The Mayberry Preacher

CONVERSATIONS WITH GOD, PT. 3 - TAKING A LEAP OF FAITH

Hebrews 11: 1-3, 7,8,29, 30-32, 12: 1-2
Steve Lindsley
July 12, 2009

Last week I talked about one of my favorite movies.  I've got another one for you today - it's called Contact.  It is part science fiction, part spiritual.  Jodie Foster’s character is Dr. Ellie Arroway, a tireless scientist who's been working for the better part of her life to prove that life outside our planet exists.  Palmer Johnson, played by Matthew McConahey, is a religious guru of sorts who advises the White House on “the spiritual pulse of the nation.” 

The two become romantic interests in the movie, and it's interesting to see how their relationship evolves – as well as their discussions about faith.  You see, Dr. Arroway is convinced that God doesn’t exist; that God is something humanity has concocted for itself.  She engages Palmer in many conversations about faith, to which he replies that he cannot imagine a world where God does not exist.  Dr. Arroway is the classic skeptic throughout most of the movie.

And yet, in the end the tables are turned and we find Dr Arroway in the role of the person of faith – I won't spoil it for you, but she is faced with the dilemma of dealing with an amazing experience she had not based on proof, but this time on faith. And the person who seemed in the beginning to have the least capacity for faith now winds up possessing the greatest faith of all.

It's not a religious movie per se, but it does pose a foundational issue that is critical for all of us to address, wherever we are on our journey of faith: why do we believe what we believe?  Why do we hold the truth of Jesus Christ near and dear to us – and not some other faith?  Why do we live a life that reflects that belief?  Why do we come to church on Sundays, live good lives, care for one another?  Why do we do these things?  I have a hunch that, for many of us, a decision some time ago to become a Christian and live a Christian life has now become a way of life, perhaps even to the point where we do the things we do almost out of habit. 

In one sense that’s a good thing.  But I wonder if there's a potential downside to setting our lives on automatic pilot, “going through the motions” of the Christian life, and losing touch of that exhilaration and wonder and awe of what faith can be about.  Like Dr. Arroway and the cloud of witnesses we read in scripture this morning, we all have been faced with the task of believing in God and taking that first leap of faith.  And we’ve been taking leaps of faith ever since.

I think we all can look back at a time in our life when this took place.  Mine was in a 7th grade Sunday school class.  There was a young couple subbing for our teachers that spring morning, and they knew they were in trouble when the five of us walked in – Tommy, Wes, Bill, Jeff, and myself.  We had sort of earned a less-than-flattering reputation of trying to accomplish two things – disrupt Sunday school AND impress the girls at the same time.  I don’t know how successful we were with the second part, but trust me, we were usually pretty good with the first.

On this particular morning, our teachers (bless their hearts!) followed their lesson plans, read us a few Bible verses, and asked us questions - one of which was, Why did the disciples follow Jesus?  To which Bill, the one among us with the quickest with, blurted out, FAITH.  It was obviously a canned response, and it got a few laughs from the girls.  Score!  When they asked the next question, Why did Jesus die on the cross, you can bet what our answer was: FAITH.  A look of subtle fear appeared on the faces of our  teachers.  They kept going.  Why did Paul work to spread the Gospel?  FAITH.  Question after question they asked, and our answer never wavered: FAITH.  FAITH.  FAITH.  With one  word we had successfully disrupted Sunday school!

And it wasn’t until later that night, as I lay in bed in that time between wake and sleep, that it hit me.  FAITH.  FAITH!  Faith really was the answer to all those questions!  Why did the disciples follow Jesus?  They followed him because of faith.  Why did Jesus die on the cross?  He committed to a path that led to his death because of what he believed in – because of his FAITH.  Why did Paul risk life and limb to spread the Gospel around the world?  Because of FAITH!   And it was then I realized - for the first time, really - that faith is more than just a word.  It's an expression that unpacks the innumerable points along one's spiritual journey. 

Everything, if you think about it, boils down to faith.   Every day of our lives, we do things and think things and believe in things not because we understand it, or because we know for sure what's going to happen.  Every day you and I have to be “bungee jumpers” of some variety: strapping on that harness, putting our trust in something other than ourselves, and jumping into the unknown.  And that unknown can be many things: dealing with a family crisis, or struggling with some personal problem, or just making the necessary choices and decisions in the course of an average day. 

The life of faith is full of leaps of faith.  How many times, and in what places in our lives, is God calling us to take those leaps?  That's what this last conversation with God deals with.

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(An individual is working up nerve to make his or her first major jump. To the audience’s perception, the rope is anchored somewhere above the individual, so the rope should hang down from above and be tied to the Jumper’s waist, the slack coiled at his feet.)

Jumper:    (peering nervously over the edge)  Sure this bungee jumping thing is safe?

God:    Of course it is. People down through the ages have already done it.

Jumper:    Yeah, but what kind of shape are they in now?

God:    It all depends on how you jump.

Jumper:    Um. . .what do you mean?

God:    Well, there are several ways you can do this. Some are safer than others. Some are just plain crazy.

Jumper:    Crazy?

God:    Some people jump without being tied to anything solid. They insist on tying their own cord – they don’t have enough faith in me to let me help them –  and, of course, the knot usually comes loose when the jumper puts any stress on it.

Jumper:    That is crazy!

God:    What’s even worse is leaping without being tied to anything at all – which is what some people actually do. They just jump – and on their way down, they look up at me with that “See?-I-can-do-anything” look. Those are the ones I feel most sorry for.

Jumper:    What happens to them?

God:    I’ve never seen one of them come back for a second jump.

Jumper:    (Swallowing hard) Oh. . .

God:    Don’t worry! As long as you jump the right way you’ll be all right. Lots of people jump regularly – every day of their lives, in fact.

Jumper:    Every day?

God:    Sure. Life is full of jumps. Once you do it the right way, it gets more familiar the next time, and then you go higher and take bigger jumps. That’s how you build up your faith. The first time is always the hardest. After that leap, it’s easier because you know it can be done.

Jumper:    Okay......so I can’t tie this thing myself?

God:    Well, not if you want it to be done the right way.

Jumper:    So what do I do? There’s an awful lot of fog down there, and I can’t see the bottom. (looking up, squinting) And it’s hard to see what I’m tied to.

God:    That’s the adventure of being a person of faith.

Jumper:    A what?

God:    A person of faith…your type calls it “a follower of Christ.” That’s who you are, right?

Jumper:    Well. . .yes.

God:    There’s the adventure! Since you can’t see the bottom....

Jumper:    (Panicky) There is a bottom down there, right?

God:    Yes, I promise. But it’s not the same for everybody. What’s under that fog is different for everyone.

Jumper:    Well, what is it for me?

God:    You need to find that out for yourself - with my help, of course.

Jumper:    (giving the cord a couple of tugs) Okay, so what’s the top end of the cord tied to?

God:    Well, it you really want to know, it’s me holding the cord.

Jumper:    You? (looking up, straining to see)  Really? I can’t see you!

God:    I know, it's hard sometimes to see me.  But rest assured, I’m here. If you saw me holding the cord, would that help?

Jumper:    It sure would!

God:    But I’ve told you, over and over, again that I'd always be here holding on to you, no matter what.

Jumper:    Yeah, but. . .

God:    I’ve shared some great stories with you about many successful jumpers – Abraham, for example. Wow, could he jump! And Moses, and Daniel and Esther and Mary and Paul . . .

Jumper:    Yeah, but. . .

God:    So why do you need to see me up here, when you know, in your heart, that I’m up here holding the top of your cord?

Jumper:    (tentatively) I guess I really don’t need to see you, as long as I feel sure you’re there. . .

God:    I’m here!  All you have to do is ask me to hold on to you when you jump, and I’ll do it. I promise.

Jumper:    What about this end of the cord? (looking down at his waist)  Will you make sure it’s tied good and tight on me?

God:    Well, yes, but that’s something we have to do together.  It’s not just about me or just about you. It’s about both of us taking this jump together in faith. You know what faith is, don’t you?

Jumper:    I think I’m learning about it real quick!  But, gosh.....does faith have to be this hard?

God:    Sometimes, yes. You see, I created you humans so your faith would grow a little bit every time you jump.  That way you'd eventually learn to trust me instead of always trying to do things yourself. Like I said, relying too much on yourself will only get you so far – not to mention getting you into     some serious trouble when it comes to living your life and taking jumps.

Jumper:    I know, I know all that.  But I have to tell you, God… I’m SCARED!

God:    Yes, I know. All the great women and men of faith were scared too.

Jumper:    They were?

God:    Sure, that’s expected! Living by faith is tough – believe me, I know. I've walked in your shoes, you know.  I know how it is.  The thing is, it’s okay to be scared. It’s even okay to doubt. But a person of faith is one who allows me to help them make those leaps of faith, in spite of the fears and doubts.  And you grow every time you do it.

Jumper:    I see...  (looking down, then small chuckle).  You know, it's funny.  Don't know exactly why, but the expression “Let God and Let God” seems like a very appropriate one right now....

God:    Well, to be honest, that's about as good a definition of “faith” as you'll find. Believing in me does not depending on always understanding everything.  At some point, everyone is faced with taking that “leap of faith.”  Like you, right now.  So just let go, and let me catch you.

Jumper:    And you will catch me…right?

God:    I will always catch you!  I love you.

Jumper:    (pause)  Thanks God. I think I’m ready to jump - with you, of course.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

Adapted from a skit “Bungee Jumping With God” by Youth Specialties.

GRIEF IS A WINDING ROAD

Psalm 13: 1-6; Hebrews 11:1
Steve Lindsley
May 24, 2009

It would probably not surprise you all that much to learn that I am a bit of a music fan.  What may come as a surprise is that I am not a huge fan of contemporary Christian music.  I know, it sounds kind of weird coming from a minister, doesn't it?  I'm not denying that there's some decent stuff out there; I'm just saying it's awfully hard to find amongst all the not-so-good stuff, which – in my humble opinion – there's a lot of.  And it probably has something to do with the fact that, a number of years ago, I actually tried to crack into the Christian music scene myself, only to discover to my chagrin that it is an industry like any other, driven by marketability and what will sell.

But before I make you think I'm a complete cynic, I should let you know that there are a handful of Christian artists I admire and respect; one of whom is a guy named Steven Curtis Chapman.  I don't own any of his CDs and couldn't name a half-dozen of his songs.  But he has always struck me as an authentic person, very genuine in what he does; writing music not because it's popular or “fits in, but because it speaks to the heart.  The fact that his career has stretched into its third decade says something in a business where entire careers – Christian and secular – may last no longer than one “hit.”

So it was with a heavy heart when I learned last year about the tragic death of his youngest child, a five-year old adopted girl named Maria Sue.   The Chapmans, after having three children of their own, chose to adopt three infant girls from China over the course of a few years.  Last May 21st, Maria Sue died when her 17-year old brother accidentally ran over her while pulling the family car out of the driveway.  Steven and his wife, Mary Beth, rushed their youngest to the hospital, but all efforts to bring her back to life were in vain.

Sorry to begin the sermon on such an ominous note.  But you know, that's so often how things like this happen, don't they?  We are cruising along in our lives, all caught up in our relationship and our routines and just living each day as it comes to us.  And 99.9% of the time it comes nice and slow, or maybe fast but still good.  Everything's even-keel.    And then comes that point-one percent when we are blindsided without warning and our life comes crashing down on us.  That pretty much describes what happened to the Chapman family – and all the success he had as a musician, all the routines that made up their lives as a large but close-knit family, all of it stopped dead in its tracks as they were forced to confront the unthinkable.

How do you respond to something like this?  How do you get your arms around your feelings and emotions, much less figure out how to express them?  That's the same kind of thing the writer of the 13th psalm must've been wrestling with in our scripture reading today.  My love for the psalms has grown tremendously over the years.  I've always thought that if the rest of the Bible is in some form or fashion God speaking to us, then the Psalms are kind of our voice back to God.  And one of the truly amazing things about the Psalms is that this voice covers the gamut of the emotional spectrum.  There are psalms of joy and happiness and praise, and then there are psalms of sadness and grief and even anger.  It's a true sign of God's grace that the book we call “holy” includes all of our voices, unfiltered and raw, lifted up to God down through time.

Now we're not quite sure what all's going on in the 13th psalm.  It may have been written by King David, but it may not have been– the phrase “a psalm of David” that appears in most translations doesn't necessarily imply authorship.  It could just mean “about David” or “in the spirit of David.”  Whoever wrote it, though, there's no denying that they're in a very bad place.  There's been some tremendous tragedy, some unspoken loss; and it has knocked them for a loop and turned their whole world upside down.  And they mince no words about how they feel about it.  Earlier Bill read the psalm from the New Revised Standard Version – listen now to a more contemporary rendering from The Message:

Long enough, God -
You've ignored me long enough.
I've looked at the back of your head long enough.
I've carried this ton of trouble,
lived with a stomach full of pain
Long enough.

This is not the voice of someone who's just having a “bad day” - who got cut off in traffic heading home from work, who missed the obvious question on the English final, who's tired of the neighbor's dog coming over into their yard all the time.  This is the voice of someone who has had the entire foundation of their life ripped out from underneath them; a free-fall of the spirit with no bottom in sight.  It's like that dream you have where you keep falling and falling and falling, except you never get to wake up.

It is the voice of each one of us at some point in our lives.  And when it's bad – when it's really that bad – we beg to God to get us out.  We tell God it's been long enough.  And we do what someone suggested at our Bob Chilton Bible study a few weeks ago – we hold the mess in our hands, we extend it up to God and say, “You – fix this!”  And above everything else, we ask those questions.  Oh man, lots of them.  Questions that rarely have any answers, although we desperately want them to. 

Questions have always been a tricky part of faith, haven't they; because somewhere along the line we've gotten this idea in our heads that asking questions in the difficult times of our life is somehow a sign of weakness of faith. Years ago, when I was serving as a hospital chaplain, I met a lady who had a whole mess of questions on her heart.  Her husband had suffered a massive stroke and the doctors were not optimistic.  She kept vigil by his bedside, as any loving wife would; and prayed earnestly for God to bring her husband back.  I visited her at least once a day and could sense her bewilderment and frustration growing each time I saw her.  Why doesn’t God listen to me, she would ask.  Why doesn’t he answer my prayers?  These questions were eating her up inside from day one, but she didn't ask them at first – because she was afraid it would show me and God and everyone else that her faith was not strong enough.  When she did eventually ask them, she not only wrestled with their deep unanswerable nature, but she wrestled with the guilt that came from asking them in the first place. 

In the Good Morning America interview with Steven Curtis Chapman and his wife after their daughter's death, they talked about this very thing, and whether the questions they were facing were are a sign of a lack of faith.  Let's not forget that this is an individual who proclaims his faith to hundreds of thousands through music.  He's on a bit of a pedestal.  Chapman's response made a lot of sense to me.  He said, “we are a family of great faith, that much is true.  But we are also a family with a lot of questions right now, questions we know we'll probably never find answers for.  But that's what faith is – it's living with the questions.”1

I like that: living with the questions.  You hear what he's saying to us?  He's saying, first of all, that despite what we may be led to believe, the questions we ask in difficult times are not a sign of some lack of faith.  In fact, it's the exact opposite.  Questions are a sign of tremendous faith.  Why, pray tell, would Chapman and his family ask questions of someone they didn't believe in?  Why would they have conversations with God about their sorrow, their grief, even their anger – if they didn't trust God was there in the first place? 

The psalmist cries out to God, How long, Lord, how long?  What kind of faith did it take for him to put pen to paper, so to speak, and bring those words to life?  What kind of faith does it take for you and me to go to God in the not-so-great times of our life and lay our heart before God, lay our brokenness out there and tell God, “You fix this”?  Our questions do not offend or change God one iota.  If our questions have the power to change anyone, it is us. 

There's something else Chapman said in his response to the reporter – you may have missed it.  I almost did.  Remember what he said?  “We are a family with many questions.” We.  You see that?  We!  When life dishes out its worst and we're trying to make heads and tails of things, we don't face it by ourselves.  It is never an “I.”  It is always a “we” (and that's “w-e” not “w-i-i!”)  I know there's this wonderful hymn in our hymnbook: You must walk this lonesome valley / you have to walk it by yourself / Nobody else can walk it for you / You have to walk it by yourself.  I love the hymn but I'm not so crazy about the theology.  Because the story of our faith is one that tells us we never journey through the valley of shadows alone – even though we may feel like that's what's happening, even though we may feel forgotten by the one we pray to.  It is never an “I.”  It is always a “we.”  And that “we” is comprised of our families and friends, our brothers and sisters in Christ, and our God – whose presence, as a wise friend once told me, never depends on whether we always feel it or not. 

And that is why faith and questions, faith and uncertainty go hand in hand.  Because, as the writer of the New Testament letter Hebrews reminds us, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  In other words, faith is not dependent on who we are or how much we know.  Faith is not dependent on how long we've lived or what church we go to.  Faith is not dependent on how good we may be at demonstrating the strength of our faith.  Faith is ultimately defined by our relationship to the community of faith and how we respond to the grace of God that exists there. 

As your pastor, I am most thankful for the times you allow me to walk with you on your “sacred ground,” whether it is times of great joy (like a birth or wedding) or times of great sorrow.  I've had the honor of holding your hands in the hospital room or hugging you at the graveside.  And I don't do this because it's my job, in the same way you don't do it for each other because of some obligation.  We lift each other up in difficult times because that is what people of faith do together.  It's that “we” coming through, you know? The “we” works, as poet Robert Frost once described, to keep the griefs from turning into grievances.2  The “we” reminds us that questions are the deepest expression of faith, especially when they're addressed within the community of faith.

In this Good Morning America interview, Chapman's daughter Emily – whose wedding was separated from her sister's death by only a few months, came up with this little gem:

Grief is this winding road.
And sometimes you turn the corner and you've got a straightaway
and it's beautiful.
And then you can turn a corner at the end of that straightaway and it's thunderstorms and mountains and it can be hard, even within the same day.
But we're all in this together, and somehow we'll make it through,
no matter what each day will bring.
We're missing Maria Sue, but we still have each other.

We do have each other to travel with down this winding road of life, asking and listening to questions with no answers, celebrating and struggling together with our collective faith.  And for that, especially for that, thanks be to God.  AMEN.