By Jim Nichols

It was an undergraduate class in Shakespeare, and I was a graduate student in zoology. Several friends recommended the class and professor if I wanted an exceptional experience. I could audit the class at minimal cost, not take tests or write papers, and learn from an unusual classroom leader. I took the bait and was changed in multiple ways. He was the closest thing to a master teacher that I ever had.

Many instructors are skilled at conducting a class by asking leading questions of students. This professor was the absolute best I have ever encountered. What was most notable was that he was questioning the students in such a way that the student responses presented the points that he, himself, was trying to make. It was as if he did not have to lecture (he did little), because the students could be led to make the conclusions themselves. It was a brilliant (and difficult to reproduce) approach; in retrospect, it was often the approach of Jesus.

Usually, Jesus did not engage in question-and-answer sessions. Instead, he sought question and question sessions. That is, his responses to questions were often another question. He did engage in direct teaching with instruction in mind, but a clear tendency was to use his own questions to respond to others’ questions. The plan seemed to be to allow his listeners to learn by attempting to respond to his queries.

An example with nuance occurs in the gospel of Mark when Jesus asks the disciples who the people think he is. They respond with various names such as “John the Baptist,” “Elijah,” or “one of the prophets.” Jesus then redirects the question to the disciples themselves by asking the follow-up question, “But who do you say that I am?” When Jesus does take the initiative with a question, the respondents often come to a realization and deeper faith. 

The interplay between questions to and from Jesus reaches its most well-known illustration in what we call the story of the Good Samaritan. A lawyer asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” That first question leads to Jesus’ response. In perfect pedagogical style, Jesus tells a story leading to the second question.

He describes a traveler who has been beaten and robbed, left for dead near the side of the road. A common sermon illustration focuses on the priest and Levite who “pass by on the other side” and do not render aid. The Samaritan, on the other hand, (1) notices the man (2) stops (3) gives medical aid (4) transports the injured man and (5) pays for food and lodging so the man could recover. 

The stage is then set for Jesus to ask the second question in the illustration. “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 

If we were seeing a cartoon version at this point, a thought-bubble would appear over the head of the lawyer and, inside the bubble, would be a light bulb. Of course. He gets it now. “The one who showed him mercy.”

Jesus answers the lawyer’s question by telling a story and asking a question tied to it. Do you think the lawyer ever forgot this encounter, story, and conclusion? 

As an important aside, did the Samaritan preach to the wounded man or give him a tract? The parable does not indicate any information that the Samaritan imparted to the wounded man. One might think that Jesus would have mentioned it if it were important to the point he was making at the time. Instead, he gave us a model for a neighbor.

If one Googles “questions Jesus asked,” a lengthy list appears. Many of them are as short as they are penetrating.

“Why are you looking for me?”

“Why do you call me Lord, Lord, and not do what I say?”

“What do you think?”

“What do you want me to do for you?”

You and I spend much of our days on “where and when” questions of routine life. That might cause us to ignore questions about deeper significance and even ultimate purpose. Frederick Buechner suggests that the strongest reason for reading the Bible is that we may encounter the central questions of our individual life. Let us look for those questions.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain