Ah, the danger of the false conclusion. Many a day ruined by a very obvious finish line that turns out to be a tripwire. Many a relationship that has soured in development, poisoned in its options because someone assumed something, said something, and now there is no room for maneuvering because a conclusion has already been pre-determined.

We know that Jesus got labeled over and over again by his detractors who could not seem to get their minds around what he was introducing into the world. He was a Sabbath breaker. He usurped authority.

What we see in today's readings is an awareness that the desire to produce answers is so strong in us that they can darken the amazing work God is actually bringing forth. When things don't make sense, when mystery envelops us, we are often tempted to force a solution just for the sake of supplying a conclusion. How faith-filled is the one who can still utter, "I don't know!"

The build up of frustration is palpable for the Pharisees in this Gospel. What drives this train is the unwillingness of the testifiers to endorse the (false) line of thinking that the Pharisees are pushing. The parents admitted they did not know how their son came to see. They did not know who opened his eyes. The man born blind confesses about Jesus, "If he is a sinner, I do not know."

These are not stellar endorsements of Jesus or the works he has performed, but they have an advantage over the clamoring of the Pharisees: they are truthful. "I do not know," keeps the mystery alive, rather than shutting down the discourse with fearful rhetoric. "We know that this man is a sinner. . This man is not from God," establishes the narrow perimeters of conversation way too early, and prevents the grandeur of the miracle from fully taking root in the hearts of men.

What a healthy pronouncement from a man tagged by his community with sin from his very birth: I do not know. What a disarming offer that would fall like grace from our leaders, friends and colleagues from time to time: "This is what I know. . And this is what I don't know. I can't explain it. . Is there another option? I don't have all the answers."

The majority of us, though, when faced with a person, an act, a reality that stretches our understanding of things, run to our well-stocked bunkers in order to produce something that sounds rational, well-founded, credible.regardless of whether it is a true assessment of the situation. When "I don't know" is the first answer, the honest answer, we nervously swallow the truth in order to try and concoct something that would tie up loose ends.

This was Samuel's temptation, and his initial thought: "Surely the Lord's anointed is here before him." Seven sons stand before him - the perfect number from which to identify the new king. Yet, when that number comes up lacking, Samuel resists the urge to force a solution from what's before him. Instead, he asks if there isn't another, unexplored possibility, beyond the "perfect options" available.

The man who had been blind sizes up the situation: "This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes." That is: You don't know much, yet you've produced a lot of animosity from a very amazing act. The one whose eyes are truly open is the one who allows alternative options and possibilities to "open" before him. This is the one who doesn't rush to judgment, knowing that "I don't know" is fresh air for truth to unfurl.

The one who is enlightened is the one who can see though ill-will, fear, threats, and see that simply producing an answer can actually stifle truth. The one who sees the heart, looking past appearances, is the one who allows mystery to unfold before him. The one who is visible is the one who, when faced with commending an ill-informed statement, simply utters the truth as they see it: I don't know. This is the one who gives glory to God.

We don't have all the answers, and trying to produce them on command might only cloud truths God is trying to reveal through us. Sometimes the options - perfect options - aren't the ones that reveal the truth of a moment. In those instances, "I don't know" can be the most fitting way we can give glory to God.

Father Justin Hoye is administrator of St. Raphael Parish and associate pastor of St. Gabriel Archangel Parish.