I read a poem a few weeks ago, and one line has stayed with me ever since. The poet wrote that curiosity has not killed the cat in decades. It's true, isn't it? For all the warning packed into that old saying, when is the last time curiosity actually killed anything? The cat is fine. The cat has been fine for a long time.
What does damage isn't curiosity. It's the opposite.
We've gotten very good at the opposite. We meet someone and decide who they are before they finish their sentence. We see the bumper sticker or the post and we file the whole person away. We hear half a story and fill in the rest ourselves, usually with the worst version. It's faster that way. It saves us the trouble of actually getting to know somebody. And it's quietly changing the way we treat each other.
Jesus was endlessly curious about people. This is the strange thing about reading the Gospels closely. The Son of God, who knew exactly what was in a person's heart, kept asking questions anyway. What do you want me to do for you? Who do you say that I am? Why are you crying? Do you want to get well? What are you talking about? He didn't need the information. He wanted the person in front of Him to be seen, to be given room to speak, to be treated as someone worth wondering about.
We tend to do the reverse. We assume we already know.
The brother of Jesus put it plainly. Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry (James 1:19). Notice the order. Listen first. We've trained ourselves to respond, to correct, to win the conversation. Curiosity asks us to slow down long enough to listen, to learn something we didn't already assume. To talk with the person we might want to ignore.
I think this is part of what it means to love our neighbor. Not just to be kind to them in the
abstract, but to be genuinely interested in them. To ask the second question. To wonder what their week has actually been like instead of guessing. To leave room for someone to surprise us, which they will, if we let them.
It costs something. Curiosity is slower than judgment. It's more vulnerable than certainty. We might hear something that complicates the tidy story we'd already written about a person.
But the cat is fine. It's the assuming that's dangerous. And the people around us, the ones we've already half-decided we understand, are waiting to be asked a real question.
peace,
Nick
What does damage isn't curiosity. It's the opposite.
We've gotten very good at the opposite. We meet someone and decide who they are before they finish their sentence. We see the bumper sticker or the post and we file the whole person away. We hear half a story and fill in the rest ourselves, usually with the worst version. It's faster that way. It saves us the trouble of actually getting to know somebody. And it's quietly changing the way we treat each other.
Jesus was endlessly curious about people. This is the strange thing about reading the Gospels closely. The Son of God, who knew exactly what was in a person's heart, kept asking questions anyway. What do you want me to do for you? Who do you say that I am? Why are you crying? Do you want to get well? What are you talking about? He didn't need the information. He wanted the person in front of Him to be seen, to be given room to speak, to be treated as someone worth wondering about.
We tend to do the reverse. We assume we already know.
The brother of Jesus put it plainly. Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry (James 1:19). Notice the order. Listen first. We've trained ourselves to respond, to correct, to win the conversation. Curiosity asks us to slow down long enough to listen, to learn something we didn't already assume. To talk with the person we might want to ignore.
I think this is part of what it means to love our neighbor. Not just to be kind to them in the
abstract, but to be genuinely interested in them. To ask the second question. To wonder what their week has actually been like instead of guessing. To leave room for someone to surprise us, which they will, if we let them.
It costs something. Curiosity is slower than judgment. It's more vulnerable than certainty. We might hear something that complicates the tidy story we'd already written about a person.
But the cat is fine. It's the assuming that's dangerous. And the people around us, the ones we've already half-decided we understand, are waiting to be asked a real question.
peace,
Nick