Did Jesus Dodge Questions?
The surprising art of responding like the Rabbi
Imagine, in your life, only giving a direct answer to about one-out-of-twenty questions you’re asked. How would that go over? Surely, coworkers would deem you slippery. Family might suspect you were hiding something. Your church friends would definitely not be impressed.
Yet in the four gospel accounts, Jesus only directly answers about five percent of the questions He receives.
In The Art of Asking Better Questions, author J.R. Briggs crunches the numbers1. Given the complexity of translation, the exact number of questions asked of Jesus in Scripture is debatable. Briggs lands at 187. Of those, the author contends that Jesus only answered five questions directly, and another four “semidirectly.”
That leaves 178 questions that, according to Briggs, Jesus either “ignored, deflected, redirected, or indirectly answered.” Even granting that the distinction between a “semidirect” and “indirect” answer might be fuzzy, it’s a startling observation.
Before reading Briggs’ book, I hadn’t realized the frequency of this particular habit of Jesus. Sure, I knew He had a tendency to respond to a question with another question.
“Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“Why do you call me good?”2
Yet for all my efforts to read the Bible carefully, it had never occurred to me that Jesus might employ some variation of this response nineteen times out of twenty.
Nothing, perhaps, exposes the inner workings of a soul quite like a pointed, timely question.
Yet there it is again when religious elites try to trap Him with the question of paying taxes to Caesar. “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” Jesus asks of the coin that His challengers, themselves, carry.3
In another example, when the very credibility of His ministry is questioned, Jesus also responds with a question. “By what authority are you doing these things?” His accusers ask. Jesus promises them an answer in exchange for an answer to His question. “John’s baptism, where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or of human origin?”4
But that poses a problem for the Rabbi’s high and mighty accusers. If they say “heaven,” it renders their own suspicion of Jesus absurd. On the other hand, if they answer “man,” the Jews they hold spiritual sway over, including some who’ve witnessed Jesus’ miracles, could turn on them.
Even when He responded to a question with another, Jesus’ rhetoric wasn’t formulaic. “Why do you call me good?” is a modest redirection, whereas “Whose likeness . . .” immediately sets the stage to unmask hypocrisy. As we’ll see, Jesus can also use a questions as an act of compassion.
Yet, even granting that variety, a common thread emerges. Nothing, perhaps, exposes the inner workings of a soul quite like a pointed, timely question. Which is certainly one of the things Jesus was up to with this kind of reply.
The pattern also raises, well, a question about a tendency in Christian culture. From sermons to small groups to believers’ everyday conversation, we value answers. In fact, those individuals most esteemed in church life are often those who have the most answers on offer. We prize an ability to recall biblical factoids off the cuff. We revere a knack for shoehorning Scripture into relevant nuggets of advice.
But could our craving for such spiritual answers just reveal another desire for instant gratification?
Something off with your stomach? Pop a quick pill. Lack of contentment in your job? Your marriage? A quick paraphrase of Philippians 4, verses 11 and 12 should do the trick.
I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. . . in any and every circumstance.
Scripture is potent stuff, of course. And people who dispense it as if it were antacid may well do so out of deep compassion.
But a question can convey heartfelt care as effectively as advice. When the risen Jesus asks Mary Magdalene, “Why are you weeping?” it isn’t to perform spiritual heart surgery. It’s an invitation to heal a heart that is already torn open.5 With the right tone and timing, our questions can serve this purpose too.
And taking a step back, we often don’t know what the malcontent coworker needs. Or the frustrated wife or husband or daughter or son. Thoughtful questions can help us to consider what real healing might look like for someone who’s hurting.
My point is simply this: Jesus asked many questions (around 300 recorded). Meanwhile, of those asked of Him (190 or so), He answered very few directly.
So was He dodging them? No, but He was diagnosing hearts. And He was displaying love and compassion. Jesus doesn’t always come right out with the answers we want.
Which should urge us to ask ourselves a few.
J.R. Briggs, The Art of Asking Better Questions: Pursuing Stronger Relationships, Healthier Leadership, and Deeper Faith (InterVarsity Press, 2025)
Luke 18:18-19
Matthew 22:19
Matthew 21:24-25
John 20:15
Have you ever read Matthew Anderson's work? His book speaks more directly to this as an intellectual habit, but I find most conversations are shaped by intellectual habits.
Which is to say, our obsession with answers over questions has also led most people to be, not to put too fine a point on it, very boring in conversation (I include myself in this, as I can veer pretty quickly into answer-dispenser format).