Offering God My "Whatever"

What Mary and Zechariah remind me

In my house we have recently banned the word “whatever.” My older son has entered adolescence and is cultivating the casual indifference essential to that season of life. He rarely means it to be rude but Lara and I are trying to impress upon him that it isn’t really the right response to… well, anything. Part of it is that I want him to grow up to be respectful and considerate. I also want him to understand that what we say reveals something about who we are. It’s not just the words themselves. There’s nothing wrong with the word “whatever” itself, after all.

Everyone knows how important a first impression is. We know that each individual is incredibly complex with a personal history, family, friends, likes and dislikes, tragedy and trauma. All those things shape who they have become. But we can’t take all of that into account when we meet someone because (1) there’s no time and (2) we don’t know those things anyway. So, we use a sort of “human template.” If we meet someone and they are kind and smile, we decide that person is probably “good” and we decide to like them. If they are sullen, don’t make eye contact, and say things like “whatever” we label them as rude and maybe we decide they aren’t likeable.

It isn’t necessarily fair, but it’s how we work. Part of growing up is understanding this and deciding what you want to communicate about yourself in those crucial first moments.

It’s interesting to consider our first impressions of people we meet in the Bible. In real life we often aren’t in control of when or how we meet someone. So, I think it’s worthwhile to consider how an author chooses to introduce a person into their narrative. A good author uses that moment to tell us a few crucial things about this character. When we meet Cain and Abel, they are offering sacrifices to God, one of which is rejected. When we meet David, he’s been ignored by his family, but we know he will be king. Daniel is a slave who, in the space of a few sentences suddenly (very subtly) takes the initiative.

I was thinking recently about Mary and Zechariah and their encounters with the angel Gabriel. Zechariah is told that his wife will bear a son in her old age; he responds by asking “How will I know this?” and is struck mute for his lack of faith. Mary is told she, a virgin, will have a son and responds, “How will this be?” She receives an answer and a blessing.

It’s common to point out the difference in their questions to understand why Gabriel reprimanded one and praised the other. Usually, it is suggested that Mary wanted understanding, while Zechariah wanted proof. The heart was what mattered, though, not the question. Mary and Zechariah could have swapped questions and I think Gabriel’s response would have been the same, because Mary believed God and Zechariah did not.

A few weeks ago I wrote about David and what seems like contradictions in who he was and how the Bible describes him. We know more about David’s sins than almost anyone else in the Bible, yet he is also given perhaps the most praiseworthy description: A man after God’s own heart. I wrote about how what defined David was not the things he did, but the orientation of his heart.

As an author, Luke is showing us something about Mary and Zechariah’s hearts as he recounts their angelic visitations. In the person of Zechariah we see centuries of hard hearts and disbelief. His question, in a sense, sums up Israel’s relationship with God from the Exodus onwards. He promises them blessings, they respond with unbelief. Mary, on the other hand, is promised both blessing and pain, and responds with immediate obedience.

It makes me consider the posture of my own heart towards the things God wants to bring into my life. I once had a friend say, “If I tell you to do something, will you promise to do it?” A more adventurous (dare I say, whimsical) person might answer “yes” right away. I offered a cautious, “maybe…?” I should have just trusted my friend, because what he asked of me was challenging (which is why he knew I’d hesitate) but ended up being a very important moment in my life.

I’d like to think that I would respond with “yes” to whatever God would ask of me. When I really think about it though, I realize that’s completely untrue. God brings or allows things into my life all the time that I wish he wouldn’t. The dishwasher was being weird last week and I had to decide whether to call someone to come look at it. It was very frustrating and I found myself wishing it hadn’t happened. Apparently, I can’t even handle a minor inconvenience without groaning and yet I expect to respond to a true challenge or crisis by stoically casting my gaze to heaven and saying, softly (yet very bravely), “Yes, Lord, I will receive this from you.”

Sheesh. Give me a break, me.

Fortunately, despite consistently blowing my responses to inconvenience and the most minor of sufferings, I am not limited to first impressions. In Matthew 21:28-32, Jesus tells a story about a father who tells his two sons to come work in the field. One says that he will, but doesn’t go. The other says that he won’t, but ends up going. My answer to God’s “will you” is too often a quick “I’d rather not.” But, like Zechariah, I have the chance to change my answer. Maybe one day I can become like Mary, who was better than either son because she answered “yes” and meant it.