Theology for My Sons (and me) - part 2

He said, “Go, and tell this people:

‘Keep on listening, but do not perceive;
Keep on looking, but do not understand.’”

-Isaiah 6:9

His name is Benjamin, but we call him Benji. He is sweet and gentle, meek and quietly rambunctious. He speaks in a low tone, and generally allows the world to come to him. In his demeanor, you can sense compassion: it is palpable. He offers his remaining snack to others when they have none, and the only way he knows how to show his frustration is an abrupt, high-pitched grunt with his mouth closed, like the sharp revving of an RC car. He had the middle-child garb far before his baby brother was even a thought.

Benji tends to live in his own world — a welcome personality trait when his older brother is acting like an older brother, and his baby brother is acting like a …well… a baby. The downside, however, is that Benji can be looking right into your soul with his puppy-dog eyes, without even registering that you are saying something to him. He can also hear your voice while being utterly incapacitated by the thought that he is chewing on. Generally, there appears to be no hostility or disrespect in his aloofness, but the consequences rush headlong without inquiring about intentions.

For transparency’s sake (and biblical fidelity), the context of Isaiah’s marching orders quoted above is intended to point to the nation of Israel’s hard-heartedness. It is the first explanation of his marching orders from God after Isaiah, by way of a vision, enters into God’s throne room and says, “Send me, Lord!” The directives he is given show what his efforts will result in.

Jesus later quotes this passage as an explanation to why He speaks to the crowds in parables — see Matt. 13:14-15; Mark 4:12; Luke 8:10. There is a stumbling block placed upon the eyes of those who are already heavily veiled from the Truth.

Back to my sweet, intelligent, and (at times) air-headed boy. There is no limit to the fear and concern that can enter my heart in knowing that there is little boy made of similar substance as me that struggles to realize when someone is shouting at him. My resume includes a long list of concussions, “stay after class to talk to me”(s), and — by the grace of God and personal paranoia — an adolescent criminal record that can best be described by the phrase: “The next time you won’t be so lucky.”

To condense my concerns: What happens if he doesn’t see the truck careening down the street now that he’s dropped the training wheels? What if a kid lights a firecracker and asks Benji to hold onto it for him? How do I show him which jumper cable connects to which battery terminal? (His dad almost ruined our minivan with that move recently)

So… there I sat, on the edge of my bed, looking deeply into the eyes of my four-year-old boy’s less-than-intrigued eyes; his arms crossed behind his back and pressed up against the wall three feet away from my face. Once more, I had asked Benji to do something — or not do something. He heard me… but didn’t really hear me. He saw me… but didn’t really look at me.

The process ensues, and the fatherly discipline begins: Benji, do you know why you are in here with me?

Because I disobeyed.

Well… how did you disobey?

*shrugged shoulders…sly smile*

What did dada tell you?

*second shrug…tilted head…sly smile*

It is not so much that Benji is unwilling to listen. Although there are certainly those occasions, as well. Benji, instead, is saddled with the same issue as the rest of us, even if it looks different: the sin that has infected his heart and mind clouds his ability and interest. It may not be hostile (and I don’t see it as so), but it very well will become more poisonous the longer it goes untouched.

That’s the thing about sin: unless it is remedied, there will be a progression to something bigger, more lasting, and more endemic. Psalm 1 describes the Blessed man, as one who does not walk in the path of the wicked…stand in the counsel of the wicked…sit in the seat of scoffers. There is a corkscrew here: the sinful heart digresses from thinking to behaving to belonging.

Although they hear, they do not listen… Even though they see, they do not comprehend.

My conversations with Benji have to follow a new route from now on, so that he does not slide into that pernicious trap. In order to capture his attention and train him to truly focus on my voice, we have to play a lot of the parrot game: I say, he repeats.

This is what God does with me. Every day when I bring myself to His Word, I am tempted to allow my mind to be pulled in another direction — who has KU Basketball actually picked up in the portal guys? — or I have the arrogance to think that I fully comprehend what He has said and the implications in my life. Yeah yeah, I remember this… I already learned it.

My mind has to be trained. My eyes have to know how to look upon life using God’s Light. My ears have to be made attentive to His voice in the sea of other voices that vie for my attention through flattery, fear, catchy phrasing, and falsity.

My son has to learn my voice, if he will be safely led forward in life. That is the only way his soul will recognize the voice of his Chief Shepherd. And I must learn to listen intently as well.

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give eternal life to them, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand.” (John 10:27-28)