"Faith?"

Dr. George R. Sinclair, Pastor

Gen. 12:1-9; Ps. 33:1-12; Rom. 4:13-25; Matt. 9:9-13; 18-26

June 8, 2008

             I usually write my sermons on Thursdays.  This week that didn’t happen because I had a funeral on Thursday, but it worked out anyway because rather than writing on faith I spent the day observing faith.  I must admit that I didn’t set out to do this. 

Early in the week, I had spent time with the lectionary.  I went back and forth between Matthew and Romans and finally settled on Romans and Paul’s ode to Abraham who “hoped against hope.” I had determined to write about faith and then I had a funeral to do.  Thursday I didn’t set out to observe faith, but it came to me about three fourths through the day—about the time I panicked about what to write on Friday—that I had been witnessing faith all day long and it should be no problem to simply write about what I had observed.  So, that’s what I want to do.  I want to tell you what I saw about faith on Thursday, June 5, 2008.

Let me start with our Urban Mission campers.  I hope you had a good trip. 

We have two groups here this morning—one from Bentonville, Arkansas and the other from University City, Missouri.  It’s great to have you with us this morning.  And I hope you have a wonderful week, a life-changing experience.  Let me tell you about one of your leaders—the young woman you’ve already met from Columbia Seminary. 

Emily’s a planner.  She’s thought about every detail of every minute that you’re going to be with us.  Long before you arrived she was at work putting a schedule together, contacting the mission sites you will visit, designing the t-shirts you’re wearing, preparing the Bible studies you will do, working out transportation, meals, and generally everything else it takes to herd you through five of the most important days of your life. 

Thursday morning, Emily calls me—something about a bus driver and four kids who canceled and what did I think . . .  Emily’s great with details like that. She’s also great with the big picture, but faith is not all up in the air.  Faith happens down here on the ground, which is not to say that faith is foremost about practicality or planning or managing. But it is to say that faith happens day by day by attending to what God puts before us and by responding to what God would have us to do about what he puts before us.  Faith is what happens on the way to life.  Faith doesn’t happen at the margins.  Of course, faith happens on Sunday mornings, but it is foremost about the rest of the week. About the time Emily and I hung up and just before my funeral, I got a call from a friend out of town.  He’s going through a tough time.  His wife keeps threatening to leave.  It’s the trump card she plays whenever they fight.  Most weeks pass without incident which is part of the problem—they’re just sort of rocking along, an uneasy truce between two deeply broken hearts.  When tempers do flare, things turn nasty. Harsh words are spoken; bitter, wound-opening words. Things are said which only lovers say, razor sharp words, words honed by years of deep knowing, the kind of words that hurt most.  They are words from a life shared. And they cut like a knife. 

My friend’s voice sounded of deep stabbing pain.  What should he do?  Should he stay?  Should he go?  What if he leaves?  What about their children?  What about money?  There’s always money. 

My friend was on the edge.  That’s the second place I saw faith last Thursday—on the edge, on the sharp edge of ambiguity. 

Faith doesn’t remove ambiguity. Faith may help us see, but faith doesn’t remove ambiguity.  My friend is seeking clarity, but right now he’s living with deep ambiguity; he’s living by faith.  He’s hoping against hope because right now there’s not a lot of evidence suggesting how things will turn out. There’s a lot of pain. There’s a lot of uncertainty, but not much evidence. So, he’s hoping against hope. He’s living by faith that God is larger than the uncertainties he faces.  Faith lives with ambiguity.

After my friend called, I headed out the door to the funeral.  Mrs. Vi Kyte was 96 when she died.  You see a lot of faith at funerals—some of it newly found and hastily gathered, some vibrant and familiar, some worn and tired.  There was a little knot of Presbyterian faith at Vi’s funeral.  Vi had not been a member here all that long, but there was a clutch of faithful Presbyterians standing with her till the very end. 

When you’re 96, you outlive most of your friends. Vi was one of eight children and though she never had children of her own she had many nieces and nephews—some of them carried her casket.  One niece sang part of a duet.  She wasn’t sure she could get through it, but she did.  A nephew gave the eulogy.  And of course there was Miss Vi. She had left instructions—Psalm 30 was to be read and placed on her tombstone—“weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”  She also had selected three hymns.  We began with “God our Help in Ages Past” and we ended with “Lead on O King Eternal.”   Vi knew about faith.  She knew the God who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. After the funeral I raced to a meeting of the downtown Rotary.  Rotary meetings begin with prayer.  The prayer, Thursday was a selection from Nelson Mandela who said that our greatest fear was not that we are “inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light,” Mandela said, “not our darkness that frightens us.  We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.”   

Mandela is right. It takes faith to live as light, to live large as God’s child. It takes faith not to hide but to put your light on a stand so that all in the house see. 

Win Hallet the Chamber ED was our speaker Thursday.  He told us that over the next five years Mobile—pending the tanker review this month—will be the fastest growing mid-size city in America.  Our population is expected to increase by over 30%.  Win asked us to worry about the challenges that growth will bring. He asked us to worry so that we grow smartly. 

He talked about our beautiful Delta and preserving it.  He talked about quality of life, transportation—if you think Airport Blvd is crowded now, just wait!  I’m sitting there thinking, “Is our church ready?  Will we respond and grow with Mobile?”

Faith doesn’t let us sit still. Faith doesn’t let us rest contently on the sidelines. God calls into existence things that don’t exist.  That includes new members. That includes people new to faith. 

After Rotary I drove to Pascagoula to meet with a Bank CEO to talk with him about workforce housing and neighborhood revitalization.  I was on a recruiting mission for the non-profit I work with.  The Bank CEO listened to my pitch.  He said he wanted to help.  I told him we got started in a Presbyterian Church Fellowship Hall. He told me he was a Methodist. And I said we were ecumenical.  While he said he personally could not serve on our board he gave me the names of some people he thought could—one was a member of his bank board. 

When we finished talking he walked us through his new bank building, a great building, wonderful meeting spaces, full service commercial kitchen—dinning room for seventy plus, nicely appointed board room—“You can meet here anytime you want,” he said. “Let me know how I can help." Banks are required to do community service, but this was more than that.  This was a Christian, who happened also to be a Bank CEO, who wants to see his community improve not just because it was good for his business but because his faith told him it was right. 

Before leaving Pascagoula we dropped by the city office.  By now it was mid-afternoon and my sermon panic button was flashing.  I’m thinking, “What am I going say about Romans 4?” 

Well, I walk in the city building and just inside the reception area there’s a door open to a clerk’s office.  There must have been thirty crosses on her wall, crosses of every description, all shapes and sizes. And on a table beneath were more crosses and one word, a wooden stand about six by twelve—the word BELIEVE carved in big block letters.  BELIEVE.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the interstate back to Mobile. In front of me is a beat-up conversion van with a handicap license plate. I had noticed the van earlier when the driver rolled down his window to say something to another drive while we were stopped for traffic.  I have no idea what the guy said.  Anyway, a few minutes later when I saw the van again and was passing it, I noticed his tag. You know, how some people have those tag-keepers around their plates—might be for Tiger football or something like that—this one read: “God permits U-Turns.”  And God does. God  gives life to the dead and calls into existence things that don’t exist. U-Turns.

When I get back to Mobile I go by Infirmary Hospital. It’s now 4:30 or so.  I go to see Billy March—a long time member in his late 80’s. He’s had hip replacement the day before but he’s sitting up eating his supper—they serve supper early at the Infirmary—4:30-5:00! 

Anyway, Billy starts talking about the old days—back when GSPC had an evening service.  And Billy’s telling me how many people use to come and how it was like there were two different churches—the morning church and the evening church—but it wasn’t divisive or anything like that. And I ask Billy how long ago that was?  And Billy smiles and shakes his head.  And I guess, “Sixty plus years?”  And he goes; “Now you know why I can’t remember.” 

Some company arrived in his room, so we joined hands to pray.  Billy can’t half hear me ‘cause his hearing aids are out, but he knows how to pray.  “When are you going to rehab?”  I ask leaving.

“Whenever they tell me,” Billy says. 

I go from Billy’s room to Mary McDaniel’s.  Same thing. Mary’s had major surgery the day before and she’s sitting up eating supper.  Amazing folks these Presbyterians are.  Same thing when I start to leave the room.  We hold hands to pray. And Mary holds my hand like nobody’s business—she might be tiny but she’s got grip, that, and tenacity.  She and Dr. Mac and Billy, all ancient, all vibrant with faith.  “God calls into existence the things that do not exist.”

Around 5:30 I pull into my driveway.  It’s been a long day. But my day hasn’t been nearly as long as my neighbor’s across the street.  Charlie’s house caught on fire Monday. His wife and two young children were home at the time.  They all made it out safely, with their computer, a few other things, and their pets, but their house is a wreck. 

Charlie was standing on his front porch working on the blue tarp draped over his house.  The house is pitch dark and has that distinct burnt house smell.  Stuff is strewn everywhere.  The bird bath in the front yard is knocked over.  Charlie looks worn out.  “How’s it going? Is there anything we can do?”

“You know, we’re blessed.  We’ve got good neighbors, good friends. My church has been great.  We’ve got a place to live.  It could have been a lot worse.  Luanne and the kids and our pets all got out.  That’s all that matters anyway.  We’re going to be okay.  We’re going to get through this.  We’re going to make it.”

“God bless you, Charlie.”

“Thank you, George. God bless you too.”

“For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace . . .”

The “it” Paul was talking about was Abraham’s “inheritance.”  And Abraham’s inheritance was no small inheritance.  “The promise” Paul says, was that Abraham “would inherit the world.” 

God makes large promises and they’re all gifts. They rest on grace. And the only way to receive them is by faith.  God is able to do what God promises. Therefore, we are able to have faith.  Amen.