Knowing You Don't Know, and Loving It Anyway

In my middle-school years, there used to be a kids’ show on Nickelodeon called “You Can’t Do That on Television.” This was a program whose goal was to break into the tedium and terror of being a pre-teen by confronting all the crazy issues of the day using an often broad and body-based humor.

The show made much of the travails of being a kid, in particular the fact that there are many excruciating questions that arise during the process of growing up – questions without clear-cut answers or even any answers at all. And indeed, at least one time per episode, some unlucky character would be forced to respond to someone else’s question by answering, “I don’t know.”

Without fail, at the utterance of these three words a fantastic amount of lumpy, green slime would be poured on top of the actor’s head by an unseen hand standing somewhere above the stage. The actor would just have to sit there and take it, and then go shower.

So far as I know this practice explains the origins of green slime on Nickelodeon, a prolific trait of that network over the past many years. Which is fine. Yet it also highlights a basic truth in a graphic fashion: that deep down, we feel we should be afraid of what we don’t know, and that unless we have the answers we might suffer some pretty terrible consequences.

This, at least, is how we tend to think things are, and at the most basic level there’s little reason to suggest things aren’t that way. For every moment we find ourselves in some situation without an immediate and clear response, there is often a penalty to be paid: not necessarily green slime falling from the sky, but a price nevertheless. For every utterance of “I don’t know,” we seem to put things at risk. This is in the hard-wired teaching of our culture, and you can witness it at work in schools, jobs, and relationships, where those who know the answers (or are good at making out like they do) often receive preference.

In only a few years of ministry thus far, I have come into contact with a good number of people who are perplexed by any number of questions be they dogmatic, philosophical, or relational. Across many hours of conversation I have often had to be the one to listen carefully to a concern and begin by responding, “I don’t know.”

Such words tend to have a threefold effect. First, I look up to see if there’s green slime coming! Second, my conversation partner, who may consider me some sort of expert after a fashion, is stopped cold by my response. Third, there is a realization on both our parts that it’s okay for us to admit the limitations of our knowledge.

Being willing to make this admission is a good first step; it clears the air and resets the problem. Then we can tackle it in some fresh new way.

In the four gospel accounts of the Christian tradition, Jesus is asked many, many questions by people with all manner of motivation. Some want to trick him or get power over him; some are looking to advance in their careers; others are simply burning up with the desire to have an answer. Yet you could count on one hand the number of times that Jesus gives a direct answer. The rest of the time he directs their attention to some course of action, or to some piece of scripture, or to some mind-bending parable. Even if he does know the answer, he’s willing to admit that life is complicated.

It’s okay not to know. There’s a lot less slime up there than you think.

Have a good week.

The Rev. Torey Lightcap is Priest-In-Charge of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glenwood Springs.