“But what sort of parent, when their child asks for fish, would give them a snake instead of a fish? Or, if they asked for an egg would give them a scorpion” (Luke 11.11-12)?
These verses trouble me. Not for what they say, but how I want to answer them: that there really are parents out there who would do this. That there are people I know and love whose parents have given them something hurtful and harmful when they’ve confessed their need. Maybe not literal snakes in place of fish, but emotional and spiritual ones. And it makes me want to ask, how is someone supposed to reconcile this reality with these words about a trusting, otherworldly relationship Jesus is telling us is available?
The easy answer is that we are challenged to be childlike in our faith, which would include an innocence in our trust. But that isn’t how people work. Particularly, it isn’t how children work. Yes, there is innocence at first, but children learn. With the chastisements, the ridicule, the stinging and biting gifts that come from their parents, children learn what not to ask. They learn that trust has limits. That you have to be careful what you ask for.
And, so, I have to wonder what we’re supposed to say to those whose response is that their parents gave them scorpions and snakes. How would Jesus respond to those who say, “My sort of parents”?
Too often, devotional and spiritual writing wants to hand-wave past this difficulty. Perhaps, like me, you’ve read those platitudes that tell you that you just have to trust anyway, that you’re not being a good follower; because, you’re not taking Jesus at face value. It’s the escape hatch that can be so tempting in the face of such difficulty—to say that you are the problem because you aren’t trying hard enough. Come to Jesus as a little, trusting child.
But Jesus didn’t do that, and neither can I. Truth is, it isn’t simple or easy. Because, it does involve a return to childhood. It involves meeting face to face with the child within who was wounded long ago and has never been given the balm to heal. It means looking into the unwrapped boxes on the bedroom floor and acknowledging the snakes and scorpions within.
It means allowing ourselves to acknowledge that there are things we need but have never received.
Maybe that’s how this verse speaks to both those with parents who gave good gifts and those who gave scorpions and snakes. For the former, it is a reminder of the love they have known, which flows from the Divine Heart who is always ready to reach out and respond.
For the latter, the wounded, maybe those words are meant to help us speak the needs we’ve long buried, to dare to admit that there are fish and eggs our stomachs desire. To let that child dare, for the first time in years, to be vulnerable enough to admit hunger.
To take a chance on what we might receive.
Christ, you know that not everyone has received good from those who’ve loved them. You know the ache and the mistrust in the hearts of those who fear asking for what they need. Help us heal. And, in time, help us dare ask for that which we hunger so that we might be surprised by your response.