What would you ask Him? If you had a chance to ask God one question, what would it be? When I was little, I imagined heaven as some eternal question and answer session where we would sit around asking God those impossibly difficult questions that our older siblings couldn’t answer. Now that I’m older, I don’t need to wait till I’m dead to figure out the ingredients in a McRib. It turns out that I was better off not knowing.
I still have questions though; I wonder why certain things happen or why things turn out the way they do. Right now if I had a chance to ask God just one question, I’m not sure which one I’d ask. I’m kind of afraid I would ask something dumb like the kid in every class that always managed to ask the question that the teacher had just answered.
As I try to think of the best questions for God, I wonder what He would ask me. If God was going to say just one thing to me, what would it be? You know those suspenseful texts and voicemails when someone leaves a message that just says “give me a call, I need to talk to you about something”? Multiply that feeling by a billion.
The people of the Old Testament were waiting 400 years to hear something, anything, from God. In our Bibles, it takes less than a second to turn the page from the Old Testament to the Gospels when in reality, there was about a 400 year gap.
So what would He say? When God finally showed up, when the Messiah arrived, what would be the first thing He says? A message of condemnation? Reminding us of our sins? Telling us to be more patient? Giving us new rules to follow?
Then He showed up. Heaven invaded earth, divinity collided with our humanity in Jesus Christ, born of the Virgin Mary. In a stable, in a manger, in a small town of an insignificant region of the Roman Empire, God showed up and fulfilled the promises He’d made long ago.
The world must’ve been silent that night, holding its breath to hear God’s first words to humanity after 400 years of silence. The God who created the universe by His very word, the God whose voice has the power to “strike with fiery flame” (Psalms 29:7) pierces the silence with His first word.
His first sound, the first thing He says to us isn’t a sermon, it isn’t a scolding, it isn’t even a word at all.
It’s the cry of a newborn baby.
He cries with us and His heart breaks with ours. God knows our pain, He is no stranger to our suffering, and He enters into our world so we could know that we’re never alone.
“It was our infirmities that he bore, our sufferings that he endured” (Isaiah 53:4).
God could’ve chosen any way He wanted to enter our world. He could’ve chosen a poem, a big speech, or a press conference to let us know he was taking his talents to Bethlehem, but He didn’t. He broke into our lives with a cry like ours.
He came down to meet us in the middle of our pain, in the middle of our frustrations, and in the middle of our questions. He knew that we needed more than answers, more than just words.
So the Word became flesh and we no longer have to wonder what God thinks of us.