That is also why I advocate that, to make space for children to wonder about these mysteries, we primarily need to help the adults in the child’s life prioritize process over content.

            I recommend Edwin Friedman’s insights on “family process” in this regard. His book Generation to Generation addresses this issue well. He observes that if we are to do only one thing to navigate such anxiety-laden issues, we would do well to simply cultivate a non-anxious environment through leaders who embody a non-anxious presence.

Ministry in the home as non-anxious presence

This is the secret, by the way, to the Godly Play process. Godly Play’s value lies not so much in the specific content of the stories that are told. It has more to do with cultivating a peaceful, non-anxious space where children (and adults!) can fully wonder about the mystery of faith. To cultivate this, there are all kinds of non-verbal, environmental factors at play which we could incorporate into the home. Here are a few:

            1. “Make a circle in which we are surrounded by the story of God and God’s people.” The circle structure itself levels the relational playing field (putting everyone at ease) and the surrounding stories encourage a feeling of security, as if we are being held safe within a story that is so much bigger than we are.

            In this regard, I suggest turning to stories in the Bible itself. There is ample opportunity to wonder about the problem of suffering that way. Parents could either use a Bible with pictures in it or they could look up art online that they could use to accompany their reading. In any case, getting beyond just a propositional understanding of the matter and encountering it via a story is crucial.   

            I say this because the story mode itself helps us get beyond a problem-centered approach and automatically places us in the realm of mystery. We do find answers to our questions, to be sure, but the answers come to us in context and they are of a different order than problem-centered answers. We discover propositions that are rooted in life—propositions that offer incarnational interpretations (suited to one’s specific sitz im leben).

            Keeping in mind that most people do not have access to the specific Godly Play experience, I suggest families can still access the “circle-principle” at home. “I wonder how each family would do that?” one could ask. Just that wondering question alone could help families cultivate this ethos in ways that are suited to their unique situation. That said, here is another practice to encourage healthy process:  

            2. Practice plenty of silence. When I am working with children, we always have a moment of silence before engaging the story-at-hand. And, as we tell the story, we pause so there is time to enter into the story by having space to reflect.

            I wonder what difference it would make to help children practice a bit of silence when questions like these come up? I wonder how we would do that?

            Silence is able to help us listen more deeply, so it can not only help us listen to the child better but it can also help the child listen for what God might say (or ask!) in response to their question. I wonder what would happen if we replied to a child’s question about suffering this way: “Good question! I wonder what God might say or ask about that?” or “I wonder if God has a story about that?” Then, just leave a little bit of silence for the child to think about it.

            The child might not be able to come up with an answer, but that is okay, too. The question itself would plant the idea in their head that God might have something to say about their question. Children who have no idea how to answer such a question may simply put the question aside for a while and then circle back to it later when it comes up again. Silence, listening and patience go hand-in-hand. With that, here’s another value to practice:  

            3. Respond by wondering. When I work with children, I always encourage them to wonder. Wondering questions are open-ended questions where children do not have to feel anxious or compelled to provide the right answer. It is evident to me how some children have been so trained in the problem-centered approach that, when it comes to wondering, I can see them looking at me as if they want to make sure they can really say what they think or feel. This is why non-anxious leadership is so crucial. The leader’s primary goal is to be a non-anxious presence in order to cultivate a non-anxious environment. The main concern is process over content, milieu over “learning objective.”

            To cultivate an environment of wondering, we need to trust that the child will learn what the child needs to learn when the child needs to learn it. True learning cannot be forced. Anyone who has ever crammed for a test can confirm this. It is one thing to learn the right answers to meet the demands of a specific moment in time; it is quite another to learn out of sheer desire. In the former, our learning is only temporary and causes no long-lasting effect. In the latter, learning is truly life-changing.

            This is why, when a child asks a question during a time of wondering, the leader is encouraged to wonder right with them, to put the question back to the child. The goal is to whet the appetite for more learning. By replying “I wonder what you think about that” or “Yes, I wonder how that could really be” the teacher will find out how ready the child is to really find an answer. If the child is really ready, they will be driven from within to keep seeking. If they are not really open to an answer (if the question is somehow only superficial for them at the present time) they will most likely drop the inquiry and move on to something that more truly interests them.

            In any case, if an answer is really needed, we can trust they will get an answer in a timely way and in such a form that suits the child’s place in their spiritual journey. Trust in the process is key.

Why adults get nervous by tough questions kids ask

My suspicion is that adults grow nervous when hard questions like these come up because many of us are operating ourselves under an “assurance” or “problem-centered” model. When we cannot produce neat, clean answers, it is very unsettling. We worry not only for the child, but we worry for ourselves.

            I also suspect that those who have spent lots of time and energy coming up with certain answers know deep down that our answers are not so air-tight as we pretend they are. There is an internal frustration that builds when the questions just keep coming, when the questions keep poking holes in our so-called answers.

            There are, of course, many different ways we try to cope with such a frustration, but the most tragic outcome is when our own frustration hurts the child’s own learning. If we are to minister to families well (children included), an argument could be made that the first order of business is to help the adults in the household make peace with uncertainty and to model a non-anxious (trusting) response to hard questions.

The deeper question behind the question of suffering

This leads me to a final observation. There is a question behind the question, underneath the problem of suffering. The question hits right to the core of our being because ultimately what we are asking is whether the world is a safe place to live. Are we safe and secure? Is there someone who will be able to take care of us when all human efforts have reached a limit?

            It is really the pre-verbal question we all have from the moment of birth. In gestation, we experience the world as a place of complete safety, where we are both secure and nourished. While it is true we may be aware of chaos without, we all experience the womb as a place of shalom within—where all that we need is provided and there is no thought spared for worry.

            But when we are born, it is only a matter of time when we will experience the world as shocking and dangerous. We are vulnerable, so our bodies automatically muster whatever is available to survive. From our very first day of life we intuitively know that we are in need of protection. We are not able to survive on our own.

            When we become aware of how dangerous life can be as we age, we are essentially drawing on these primordial fears from infancy. “Is the world a safe place?” And we begin to develop the capacity to extrapolate from our own experience, becoming aware that—even when we feel personally safe—there are countless others who, at any moment in time in any number of other places, are experiencing the world as an unsafe place.

            “Where is God in the midst of all this?” we wonder. If God is supposed to be a parent to us, why has s/he left us abandoned, exposed like this? Does s/he care more about some people than others? If so, none of us are safe. We are all vulnerable.

Why the parent-child interaction matters

In keeping with the reality noted above, we can see that the parent-child relationship shapes our concept of God more than any other relationship. This dynamic is so fundamental to human experience we can observe it embedded even in the ancient code by which the Hebrew people lived thousands of years ago (and still live by today). It is no mistake that the fifth “Word” of the Decalogue (the Ten Commandments) speaks to one’s relationship to one’s parents.

            We know from Scripture that the ten Words were written on two tablets and many scholars see the two tablets in terms of one’s relationship with God (the first tablet) and one’s relationship to other humans (the second tablet). At first glance, it appears the fifth Commandment (about the parent-child relationship) would be included with the second tablet, but many scholars assert it is a first-tablet command because when we are children our parent is a godlike figure to us. I find it interesting that modern psychology confirms this, as well: our concept of God is directly related to our parental relationship.

            I mention this by way of underscoring that I believe the biggest way we can help children grapple with the problem of suffering is by helping parents be a “good god” to them by the way we carry out our mandate to love them and nurture them with care. This is why it was wise of you to include the matter of “unanswered prayer” along with the problem of suffering in your original inquiry. Both issues have to do with one’s sense of safety and security. “Is there a God who listens and answers?” To the child: if a parent doesn’t know how to listen and respond, then why would God?  Listening and responding in a spirit of wonder for these sacred mysteries will do more to “answer” the child’s question than anything else.

Why we need God and why good parenting isn’t enough

This, of course, does not mean bad things won’t happen. There is no way that we as limited human beings can keep bad things from happening. But this is why we need God. Because, even when bad things happen, we believe there is One who is able to hold us as we are born into another world…One who will receive us in love to a world where there will be no more danger, or suffering or pain or death. Somehow, we learn through all this that, though this world is a dangerous place, we can still trust—and trust gives us enough hope to carry on. Trust is not predicated on the absence of danger; in some strange way, it is defined by it.

            How the God of the world to come indwells, surrounds and gives us hope for living in the present dangerous world is the very mystery we are living one day at a time. It is a mystery so big, we can never run out of wonder for it.

            I realize that much of this does not directly answer your question, but I share it nonetheless because, quite frankly, I don’t know how to directly answer your question. But I can wonder about it and encourage others to wonder about it, too. Thanks again for raising the question.

Peace and grace to you,

Troy

Suffering, Evil and the Nativity

Suffering, Evil and the Nativity

commentary on

the massacre of the Innocents

by Troy Cady

.....................................

“Glory to God in the highest

and on earth peace to those

on whom his favor rests.”

-Luke 2:14

“A voice is heard in Ramah,

weeping and great mourning,

Rachel weeping for her children

and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more.”

-Matthew 2:18

There are two accounts of the life of Jesus in the Bible that describe the time of his infancy. The first is found in Matthew’s Gospel and the second is found in Luke’s. Mark’s biography begins when Jesus is an adult and John’s begins with a theological interpretation of Jesus’ life.

Each of the four biographers had different reasons for writing, so they highlight different aspects of Jesus’ life. In Luke, for example, we read of Caesar Augustus who had already been propagating his own “good news” for many years by the time the angels announced to shepherds a different “good news” message about the birth of Jesus.

Augustus’ good news claimed to be the salvation of the world but to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time, and especially the poor and marginalized, it was oppressive. So, it’s significant that the angels (literally, “messengers”) give their news to a group of Jewish shepherds—a group regarded both by the Romans and their fellow Jewish citizens as “less than.”

Matthew’s account focuses on Jesus’ genesis in three stages through the figures of Joseph, Mary, Herod and a group of “Magi from the east.” The first stage tells of his birth and its basic meaning: his name will be Deliverer and he will be God-with-us.

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

The second stage happens after Jesus’ birth when the Magi from the east have arrived to pay their respects to the newborn King. Herod tries to use them to get to the baby so he can put the child to death and preserve his own pre-eminence. When he discovers the Magi will not cooperate with him, he decides to kill all the infants in Bethlehem and its vicinity. In the middle of this second part, Joseph is warned in a dream to flee to Egypt with Mary and the child.  

The third stage portrays the return of the holy family to Nazareth, a small town in the northern province of Galilee in Israel, once Herod has died and the danger has passed. In Matthew’s biography, the next chapter flashes ahead to where Mark begins his account (with the scene of Jesus as a full grown adult on the verge of commencing his public ministry).

The Practice of Remembrance

Yesterday (December 28^th) was a day when many Christian traditions solemnly remember the slaughter of the Holy Innocents. This is somewhat surprising since the day of remembrance always occurs in the midst of the twelve days of the Christmas feasting season. Having spent four weeks of Advent in a state of longing, lamenting the darkness all around and crying out for God’s light to break forth, Christians are relieved when Christmas day comes because it means that, at long last, they can break their spiritual (and, perhaps, physical) fast with an extended time of rejoicing.

The twelve days of feasting between Christmas and January 6 (Epiphany) thus hold an important place in the annual rhythm of spiritually re-enacting the entire story of Jesus (birth, life, death, resurrection, ascension and promised coming again). This re-enactment is important because, for centuries now, it is the primary way Christians have “made disciples” of Jesus. That is to say, such a re-enactment is how Christians pass on and embody Christ from one generation to the next. More than a set of doctrines, Christianity claims to be a true, timeless and timely story around which one wraps their life and within which one’s life is wrapped. It’s a story that has happened, is happening still today and has yet to reach its complete consummation. It’s more than a history; it’s a present living orientation—an enduring reality for the Christ-follower—and a directive hope.

So, again, it is somewhat strange that, during this time of feasting, Christians would remember something so horrific as the slaughter of the Innocents. Why? Why remember such a thing during such a happy time?

Some might assert we remember it because it’s what happened; it’s part of the story of Jesus’ infancy—and, therefore, it’s part of our ongoing story. From that vantage, a closer look at the flow of Matthew’s account bears out some interesting and important perspectives concerning the gospel Christians proclaim.

How Matthew Tells the Story

Textually, the entire birth narrative in Matthew forms a chiastic literary structure, where the mass murder serves as a narrative fulcrum. Part 1 of the chiasm relates the redemptive significance of Jesus’ birth: his deliverance and immanence. Part 2 relates our response and the consequences that follow from such a response. Part 3 relates the return of the Deliverer from exile—a type of restored immanence.

Visually, we could lay the text out like so:

A- Good News

                   B- Bad News

A’- Good News

These three parts parallel three dreams that Joseph has.

In the first dream, the angel tells him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife: the child is God’s Son, he is to be named Deliverer, and he will be called The Nearby God.

In the second dream, the angel warns Joseph to “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt” in order to preserve the child’s life from the mass infanticide Herod is about to commit.

In the third dream, the angel tells Joseph to “take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel” now that “those who were trying to take the child’s life are dead.”

The Magi and Herod only appear in the middle of this narrative arc. Like Herod, the Magi are wealthy and powerful, but that is where the resemblance ends. Everything else about them serves as a contrast to Herod; thus, Matthew uses this part of the story to establish the Magi as a literary foil for Herod. Herod has been in the midst of Jesus’ arrival all along, but the Magi have come from far away. Herod has missed the clues about the origin of the Messiah, but the Magi are wise. The Magi come bearing gifts for the child to honor him, but Herod wants to put the child to death—he seeks only his own glorification.

What’s more, the scene with the Magi parallels what Joseph experiences, thus tying the Magi to the redemptive thread that runs through the entire story. All told, there are five dreams, four of which are dreams of Joseph. Notice in the diagram below that the dream of the Magi occurs in the verse immediately preceding the second dream of Joseph. The dreams build, then resolve.

Structurally, the entire pericope looks like this:

Part 1 focus: the holy family

J’s dream to wed Mary

          Name the child “Deliverer”

          He will save us from sin

          He will be God-with-us

Part 2 focus: Magi and Herod, honor and attack

Part 2a: Magi guided by the star to Jerusalem

Part 2b: Magi meet with Herod

Part 2c: Magi follow the star to Bethlehem

Part 2d: Magi present gifts to the child

Part 2e: Magi dream not to return to Herod

Part 2f: J’s dream to flee to Egypt

Part 2g: Herod kills the innocent children

Part 3 focus: the holy family

J’s dream; family returns to Israel

J’s dream; family settles in Galilee

It is significant that the presentation of gifts by the Magi (gifts most people still recall today) occurs right before the Magi and Joseph flee from Herod. Scholars often note the significance of gold, frankincense and myrrh as it pertains to Jesus: 1) gold for a king, 2) frankincense for a priest and 3) myrrh as an embalming agent when preparing a body for burial.

But what is interesting is that the placement of these gifts at this point in the narrative suggests that the gifts also apply to the tragedy that immediately follows in the story. All three gifts, like the Magi, serve as a foil to Herod’s action. The gold would help them move and settle in Egypt. The frankincense represents the prayers that rise to the ears of God—in this case, the “voice” that is heard: “Rachel weeping for her children.” Finally, the myrrh is for all the children whom the Child held close to his heart when he gave up his own life for them. He chased after them all the way to the grave, to share with them everything he has.

Concluding Thoughts

The slaughter of the innocents is far from an inconvenient diversion when considering what kind of gospel Christians are called to embody and proclaim. Indeed, in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth, the tragedy occurs right at the heart of the story. Everything leads up to it and Jesus’ homecoming after it serves as a narrative resolution.

          Remembrance of the atrocity is important because it tells us that Jesus came right into the heart of the darkest places of our world. Though Luke proclaims “peace on earth,” Matthew portrays the need for peace through showing us the horrors we’re capable of committing. Matthew describes in vivid detail what Luke only hints at by referencing Caesar Augustus. Matthew tells us that Herod, placed into power by Augustus, showed us the true nature of Augustus—but Jesus (the Deliverer, God-at-hand) shows us the true nature of God.

          Matthew’s account presents no placid picture of redemption. On the contrary, he raises a theological problem that stretches faith to the breaking point: the good news contains the mystery of suffering—and this mystery unsettles us, causes us to doubt. Namely, we struggle to understand why the Father would deliver the Deliverer from the massacre, but not the other children. Surely, if God could speak to Joseph in a dream, he could have spoken to all the other families, too.

          “Why, God?” we ask—and in the asking, we begin to understand why the mothers (represented by Rachel in the text) weep ceaselessly, “refusing to be comforted.”

          I suppose the comfort takes some time to begin to settle in and this is alluded to by the fact that Jesus is no longer an infant when the holy family returns from Egypt. Still, he refuses to lay hold of comfort. We see this both in his exile and in the scenes that immediately follow (in which Jesus is baptized to face the trial of the desert).

          Though Jesus was delivered earlier, what makes him the Deliverer for others is his refusal to be “delivered” so easily. He faces what we face head-on. He knows hunger and thirst. He knows the desire for power (like Herod). He knows evil first-hand. And this is comforting to us, in the end, because it means he is not exempt from the kind of suffering perpetrated by Herod. He joined us in it; he chose it. Thus, he can, as Matthew records, “save us from our sins” and the effects of our sins.

         The Christian who would “remember” the story classically (by participation) is thus someone who sees the suffering of the world and enters into it because of love. The Christian who primarily thinks of their faith as a separation from the world would do well to reconsider it more as an expression of solidarity with the world. While it is true that such a faith is risky and can even put one’s life in danger, we can trust there is a Deliverer who has been delivered to us and for us. Having been delivered, it is this same Deliverer who calls us to join him in delivering the oppressed, threatened and helpless--to put our lives on the line because of love. My prayer after reflecting on this text is that we would keep the true spirit of Christmas, though it is far from easy to do so.

grief and parable

A few months ago I paid a visit to Indianapolis and facilitated a meeting with a small group of Christians. During the meeting, one of the men was clearly in pain. So, we prayed for him.

Just weeks after that, doctors discovered that the pain in his leg was caused by a tumor. He did not have long to live. About a month later, he died.

About six weeks ago, some other friends had a baby. Nine days ago the mother died of cancer.

Yesterday, a friend went to the funeral of a co-worker who was murdered eight days ago and on Friday another friend’s sister just passed away in old age.

So, today I'd like to tell a story that helps me process this grief.

Head over to PlayFull to read on, if you like.

the blizzard

The roads have been overtaken by snow here in Chicago. The snow plows have yet to arrive on my street so the cars sit surrounded by deep drifts, like fragile glass covered by packing peanuts in the largest box you’ve ever seen.

The snow missed St. Paul, dipping south of the Twin Cities. Usually St. Paul gets the worst of it and Chicago receives less. This time, the storm seemed inverted.

My children will wake up to delight this morning. School has been canceled and everything is deep, deep white. But, in St. Paul an old friend will wake up to loss. She will attend her best friend’s funeral. Souls can be covered in grief just as streets are overtaken by blizzards.

Yesterday the wind blew suddenly. I could mark on my watch when the blizzard hit. I was walking outside at 2:15; it was snowing then, but it was just the preamble. Then, when I returned to the street at 2:40 the wind god arrived on his white carpet. The blizzard has not let up since. Nature, it seems, wanted to remind us all just who is The Boss here.

The friend died in her husband’s arms, an asthma attack. She was 36. No one could have seen it coming. When the attack set in, I imagine it must have felt a bit like yesterday’s blizzard in Chicago—surprising, sudden, fierce, crippling. The attack arrived and struck a fatal blow.

Today there is little else to do but dig ourselves out. Truth be told, I’d rather just sit inside and hope the aftermath takes care of itself.

Why, God, do these afflictions come so suddenly? And how is it that one person’s affliction is another’s delight? How can it be that this day one person shall grieve while two children laugh and play? Speed the day when joy tips the scales, when suffering falls away forever, and the imbalance of blessedness reigns.

(Until then, my thoughts and prayers are with you today, my friend—even as my children play).