"FAITH IS . . ."
Isa. 1:1, 10-20; Ps. 50: 1-8, 22-23; Heb. 11: 1-3, 8-16; Luke 12: 32-40
Dr. George R. Sinclair, Jr.
Pastor
August 12, 2007
“Well,” she said, “just say a little prayer and if it’s meant to be it will all work out.”
How many times have you heard that? I heard it last week. “Say a little prayer and if it’s meant to be it will all work out.”
Is that what faith is—saying a little prayer and hoping for the best? I received that spiritual nugget last week from an employment agent who was advising me about hiring a new bookkeeper. Clearly, the agent believed in a higher power or at least in some sense of destiny. “If it’s meant to be,” she said, “it will all work out.”
I wanted to say to the agent, “Well, if it’s meant to be, then why do I need to pray?” which of course raises some other questions. If everything’s determined, if things are either meant to be or not meant to be, then faith is really a matter of aligning ourselves with destiny which means that prayer is at best a form of self-talk: “Relax George. You’ve done all you can do. It’s up to the employment gods now.” Is that the meaning of faith—aligning ourselves with destiny which of course fits the caveat often heard at the end of prayer—“if it be thy will.”
“If it be thy will . . .” I’ve prayed that before—“if it be thy will.” You hear that around hospitals. Whenever I hear that prayer I wonder, “Why wouldn’t God heal this person? If I had the power I sure would. And I’m no saint. God’s a million times more compassionate than me. Why wouldn’t God heal poor old Harry here? Surely God doesn’t want Harry to suffer? Surely it’s God’s will to make him better, so why pray ‘if it be thy will?’ as if it might not be God’s will?”
But then again maybe all things are not “meant to be.” Maybe some outcomes are not determined in advance. Maybe God’s will can be changed or influenced. And if it can, then perhaps faith also shapes our destiny. What is faith? And what does it mean to live by faith?
The writer of Hebrews answers that question by pointing to a Faith Hall of Fame. “This is what it means to have faith,” the writer says. “Look at the lives of these saints.” The writer lists eleven. I want to focus on just one—Father Abraham: “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. . . .” Faith means in the first place “setting out.” To live with faith means first of all to live on the road. We are travelers.
Someone has suggested that if you want to know how Abraham felt you should pack up a U-Haul and just start driving—“Where to Lord?”
To live with faith is to live on the road. Hebrews might have said that faith is believing certain things. The writer might have pointed to Father Abraham and said, “Abraham believed that God is good.” Or he might have written, “Abraham believed that God is infinite and eternal, loving and just.” But he doesn’t do that. Instead Hebrews shows us a man on the road, a man who “sets out” when he hears a call.
The motto of our church is “Called to Serve.” We don’t say that just because it’s trendy or catchy. We believe we’ve been “called.” We are not self-appointed. We’re not just a group of like-minded people who happen to like historic churches and classical music. We believe we’re responding to a voice we have heard—a distant and yet distinct voice which persuades us that we are not our own, that our life, as Al said so beautifully last week, is God’s gift to us to be used to God’s glory.
Having faith puts us in motion because we are responding to a voice we have heard. When you have faith you can’t sit still. Faith puts us on the move. We are bound for a distinct and yet curious destination, one not found on any map. With Abraham, we journey toward a place that can only be received as an “inheritance.”
Of course there are other voices calling us to alternate destinations. There are voices telling us regularly that we’re only as good as our net worth or our productivity. Those voices don’t believe for a minute that life is a gift. They believe it’s a competition. And if it’s a competition, then you can’t reach your destination by giving or by serving. You can only reach your destiny by competing, by being worthy, by having earned your way.
But if Hebrews is right, you can’t reach God’s destiny by competition. You can only reach God’s destiny by inheritance which means we have some very profound choices to make. Are we going to live as givers or takers, servants or those served? Faith is indeed a journey, but one with a very peculiar destination, one that can only be reached by accepting the giftedness of life, which not only means that we live as givers but as people who are content with “not knowing.” Abraham set out “not knowing where he was going.” That’s the second feature of faith. When we live with faith we are content with “not knowing.”
I don’t like surprises. Well, I like good surprises I just don’t like bad ones, so I try to weed them out, which is why I’m a planner. In my experience things don’t just work out by chance—you’ve got to work them out. You’ve got to plan. And to plan you have to know. I’m not very good at “not knowing.” I’m far better at planning, but even with planning you can’t know everything—life’s too complicated, too dense and besides think how boring life would be if you knew everything in advance. Better to plan wisely and leave the results to God. We’re in the faith business. God is in the result business. God doesn’t ask us for results but for response. And at its deepest level, response invites us to trust what we cannot understand. Faith teaches us to be content with “not knowing.” When Abraham set out, he set out “not knowing.”
I’ve got an office filled with books. I’ve got a bunch of books about history, political science, theology, Bible, economics, sociology, psychology, environmental science—all sorts of books. Over time I’ve learned a lot of stuff, but the more I’ve learned the more I’ve realized what there is to learn, which is at once humbling and exciting. I think the same is true about faith. I used to think I had to have an answer for everything. It’s not that answers are unimportant; it’s just that I’m now more content with what I don’t know. And maybe content is not the right word; or maybe it is.
I still don’t know why bad things happen to good people. And I still don’t know how bad people are capable of good things. I don’t fully understand sin and redemption, creation and new creation. I remain perplexed about social justice and how to make the world more like what God expects. I still wonder about the purpose of human history and there are times when I’m not sure everything will really turn out all right, but I’m content not knowing the details. I figure if God knows that’s enough. And I’m trusting God knows.
There are some things we were never meant to understand and we won’t understand them until we get to heaven or until heaven comes on earth. Living with faith permits us to be okay with “not knowing.” And sometimes “not knowing” can be excruciating—“Father, all things are possible with thee,” Jesus prayed. “If it be thy will, remove this cup.” It doesn’t get any tougher than that, but even in that deepest kind of “not knowing” God abides, which brings us to the third characteristic of faith and that is “impermanence.” Hebrews said it this way, “By faith [Abraham] stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise.” Faith means living with impermanence. Abraham only “stayed for a time in the land” and when he did he lived in a “tent.”
Last week we had a very long meeting about property insurance. Like most churches on the Gulf we learned recently that our wind coverage is being dropped. At the end of this month, right when the season is at it worst our insurer is dropping our coverage. We had a very long meeting trying to figure out what to do—pay astronomical premiums with not so great coverage or self-insure?
We all love this beautiful and historic tent. It’s been around for a very long time and we don’t know what we would do without it. How do you replace a National Landmark? It made me think about Father Abraham—here we are worrying about insuring a $6 million building and he lived in a tent. How did Abraham do it? I don’t want to live in a tent and I sure don’t want to preach in one. I like these Corinthian columns—they speak of eternity and power and prestige. They speak of permanence.
I want a faith that is as real as these columns. I want a faith with an unbreakable foundation, one which holds me up when the waves crash over me and I go down to the sea. I know of only one faith like that, a faith grounded in the “assurance of things hoped for,” a faith tested by “the conviction of things not seen.” That faith is faith in Jesus Christ, the image of the invisible God.
This morning the children saw the magic of magnetism—invisible power—invisible but real. Truth is, physicists agree that the “really real” is invisible. The “really real” is not the stuff we see but the stuff we don’t see—the energy behind the matter we see—that invisible world is the “really real.” Faith is hardly different, just different in kind, just different in focus. Faith sees the invisible power of God. For faith, God’s invisible power is the “really real.” And that kind of faith is not “blind.” Faith “sees.” And faith sees because faith is foremost the work of God. We don’t have faith in our faith. Our faith is in Christ who “is the image of the invisible God.” If we want to see the “really real,” if we want to be grounded in the “assurance of things hoped for” we look to Christ. Christ is our assurance that God is real, that we are not deluded, that when all is said and done the End will be just as God says it will be. The End will be Christ.
Jesus was not just a good teacher or a very wise person, a prophet. God was “in” Christ. In Christ, God showed up. And because God showed up we can be content to live in tents. Everything about us says otherwise. We fight tooth and nail to make ourselves secure. We think our problem is insurance. Our real problem is assurance. And if we had enough assurance we wouldn’t be worried about insurance. Thing is, you can’t buy assurance and the good news is you don’t have to—it’s free. It’s God’s greatest gift—you are loved and nothing, nothing in all creation can ever separate you from God’s love. That’s God’s guarantee in Christ. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for.” That is not a pipe dream; it is as real as the energy we cannot see—the love of the invisible God made visible through Jesus Christ.
In Christ, we know exactly where God stands. God stands with the world and for the world. And because God stands with and for the world we can look forward to the “city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” Through Christ, even when we’re “as good as dead,” even when we’re “too old” or too “barren,” even then we can produce many descendants, “as many as the stars of heaven,” who with us will live by faith in Christ Jesus who loved us and gave himself up for the salvation of the world. That is our assurance. That is our destiny. And we find it by faith. Amen.