The Waking Dreamer: Learning Faith

Showing posts with label Learning Faith. Show all posts

Sunday, April 24, 2022

Questioning Faith?

John 20:19-31[1]

In our culture, faith and doubt are often seen as opposites. I’m sure there have been countless sermons preached through the ages on how doubt “poisons” faith. And the gist of that line of thinking is that to be a person of faith, you should not indulge your doubts, or even question what you are told to believe. We even have a phrases for it: we’re supposed to respond to spiritual matters on “blind faith.” We’re told to set aside any doubts or questions and just “take it on faith.” The problem is that approach just doesn’t work for a lot of us. We are a people who are taught to ask questions when we don’t understand.

On the other hand, I think there’s a distinction to be observed between asking questions and peddling uncertainty as if it’s a virtue. Too much emphasis on doubt can be just as much a problem as too much emphasis on being dogmatic. This is especially true for young people. When they are left to their own devices to find their way to God, without the support of their family or a faith community, they tend not to find their way to God at all. It would seem that the answer, then, is to find a healthy balance between encouraging questions and instilling basic convictions about God, about faith in Jesus, and about what it means to live a meaningful life. And that happens best in a supportive community.

Our Gospel lesson for today is the familiar story about “Doubting Thomas.” In our lesson, Thomas, one of Jesus’ hand-picked apostles, refused to believe that Jesus was alive after his death on the cross. No matter what the others told him, he simply would not believe. Unfortunately, this incident has earned him the nickname “Doubting Thomas.” As a matter of fact, when Jesus addressed Thomas, saying, “Do not doubt, but believe” (Jn. 20:27), the word translated “doubt” should probably be rendered as “faithless.” Jesus told him, “Do not be faithless, but believe.” It might seem strange to talk about a healthy balance between faith and questioning based on this lesson!

But in fact, Thomas was by no means “faithless” in his relationship with Jesus. Quite the opposite was true. When it became clear that Jesus was determined to go to Jerusalem to die, it was Thomas who said to the others, “let us go, that we may die with him” (Jn. 11:16). That doesn’t sound much like Thomas was “faithless.” And it’s important to note that Thomas was absent the first time Jesus appeared to the apostles. While the others were hiding in fear behind locked doors, Thomas was out there somewhere. We don’t really know what he was doing, but he wasn’t hiding with the others!

I think it’s entirely appropriate for us to wonder why Thomas didn’t believe the report that Jesus was alive. I wonder whether it was his dedication to Jesus that made the pain of his death hard for Thomas to move past. I also wonder whether it was because he had seen some of the others falter in their faith, especially Peter who had denied knowing Jesus, and he wasn’t prepared to rely on their word alone. What Thomas said was, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (Jn 20:25).

Whatever the reason for Thomas’ “doubts,” a week later Jesus appeared to the apostles again. This time Thomas was there, and Jesus invited him to see for himself that what the others had said was indeed true. I think it’s important to note that even though Thomas didn’t believe their report, he was still taking part in his “community of faith.” And so when Jesus appeared to them, he let Thomas see the wounds that he still bore on his body. He invited Thomas to do just exactly what he said he would need to do to believe: touch Jesus’ wounds. Jesus overcame Thomas’ apparent “faithlessness” and accommodated his need for more than the word of the others. And in response, Thomas made one of the strongest confessions of faith in Jesus contained in the Bible: he called him “My Lord and my God!” (Jn. 20:28).

It’s a fair question to ask what it takes to convince people in this day and time to put their faith in the message we proclaim: that Jesus died and rose again to new life. I don’t pretend to be able to answer every question we might ask about how that was even possible. But I think that our questions can actually help us make faith our own. Many of us know by experience that pursuing our questions can be the path to deeper faith. The questions raised by our doubts can provide the guidance and the motivation to set out on our journey of faith, even when we don’t understand what we’re doing, even when we don’t know for sure where it will lead us.

But I would have to say that the context in which you set out on this exploration makes all the difference in where you will wind up. Having the support and encouragement of a family and a faith community plays a crucial role in the outcome of that journey. That’s also something our experience has taught us. When we learn faith as something our family practices (not just at church), when we can work through our questions with the support of a family of faith, we have access to resources that others don’t have. We have role models that show us how faith makes a difference in our lives. If you’re like me, my best role models didn’t have answers to every question. But they had a genuine faith that they lived out, and that shaped my faith in definite ways! It helped me find that balance between exploring my questions and affirming basic convictions about God, about faith in Jesus, and about what it means to live a meaningful life. And for that, I give thanks to God!

Monday, April 01, 2013

Thy Will Be Done

Ps. 31:9-16; Lk. 22:42; Lk. 23:46[1]

Last week we talked about how we are creatures of habit. We are also incredibly willful creatures. Even the most mild-mannered of us usually want things our way. And, once again, life seldom cooperates. Some of us respond to this crisis by suffering in silence--we bear the burden of our unfulfilled wishes in silence. Others of us complain loudly when life doesn’t give us what we want--to anyone who will even pretend to listen. Of course, part of the problem is that we somehow assume that we know what is best for us, and so we focus our will on getting that. But the reality is that most of us are lousy at determining what is in our own best interest, and worse at planning the course we think our lives should take. And yet we persist at trying to bend life to our will, no matter what. As I said mentioned week, trying to live that way can be a prescription for insanity.

Our Scripture lessons for today present us with a different approach to life. It’s the approach that we’ve been talking about during the last few weeks. The whole idea of trusting in God implies, as the Psalmist expresses, that the course of our lives is out of our hands. Our lives are in God’s hands (Ps. 31:15).[2] Recognizing this truth is the essence of what it means to trust in God. It means entrusting all that we are, all that we have, all that we are concerned about, all those we love, into God’s care. And the Scriptures teach us that God’s care is infinite and unfailing.

I think this may explain why Jesus could look an excruciating death squarely in the face, and pray “not my will but yours be done” (Lk. 22:42).[3] In spite of the circumstances, we shouldn’t be surprised that Jesus prayed that prayer. Seeking God’s will was the whole focus of his entire life. Ironically, the very first words Jesus utters in Luke’s Gospel, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?” (Lk. 2:49), imply that even at a young age Jesus was already focused on seeking God’s will. It’s no wonder that when his disciples asked him what to pray for, he taught them to pray, “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 6:7).

When we think about the ultimate sacrifice Jesus made for us on that Friday so many years ago, I think we have to recognize that what enabled him to go through with it was his trust in God. In a very real sense, what Jesus did on the cross fulfilled the words of the Servant of the Lord in Isaiah: “The Lord GOD helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame” (Isa. 50:7). While it’s hard to imagine that Jesus could face the prospect of a horrific death with unflinching faith, I think we have to assume that what enabled him to see it through to the bitter end was his trust that the God into whose hands he had entrusted his whole life would be with him in his darkest hour.

It may be hard for us to comprehend the fact that it was Jesus’ commitment to obeying God’s will that led him to his humiliating death. We tend to think of obedience to God as something that leads to good things coming our way. It’s hard to imagine that the ultimate obedience could lead to the ultimate sacrifice. That’s exactly the way St. Paul frames Jesus’ death in our lesson for today: “he became obedient to the point of death” (Phil. 2:8).[4] And the Apostle tells us to have the same attitude as Christ had. In other words, he calls us to follow Jesus’ example in seeking God’s will and trusting God with the outcome, no matter what it looks like.

We even see this amazing trust in God reflected in Jesus’ dying words. While Matthew and Mark report Jesus’ last words as a cry of anguish, in Luke’s Gospel Jesus dies with an affirmation of faith: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” (Lk 23:46).[5] In fact, he was quoting from the very Psalm that we started with. The full text of the verse reads, “Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God” (Ps. 31:5). One of the details of this verse is that “spirit” can also be translated “life.” So in a very real sense, Jesus was entrusting his whole life to God. The words Jesus uttered as he was dying were essentially “it is up to you, God, what becomes of me, and I am willing to have it so.”[6] He died the same way that he lived his whole life: seeking God’s will and entrusting the outcome into God’s hands.

A faith like that seems to me to be the highest expression of trust. It’s not easy to look at our lives, at all that we are, all that we have, all those we love, and essentially let go of it all by placing it into God’s hands. But that was the kind of faith that Jesus modeled for us throughout his life. It was that kind of faith that enabled him to live out the prayer “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” And it was that kind of faith that enabled him to face the prospect of making the final sacrifice with the prayer, “not my will, but thine be done.” As we seek to deepen our trust in God, Jesus’ commitment stands for us as the defining example for our own faith. The kind of trust reflected in the prayer, “Not my will, but thine be done” challenges us all to give up trying to get what we want out of life and instead to seek God’s will and entrust the outcome to him.

[2] cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 144: “In the mouth of Jesus [this] sentence is surely a profound interpretation of his entire life.” Cf. H.-J. Kraus, Psalm 1-59, 365, where he talks about the Psalm as a prayer of “trusting self-surrender.”

[3] cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.1:270, where he describes this prayer of Jesus as “a radiant Yes” to the will of God, which he “unreservedly accepts.”

[4] Cf. Fred B. Craddock, Philippians, 42: “Christ acted on our behalf without view of gain. That is precisely what God has exalted and vindicated: self-denying service for others to the point of death with no claim of return, no eye upon a reward.”

[5] Cf. Fred B. Craddock, Luke, 275; R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX:461.

[6] This is Mays’ interpretation of “into your hands I commit my spirit.” Cf. Mays, Psalms, 144. Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, “Good Friday: Birth of Hope from the Cross of Christ,” in The Power of the Powerless, 120, where he calls this “believing with one’s whole life.”

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Present-Tense Faith

Isa 43:16-21; Ps 126[1]

We are creatures of habit. We like things to remain stable, predictable, under control. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. It’s anything but predictable. And anybody who’s ever tried to control the events and circumstances of their life can tell you that it’s a prescription for insanity! One of the ways that we deal with the ever-changing quality of life is by living life in the past tense. By that I mean we look back to a time when everything was just like we wanted it. We hold onto that ideal image as a comfort when life in the present gets overwhelming. Of course, if we really went back to that time, we’d realize that not everything was just like we wanted it. But in retrospect, it’s easy to see the past with rose-colored glasses.

The same thing is true of our faith. We can get stuck in the past when it comes to our faith. It may be a past part of our life, or it may be a distant past, like biblical times. Either way, we tend to idealize the past, thinking that it must have been easier to have faith in that time. When we do that, I wonder if our faith doesn’t get stuck in the past. I wonder if we have a hard time really bringing our faith into the present time with all its challenges.

I think that was at least part of what was going on in the people of Israel in our lessons for today. The people addressed by the prophet Isaiah may have been on their way back from exile in Babylon, which was a long and dangerous journey through a desolate wilderness. These days, we can romanticize the idea of going “into the wild,” but in biblical times the wilderness was a place that was feared. It was a place of unknown dangers and scarce food and water. You could die in the wilderness.[2] The prophet called them to take their faith in the God who brought the people of the past safely out of Egypt and bring that faith with them on their present journey through the wilderness. The same God who made “a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters” (Isa 43:16) promised to do something brand new: he would make a “way in the wilderness” (Isa 43:19). God promised to bring them safely through their dangerous journey, and the prophet called them to bring their faith in the God of the past into the present situation that they feared so much.[3]

It’s also possible that the prophet was addressing people who had already made the journey back to Jerusalem, and instead of finding the home they remembered and loved, what they found was an abandoned city in ruins. Having made their dangerous journey, they found themselves in even more danger. The stories of Ezra and Nehemiah tell us how dangerous it was for the people who worked to rebuild the ruined city. Rather than the safety of home, they found themselves under attack from enemies who had taken control of the land in their absence. At one point, Nehemiah had to have everybody working on the project carry their swords with them as they worked (Neh. 4:17-18)!

It’s possible that this was the context for our Psalm for today. It’s true that the Psalmist speaks of their return from exile as a dream come true.[4] But we know from the historical accounts that the dream took some time to realize in its full perspective.[5] They may have come home, but they had all kinds of challenges to face. Not only did they have to fend off their enemies, but they also had to find a way to establish a reliable supply of food and water. They had their work cut out for them. And so they prayed that God would continue to “restore their fortunes” (Ps. 126:4).[6]

In fact, they prayed that God would work in such a way that those who went out to sow their seeds in tears would come back rejoicing in the harvest. I can imagine that those who were sowing seeds in tears may have been like farmers who have endured several bad years, and they’re planting the last of their seed stock.[7] If they don’t get enough rain to provide a good harvest this year, they might be finished. And so they prayed, “Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses in the Negeb” (Ps. 126:4). Now, the Negeb is a desert in the southern part of Israel, where there are gullies that are dry throughout most of the year. During the rainy season they fill up with water that the farmers used to make their crops flourish. Essentially, they’re looking at their situation, one that seemed difficult at best and dangerous at worst, and they’re putting their faith in God to provide for their needs. They were doing exactly what the prophet Isaiah was trying to encourage: taking their faith in God from the past and bringing it into the present, regardless of how hopeless or desperate their situation seemed.[8]

I think that may be one of the most difficult lessons to learn when it comes to trusting God. For most of us, it’s relatively easy to believe in a God who worked in the past. But when it comes to trusting God to do something new in our present circumstances, that can be a completely different matter. That seems to be one of the hardest challenges when it comes to faith—bringing it into present, with all its frightening changes and uncertainties. But that’s where the water hits the wheel when it comes to faith.[9] We have to trust not only in the God who “has done great things” in the past, but also in the God who always promises to do “a new thing” in our lives.[10] We have to learn to trust in God right here and right now.

[2] Cf. Paul D. Hanson, Isaiah 40-66, 73.

[3] Cf. Hanson, Isaiah 40-66, 72, where he warns that a “retreat from the hostile unknown to the comfort of the familiar,” if it becomes a “permanent posture, becomes spiritual escapism.”

[4] cf. Patrick Miller, “In Praise and Thanksgiving,” in Theology Today 45 ( July 1988): 180, where he says that Israel’s songs of praise “are fundamental indicators that wonders have not ceased, that possibilities not yet dreamt of will happen, and that hope is an authentic stance

[5] Cf. H. -J. Kraus, Psalms 60-150, 449, where he points out that the Psalm reflects “the unique tension in which the community found itself in reorganizing after the return”; although they had experienced “a wonderful liberation,” the “actual realization of the prophetic promise was long in coming.”

[6] cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 400: he sees this as one of the “pilgrim Psalms,” songs sung by those who were en route to Jerusalem for the observance of a feast day.

[7] Cf. J. Clinton McCann, “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:1195. Although some see the tears as a ritual mourning for the fertility god, he points out that the tears in this case “may simply emphasize the urgency of the need already articulated.”

[8] Cf. Artur Weiser, Psalms, 763, in the metaphor of sowing and harvesting, the Psalmist sees the “mysterious power of God which creates new life out of death.”

[9] cf. Miller, “In Praise and Thanksgiving,” 180: “the countless hymns of praise, from the song of Miriam and Moses at the Exodus to the hallelujah chorus at the end of the Book of Revelation, arise out of the structure of faith in the dialogue with God.”

[10] Cf. Christopher R. Seitz, “The Book of Isaiah 40-66,” New Interpreters Bible VI:382, where he reminds us that one’s present relationship with God “consists of more than a memory of past faithfulness, decisive though that be in certain contexts.”

Monday, March 11, 2013

Clearing the Slate

Psalm 32[1]

I would venture to say that one of the last things someone in our day and time might expect to hear as a means of deepening our trust in God is by confessing our sin. Many of us these days are uncomfortable admitting that we have sinned, and even more so that we are sinners. But from the biblical perspective, both are fundamentally true: we have sinned--that relates to our actions. And we are sinners--that relates to who we are.[2] But that’s not always an easy thing to do. In the evangelical world, Christian people can tend toward the thinking that “I’m saved, I asked Jesus into my heart and confessed my sin on such-and-such a date.” They may feel the need to confess really bad actions here and there, but they tend to think that they’ve already confessed to being a sinner. They’ve already got that part covered. In our branch of the Christian world, Christian people can tend toward the thinking that “I’m a good person, I go to church, I try to help people and be kind to them, I volunteer my time.” They may feel like the demand to confess they are sinners is offensive given all their efforts at living the Christian life.[3]

And yet, the Psalmist insists that acknowledging our sin is something that remains an important part of an ongoing relationship of faith in God. In fact, he warns that when we refuse to acknowledge our sin, it tends to fester inside us and comes out in all kinds of ways that aren’t so pleasant. Pride, anger, bitterness, and perhaps even behaviors that are attributed to a more “psychological” origin may relate to repressed guilt.[4] From the Psalmist’s perspective, refusing to clear the slate made him feel like God’s hand was “heavy” upon him (Ps. 32:4). I think we can all relate to the sense of foreboding when we know we’ve messed up, and there are going to be consequences to pay, but it hasn’t happened yet. That’s one more clue that we all need the relief and release the Psalmist says comes as a “blessing” when we confess our sin (Ps. 32:1-2).

And that is precisely what the Psalmist promises in response to the heartfelt, genuine confession that “I have sinned, and I am a sinner”: relief from the burden and release from the sense of guilt. That’s why the confession of sin is such an important part of learning to trust in God. As long as we hold back, as long as we refuse to acknowledge who we really are and what we’ve done, there must be some doubt in our minds about whether God really accepts us. But when we stop fooling ourselves and let go the burden, we find God’s love embracing us, God’s grace abounding, God’s mercy healing us.[5] When we make ourselves vulnerable by approaching God with the confession, “I am a sinner,” and experience not condemnation or rejection but acceptance and love and forgiveness, we walk away from that experience with a stronger sense of trust in the one who has embraced us.[6]

Unfortunately, for most of us, “confession” is only something we do at the beginning of a worship service. And even then, because we do it every Sunday, in the same way, and at the same time, it can begin to feel like something routine. But for confession to be genuine, it has to be more than a routine. It has to be something that is heartfelt. It cannot be relegated to a few words we mumble on Sunday morning. Ongoing confession is an integral part of the life of faith. If we need to be reminded why it is so important to confess our sin, all we have to do is remember that it is God’s love that exposes our sin. [7] There is something about sin so damaging to the human condition that God felt it necessary to die for us all in order to set us free. If our sin is that serious to God, maybe we should take it more seriously.

This particular perspective on developing a deeper heart of trust in God is one that is not easy to swallow. The very words, “I am a sinner” get caught in our throats as we say them. Yet, they are so very important for us to say. Our confession of sin, our clearing of the slate before God, is a necessary step for us to experience the unconditional love and acceptance God offers us all. [8] And when we take the risk, when we make ourselves vulnerable, then we know the release and joy of the restoration that God holds out to all of us as a free gift. When we clear the slate by confessing our sin we can learn to trust God enough to know the joy of God’s embrace.

[2] cf. Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, II:50, where he defines sin as “hubris” or pride and says, “It is sin in its total form, namely, the other side of unbelief or man’s turning away from the divine center to which he belongs. It is turning toward one’s self as the center of one’s self and one’s world.”

[3] cf. J. Clinton McCann, Jr. “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:807. Cf. also Katharine Grieb, “The Real Prodigal,” The Christian Century (Mar 9, 2004):21: “It is said that there are two kinds of sinners in the world: those who know they're sinners and those who don't.”

[4] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 147: when we refuse to acknowledge our sin, “the wrong retained and sheltered begins to become part of one’s identity. It harms and hardens and diminishes. ... In the silence, every affliction and problem takes the form of judgment of God” Cf. also Karl Menninger, What Ever Became of Sin?, 178: “I believe that all the evildoing in which we become involved to any degree tends to evoke guilt feelings and depression. These may or may not be clearly perceived, but they affect us. They may be reacted to and covered up by all kinds of escapism, rationalization, and reaction or symptom formation.” Cf. also Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.1:578: in his silence the one who refused to acknowledge sin “could only be broken on God.”

[5] Cf. Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.1.576: “The divine pardon does not burst into man’s willingness but his unwillingness.”

[6] Cf. Mays, 147: “Confession is the knocking to which the door opens, the seeking that finds, the asking that receives. Confession of sin to God is confession of faith in God. ... faith understands that we are sinners and God is gracious.”

[7] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 148: “the practice of repentance can become so routine, inconsequential, shallow, lacking in real seriousness, ... that it is a presumption on the mercy of God and a belief in cheap grace. For the Christian, the cure for [this]deceit comes by keeping the crucified Christ in view as God’s judgment on and pardon for our sin.” Cf. also The Confession of 1967, inclusive language version, 9.12, which puts it this way: “The reconciling act of God in Jesus Christ exposes our sin in the sight of God.”

[8] Mays, Psalms, 146: “God’s way is to forgive sinners, and we do not acknowledge his grace unless we present ourselves to him as sinners.” Cf. also Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.1:579.

Monday, March 04, 2013

Seeking God

Ps. 63:1-8; Lk 13:1-9[1]

During this season of Lent, we’re talking about the process of learning to trust in God. Or perhaps it’s better to say we’re learning to entrust ourselves to God’s loving care. A central aspect of our faith is the belief that whatever happens to us, we trust that God is working in our lives for our benefit. Theologians call it the doctrine of providence. But as central as this trust is to our faith, it is also one of those points where we can fall into little more than pious self-interest. [2] As I look at my own faith, suspect I may be guilty. I look to God primarily when things are difficult in life, seeking God’s presence to help me when I’m in trouble, asking God to deliver me from my problems. It seems that I, like many of us, turn the God and Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ into a kind of “Jack in the Box” God whom we call on when we need a favor and whom we ignore when life is good. We may give lip service to praising God when things are going our way, but be honest, do we really, really seek God with all our hearts in those times? I can only speak for myself, and I’m not so sure I do.

Unfortunately, in those times we tend to fall into the trap that St. Paul warned the people of Corinth about when he said “if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall” (1 Cor. 10:12).[3] Or we tend to be like the people who came to Jesus and asked him about the Galileans who were slaughtered by Pilate while they were offering their sacrifices in the temple (Lk. 13:1-2). Jesus’ answer seems harsh: “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did” (Lk. 13:3-4). But perhaps we should consider whether at least some of the people in the crowd were guilty of the kind of false confidence St. Paul was talking about. I think Jesus must have sensed that some of them assumed because they hadn’t endured any such horrible tragedy, they were in good standing with God. And we hear St. Paul saying, “if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.” Jesus puts it much more bluntly. He calls us to repent of the false confidence that thinks that if everything is going my way then God must be blessing me. He reminds us that we all fall short, and we are all in need of constantly examining our lives to see where we need to repent before our God.[4] And he also reminds us that God always gives us one more chance to repent (Lk. 13:8).[5]

How do we do that? How do we repent? The prophet Isaiah invited those who needed repentance to “Seek the LORD while he may be found, call upon him while he is near” (Isa. 55:6).[6] But if you’re like me, the only time you really, honestly seek God with all your heart is when you’re going through some kind of difficulty or trouble and you want God to bail you out of it! The Psalmist points us to a different way of seeking God. He says he “thirsts” after God (Ps. 63:1).[7] "Thirsting" for God is a way of seeking God that is based on the realization that we constantly need God’s presence in our lives—every day, in every circumstance, whether things are going our way or not.

In a very real sense, the only way to seek God genuinely and with all our heart is to know down in the depths of our soul that we need God in every aspect of our lives. I think in part what this means is that we recognize that this life is too big for us to manage on our own. It doesn’t take too much experience with life to learn that we are in many ways powerless over the people, the circumstances, and the events in our life. There are just too many complications, too many factors that are beyond our control. We need someone who is much bigger than we are to guide us and care for us in this life. We need God to surround us with his “steadfast love” which the Psalmist says is “better than life” itself (Ps. 63:3).[8]

As we examine our faith during this season of Lent, I think it’s important for us to realize that one of the requirements for developing a heart of trust is the realization that we need God in all of our lives. We cannot look to other people, or even to ourselves to provide what we need in this life. When we’ve done our best, sometimes life still sends us failure and loss. And other people may have good intentions, but if we look to them instead of God, we’re only setting ourselves up for disappointment. Only God can truly provide what we need in our lives. That is the most fundamental reason for making the decision to seek God honestly, with all our heart, every day—sometimes every hour—and sometimes moment by moment.[9] We seek God as the Psalmist did—thirsting for him constantly because we know that our very life depends on him.

[2] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 218: “in a salvation religion there is always the danger for all believers to take the value of their own lives as the primary reason to trust God.”

[3] Cf. Hans Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians, 169. He sees the warning as especially applicable to the people in Corinth who thought they were the “strong” ones, saying that their “cocksureness” that nothing will happen to them is unrealistic.

[4] Cf. Fred B. Craddock, Luke, 169: “Life in the Kingdom is not an elevated game of gaining favors and avoiding losses. Without repentance, all is lost anyway.” cf. R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX:272, where he says that the calamities mentioned “should stand as graphic reminders that life is fragile, and any of us may stand before our Maker without a moment’s notice.”

[5] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, Experiences of God, 4–5, where he points out as Luther observed that the Christian’s life is always “becoming,” it’s always in process, and therefore it is “a continual repentance, a continual new start in a new direction.”

[6] Cf. Paul D. Hanson, Isaiah 40-66, 177, where he points out that the only requirement for attendance at the banquet that is offered is “hunger and thirst.”

[7] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 173. He comments that as “the body cannot live without water,” so “the soul cannot survive without God.” Cf. similarly, H. -J. Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 19: “‘Soul’ and ‘body’ are like land that is parched and languishes for moisture in the summer when there is no rain.”

[8] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 218: “This verse leads us in prayer to the point of devotion to God alone that must be the goal of all true faith.” Cf. also Marvin E. Tate, Psalms 51–100, 129: he describes the Psalmists’ longing for God as a “great soul-thirst for the living presence of God”. Cf. also J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:928.

[9] cf. Hanson, Isaiah 40-66, 181, where he points out that in contrast to human pride, the point of the invitation in Isa. 55:1-9 is that “it is all free for those who confess the inadequacy of their own solutions and therefore desire God’s thoughts and God’s ways.” cf. also Christopher R. Seitz, “The Book of Isaiah 40-66,” New Interpreters Bible VI:482: “Only repentance and pardon can open eyes and minds to the ways of God.”

Sunday, March 03, 2013

Learning Faith

Gen 15:1-18[1]

Most of us can say that at some point in our lives we have been shaped in a significant way by special people. If we’re fortunate, we can say that there have been many special people who have shaped our lives. They may have been parents or grandparents, teachers or pastors, friends or colleagues. We tend to call them “mentors.” They teach us something important about how to live and work and be better people. I’ve had many mentors in my lifetime, from family to pastors to professors to colleagues to friends. I’ve learned most of what I know about life and love and faith from them. Some of these people we look to as mentors in faith. We call them prophets, sages, and saint. Whether we’re talking about Billy Graham, or Martin Luther King, Jr., or Mother Teresa, they are people who seem to have a kind faith that transcends what the rest of us seem to be able to attain.

That’s why we look to them as mentors and role models. We call them saints because we recognize that they seem to have a higher level of faith in their interactions with God. It’s tempting to put them “on a pedestal” to separate them from the rest of us. That can be just a convenient way to let ourselves off the hook so that we don’t have to try to rise to a higher level. But a better approach would be to respect their faith in a way that challenges us to grow in our own faith. We recognize them as special people so that we may follow their example in an attempt to attain at least a small degree of their faith.

I think Abraham and Sarah were people like that. At an age when most people should be enjoying their twilight years in the safe and comfortable surroundings of home and family, they set out on what must have seemed like an improbable journey. They left everything behind because God called them to go to a place yet to be determined! And they did so based on a promise--that God would bless them and would make of them a great nation (Gen. 12:1-3). That must have seemed a strange promise, given the fact that they were childless and both of them were in their seventies! And yet, despite all the odds, Abraham and Sarah had a kind of faith that enabled them to look past all that.

Over the years, God continued to interact with Abraham and Sarah, repeating and confirming the promise to bless them. In our lesson for today, it would seem that Abraham has been doing some thinking about the promise. In fact, in response to God’s reaffirmation of the promise of blessing, Abraham responds with a strange kind of faith: he asks a fairly direct question that might seem to contradict the whole notion that he had any faith! God appears to Abraham in a vision and says, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great” (Gen. 15:1). In reply, Abraham asks what God could possibly give him since he and Sarah were still childless. As the Good News Version puts it, ““Sovereign Lord, what good will your reward do me, since I have no children? (Genesis 15:2, TEV).[2]

That may seem like a strange way to express faith. In fact, in many traditions, questioning God is considered to be the opposite of faith. And yet it is through his questioning that Abraham rises to a higher level of faith. Because of his question, God reinforces the promise using a means of “signing a contract” that was common in that day. That’s what the ritual involving the animal carcasses is about. In essence, if you wanted to make a contract with someone, you would use this ritual as a way of saying, “May the same thing happen to me if I break my promise.”[3] And I think Abraham walked away with a faith that was stronger for having questioned.

It seems to me that one way to learn faith is to pursue our questions. I think that ignoring them or suppressing them actually deprives us of the opportunity to grow. It’s understandable that we may not want to face our questions about God head on. Some of them can be frightening. Especially the ones that deal with the mystery of human suffering. It can be incredibly difficult to face the question of why bad things happen to good people--especially when you’re the one bad things are happening to![4] But like Abraham, when we face our questions, or perhaps even better, when we voice our questions to God, we give ourselves at least the chance of growing in our faith. It provides an opportunity for us to deepen our trust in God’s promise based on the “awareness that God really is God.”[5] It creates an opening for us to affirm with the Psalmist that “I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living” (Ps. 27:13).[6]

As we examine our faith during this year’s season of Lent, I think it’s important for us to realize that at least one way of developing the heart of trust and the eyes of faith is to give full voice to our questions about God. We may never get an answer to all our questions, but when we allow our questions to come out into the open, we open our hearts to experience the awareness that God really is God, and that we can entrust our lives into God’s loving care.[7] It seems to me that’s how people who have the kind of special faith Abraham and Sarah had develop that special kind of faith. It’s a way for the “rest of us” to learn faith. It’s a way for us to imitate the faith of the saints who have gone before us (cf. Phil. 3:17), and so learn a higher and deeper faith ourselves.

[2] Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, 141: “Clearly, the faith to which Abraham is called is not a peaceful, pious acceptance. It is a hard-fought and deeply argued conviction.” Cf. also C. Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 219

[3] Cf. Gerhard Von Rad, Genesis, 181.

[4] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 133: “Trust is active and real precisely when one is aware of one’s vulnerability, of one’s ultimate helplessness before the threats of life.”

[5] Brueggemann, Genesis, 143. He defines faith as “a certitude that is based not on human reason but on a primal awareness that God is God.” With reference to Abraham, he continues, “The same God who gives the promise is the one who makes it believable” through “the new awareness that God really is God.” Cf. also Terence E. Fretheim, “The Book of Genesis,” New Interpreters Bible I:445, where he says that Abraham’s response to God’s reassurance is that he “trusts in the one to whom his faith clings.”

[6] Cf H.-J. Kraus, Psalms 1-59, 337, where he says that the psalmist trusts God despite the afflictions he faces because he “has anchored his life entirely in Yahweh.”

[7] Cf. J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” 787, where he says that for the Psalmist anxiety is not a failure of never, but a “failure of trust.” He says, “Left to depend on ourselves instead of on God, we fail to experience joy (v. 6) and life in all its fullness (v. 13).”

Monday, February 18, 2013

My God In Whom I Trust

Ps 91; Lk. 4:1-13[1]

Trust is a complicated thing. It takes a great deal of work to earn it. It can be priceless, and once earned, it is something to cherish. But it can also be incredibly fragile. After working years to build trust with someone, just one word or deed can shatter it. And once broken, trust is not easily renewed. Sometimes it’s impossible to rebuild broken trust. Trust can be extremely complicated. And yet we speak of trusting God as a part of our faith in ways that seem to suggest that trust is not complicated at all, but rather very easy. I’m not sure we’re giving enough respect to the importance of trust in our relationship with God when we do that.

In a relationship, you build trust by getting to know another person. You spend time together, you do favors for each other, give gifts, share life stories, and little by little you begin to trust the other person. The more you take the risk to open yourself to that person and your vulnerability is met with a positive response, the more you trust. But how exactly does one do that with a God whom Scripture calls the “immortal, invisible, God only wise” (1 Tim. 1:17). And we add in the hymn, “In light inaccessible hid from our eyes.”[2] How do you build a relationship of trust with a God you can neither see, nor hear, nor touch?

There are some for whom it seems like the easiest thing in the world. They will say that you do it just like you build any relationship--in this case by spending time reading Scripture and praying. If we believe Scripture is God’s word to us and that praying is talking to God, then that makes sense. And it works wonderfully for some people. But for some of us, Scripture seems incredibly difficult to understand, and our prayers seem to go no further heavenward than the ceiling above us. What do we do then?

How do we reach a place where we can say, like the Psalmist says in our lesson for today, “My God, in whom I trust”? Some of us may find that too much of a stretch. Even the language of the Psalm seems to promise too much: If we make God our refuge, “no evil shall befall you” (Ps. 91:10). What are we to make of this, especially in light of the fact that faithful believers throughout the ages have always suffered evil? This points to a potential danger in the sweeping promises of the psalm.[3] Even the tempter uses one of the promises of this very Psalm against Jesus in the wilderness! (Lk. 4:10-11, citing Ps. 91:11-12). But I think it’s important to recognize that the Psalmist doesn’t promise that nothing bad will happen to us. Notice that later the Psalmist assumes that the faithful will experience “trouble” in life (Ps. 91:15). Rather than promising to exempt us from the bad things that can happen to good people, the Psalmist promises that there is nothing bad that can happen to us that God cannot ultimately turn into something good.[4]

But the question remains, how do we learn to trust a God whom we can neither see nor hear nor touch? I think it takes the courage to risk--to stake our lives on our belief in God. It takes the kind of courage Jesus displayed in the wilderness. His response to the tempter reveals that he was willing to place his fate in God’s hands, come what may.[5] It takes the same courage Abraham had when he decided to trust God’s promise of a child and set out from his homeland to a place yet to be determined. Did all the heroes of faith who took the risk of trusting God do so blindly? I don’t think so. I think this is one of the ways Scripture can help us the most. Not with proof-texts that can be twisted the way the tempter twisted the Psalm lesson for today. Rather, the Scriptures tell us stories of the way in which God was faithful to those who trusted him time and time again. It tells us stories of people just like us who didn’t have some kind of storybook life but experienced the trials and challenges and risks we all do in life. And because they had experienced God’s faithfulness in the past, they continued to trust. Their experiences demonstrate an important lesson: We can only learn by experience that God brings surprising good out of even the worst experiences of life. We can only develop the heart of trust and the eyes of faith to see God’s love and grace and mercy in our lives when we look back in hindsight.[6]

During this season of Lent, I think it is a good time to look back and to try to develop those eyes of faith. It think it’s a good time to examine our trust in God. By that I don’t mean whether we believe in the existence of a supreme being. I mean it’s a good time to ask ourselves whether we trust God--whether we really trust God the way the Psalmist did, the way Jesus did.[7] It takes courage to trust God. It’s a risk. But as St Paul reminds us, “no one who believes in him will be put to shame” (Rom. 10:11). When we muster up the courage to take the risk of staking our lives on God and God alone, then we learn what it means to trust God enough to say, come what may, “My God in whom I trust.”

[2] Walter Chalmers Smith, “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise,” in The Presbyterian Hymnal, 263.

[3] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 297: “The Psalm itself poses a danger. Because its assurance of security is so comprehensive and confident, it is especially subject to the misuse that is a possibility for all religious claims, that of turning faith into superstition.”

[4] Cf. “The Study Catechism,” 1998, question 22. Cf. also J. Clinton McCann, “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:1048, where he says, “We should not use Psalm 91 as a magical guarantee against danger, threat, or difficulty. Rather, this psalm is a reminder to us that nothing ‘will be able to separate us from the love of God’ (Rom. 8:39 NRSV).” Cf. also H.-J. Kraus, A Continental Commentary: Psalms 60–150, 225. Cf. further Marvin Tate, Psalms 51-100, 458: “The last words in the psalm are not spoken to God but are spoken by God to us” (citingBrueggemann, The Message of the Psalms, 157).

[5]Cf. Mays, Psalms, 298. He says that the temptation posed to Jesus “was to take the promised protection of God into the control of his own will and act. Cf. also R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke” New Interpreters Bible IX:100, where he observes that in his temptation experience Jesus fulfills “the command that was at the heart of Judaism,” the command to love God with all one’s being. Cf. further F. Bovon, Luke 1: A commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1–9:50, 145.

[6] Cf. Tate, Psalms 51-100, 459: “We are challenged to ground our endeavors in trust in Yahweh, a trust which will not fail and which leads us along a way where we will see more and more of the saving work of God until finally our knowledge will be complete.”

[7] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 298: “Real trust does not seek to test God or prove his faithfulness.”

The Waking Dreamer