Listen, I’ve been chewing on this idea for a while now, ever since I wrapped up my book Searching for the Voice. You know that feeling when you’re a kid, staring up at the sky, and everything’s a question? “Why is the grass green? Why do birds fly south? Why does rain make the earth smell like that?” Those weren’t just random thoughts—they were knocks at heaven’s door. Little prayers wrapped in wonder. And I believe that’s exactly how God designed us.
Let me back up. In Genesis, right at the start, God says we’re made in His image—imago Dei, as the theologians call it. That’s not just some fancy Latin for looking like Him on the outside. It’s about the spark inside: the drive to create, to question, to probe the mysteries of the world. Think about it—we’re the only creatures who don’t just solve problems but ask why there are problems at all. We don’t just do physics—we do metaphysics. We don’t just survive—we search for meaning. Animals build nests; we build cathedrals. Animals communicate; we write poetry and theology. That’s not a difference of degree—it’s a difference of kind, reflecting the Creator who spoke galaxies into existence. Paul said it plainly in Romans: “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made” (Romans 1:20). The curiosity itself is a signpost.
But here’s where it gets real: that same curiosity, that God-given hunger to know, is prime real estate for the enemy. And here’s the irony—Scripture itself celebrates the search. Proverbs 25:2 says, “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.” God wants us to dig. But the serpent twisted that noble instinct. Remember the Garden? He didn’t tempt Eve with power or riches—he dangled knowledge. “You’ll be like God, knowing good and evil.” It was the prototype of every conspiracy that would follow: the whisper that someone in authority is hiding the real truth from you. Not some wild story about hidden elites or faked history, but the foundational lie that says, “God’s holding out on you. There’s secret information that’ll make you superior.” And we’ve been biting ever since.
Fast forward to today. I see it everywhere—and it’s not just one generation. Young folks scroll TikTok convinced they’ve cracked the code; older folks share chain emails and YouTube rabbit holes with the same certainty. From the merely silly to the genuinely dangerous—moon landing hoaxes, antisemitic conspiracy theories, Holocaust denial—the range is wide, but the root in many of these is the same: the intoxicating feeling of being gods because you’ve got the “hidden truth.” It’s Gnosticism 2.0. Back in the early church, many Gnostic sects guarded their “secret teachings” behind layers of initiation—levels of enlightenment only the elite could unlock. Sound familiar? Every generation thinks they’ve outsmarted the last, hoarding knowledge like it’s a shortcut to divinity.
But Christianity? It stands apart. No secret handshakes, no paywalls to enlightenment. Now, has the church itself sometimes fallen into that trap? Absolutely—from medieval indulgences to hierarchies that kept Scripture out of common hands, God’s people have been tempted to gatekeep the very truth that was meant to be free. But the Gospel message was never designed to be locked away. God didn’t whisper from the shadows—He stepped into the spotlight as Jesus Christ. Fully human, fully divine, revealing Himself openly on a cross for all to see. “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened” (Matthew 7:7). No riddles. No detours. Just grace, free and public.
Don’t get me wrong—not every question leads straight to God, and not every curious mind gets hijacked. Some of the greatest scientists in history—Kepler, Faraday, Lemaitre—followed their wonder right into the heart of creation and came out worshipping the Creator. That’s curiosity doing exactly what it was designed to do. But life also twists us up. That innocent “Why?” from childhood can morph into “Why me?” or “Who’s really pulling the strings?” Satan doesn’t kill our wonder—he redirects it. Turns it into suspicion, into conspiracies that explain everything except the One who made it all. But here’s the hope: that restlessness? It’s homesickness for Him. Every misguided theory is just a knock on the wrong door.
So, if you’re reading this at midnight, chasing shadows online, pause. Remember the kid in you—the one who asked without agenda. That’s the blueprint. Redirect back to the Source. Knock on heaven’s door. He’s been waiting to answer.
What do you think? Drop a comment below—let’s talk about where your questions have led you.
