The faith to let go
Commentary
Object:
Two of my children are still rather young, and so they remain for me live-in examples of childlike faith. They are a great blessing to me as their relationship with me continually reminds me of the nature of my relationship to my heavenly Father.
One of the lovely features of my little girls is what the hymn writer might have called "simple trust." Because I have cared and provided for them every day of their young lives, because they have depended upon me for virtually everything, and because I have never significantly failed them, their instinct is to trust me. They trust what I say, and they trust what I do.
They are not without fears, of course. They may, at times, be afraid of the dark, or a storm, or a certain unfamiliar setting. Yet they are young enough still that my presence or my promise is sufficient to relieve their fears.
I think of an occasion recently when my youngest girl wanted to try her hand at the monkey bars on a playground near our home. The monkey bars were higher than she was able to reach by herself, and so I had to lift her up to the first rung. She tried diligently, clinging to one bar while swinging to the next, and she did make some progress. Eventually, of course, her strength gave out, and before she had reached the other side, she needed to give up and let go. Because of the height of the monkey bars, however, she was afraid of the drop, and so she urgently called to me, asking me to help her. Once she felt my arms around her little body, then she let go of the bars, knowing that she wouldn't fall or get hurt.
My children's example of simple trust is a sweet challenge to me. How much more have I been cared and provided for by my heavenly Father? How much more completely am I dependent upon him for everything? And how much wiser and stronger is he than my little girls' poor father is? Given all of that, shouldn't I be characterized by just such a simple trust -- such a childlike faith?
As we explore this week's selected passages, we will be invited to consider the definition of faith, as well as a few real-life examples of faith. We will see children of God who were so certain of their Father's strong arms and care that they had the faith to let go. And we will hear the challenge for us to do the same.
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
It is sometimes a frustration to a newcomer to Bible study to discover that the Old Testament is not arranged chronologically. While the story is more-or-less continuous from Genesis through 2 Kings, beyond that it can become something of a quagmire to the beginner. That is especially the case when the reader arrives at the prophetic books.
In the case of Isaiah, happily, the prophet places himself very precisely on the time line for us. He identifies his ministry with the reigns of four consecutive kings of Judah -- Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah -- and we can turn back to the history books and read about their eras (2 Kings 15-20).
King Uzziah was an institution, reigning in Jerusalem for 52 years. An entire generation grew up never knowing a time when Uzziah was not the king. His son, Jotham, and grandson, Ahaz, succeeded him, but their tenures were considerably shorter than Uzziah's (sixteen years each). Hezekiah completes the quartet with a reign of 29 years. Uzziah, Jotham, and Hezekiah are all recognized as good men, though the nation itself persisted in sinfulness and idolatry.
The salutation in verse 10 -- "your rulers of Sodom" and "you people of Gomorrah" -- is deliberately provocative. Those twin cities of sin had been wiped off the face of the earth by God's cosmic judgment in the days of Abraham, over a thousand years earlier. Certainly their reputation for wickedness had only grown with the passage of time, and still today their very names are synonymous with sin. For the prophet to address his message to his contemporaries in those terms, therefore, was both an accusation of historic wickedness against the present generation and a dreadfully grim forecast for it.
As though the name-calling was not enough, then comes the real kick in the gut. In verses 11-15, the Lord utters an astonishing rejection of the people's worship. This is a truly shocking message, for his lament is not that the people were neglecting the elements of worship, nor in this case that their worship was idolatrous. Rather, God's complaint seems to be the incongruity between their worship and the rest of their lives.
We certainly recognize that this theme is woven throughout scripture (cf., Isaiah 55:1-7; Amos 5:21-24; Matthew 23:23; James 1:26-27), yet the implications remain mind-boggling to us. Translated into the vernacular of our churches, this is God saying, in effect: "I've had enough of your Sunday morning services. I'm tired of hearing your hymns and your praise songs. I won't listen any more to your prayers. Your communion and baptism celebrations are a burden to me. And I hate your Christmas Eves." It is a harsh message, and the Lord takes the gloves off to deliver it.
Of course, if we can get past the unsettling -- even insulting -- quality of it, we see the logic. No child can enjoy trinket gifts from an abusive parent. No wife cherishes the flowers that come from an unfaithful husband. Likewise, the Lord cannot delight in the gestures of worship when they are empty gestures. The worship is sure to seem out-of-tune to him on Sunday morning if the people are singing a markedly different song on Monday through Saturday.
As always, the Lord's will is not to destroy but to redeem. Ultimately, therefore, he does not so much want them to stop worshiping as to start living properly: "learn to do good; seek justice; rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow." He gives them hope in that effort: promising both the thorough cleansing of their sins and the lovely blessings that will come with obedience.
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
The Bible features 1,189 chapters, and I believe that all of them are "inspired by God and useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness" (2 Timothy 3:16). Still, over time, some chapters have emerged as particularly special for the people of God. Psalm 23, John 3, and Romans 8 come immediately to mind. Also, a number of chapters are so memorable and distinctive that they have earned nicknames, including the "Lost and Found Chapter" (Luke 15), the "Love Chapter" (1 Corinthians 13), and the chapter from which this passage is taken: the "Faith Chapter."
Here the anonymous author of Hebrews offers us the quintessential definition of faith. He calls it "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."
The Greek word for "assurance" here, hupostasis, is quite unappealing at first blush. Aristotle defined it as "that which settles at the bottom, sediment." Over time, however, that completely physical image grew into a more conceptual one. That which settles at the bottom was transformed into meaning something foundational. By New Testament times, it had come to mean a "ground of hope."
Meanwhile, the Greek for "conviction," elegchos, appears nowhere else in the New Testament. In the classical era, it was a legal term meaning, "a cross-examining" or "testing." The elegchos was a means of proving or disproving facts in a courtroom setting. Thucydides used the term to refer to "the evidence on which (he) was convicted."
So, while hope might seem to be an airy, ethereal thing, faith makes it into a solid. And while certain things of God may lack eyewitness testimony, faith becomes their certain proof. Such is the bold definition of faith offered by the writer of Hebrews.
Sometimes, of course, a mere definition is not enough. In order to fully understand a concept, we need examples. And that is where the rest of Hebrews 11 takes us. Faith is defined by the lives of those people who demonstrated it.
The specific person presented here in our passage as the embodiment of faith is the patriarch Abraham. While many others cited in the chapter are mentioned for one particular "by faith" moment or choice in their lives, Abraham's whole story is characterized "by faith." The writer reports Abraham's obedience in responding to God's call, even though it meant leaving home behind and going to an unknown place. His nomadic sojourn in that place is also remembered as "by faith." Consistent with the earlier definition of faith, we discover that Abraham's real destination was not the visible land of his itinerating, but rather "the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God."
Meanwhile, it was also "by faith" that Abraham and Sarah welcomed their miraculous progeny. Isaac is not mentioned by name here in this context, however, for the author has a broader view in mind than just that first son of God's promise. Instead, he recalls Abraham's many descendants, and he links them with Abraham's own experience: They, too, were faithful in waiting to see and to inherit the fulfillment of God's promises. Just as Abraham's real destination was more than just the land of Canaan where he lived as an alien, so too his descendants "desire(d) a better country." The author is sure that God "has prepared a city for them."
Luke 12:32-40
"Do not be afraid" is a common command in the Bible, and especially frequent in the teachings of Jesus. The accumulated evidence of scripture makes it quite clear that the Lord does not want his people to live in fear. And unlike the typical comfort given by parents -- "There's nothing to be afraid of" -- the Lord repeatedly tells his children not to fear even when there is some genuinely frightening circumstance or reality.
In this particular instance, I envision a parent in a swimming pool, arms stretched upward toward the toddler on the edge, who is afraid to jump. The pool seems big and unknown to the little child, and so to jump into it is a frightening prospect. Yet the parent knows the pool, and he or she guarantees the child's safety.
Likewise here in this instruction from Jesus, he invites his followers to jump into kingdom living with both feet. "Sell your possessions and give alms," he says, as he encourages them to divest themselves of all the worldly preoccupations that are native to them. They're naturally afraid of such radical choices: afraid of being in over their heads. Yet Jesus stands in the water assuring them that they do not need to be afraid.
The phrase "little flock" does not appear anywhere else in Jesus' teachings, but it is a poignant expression within this context. On the one hand, it has a certain tenderness to it, which fits the reassuring language and tone of Jesus' encouragement. On the other hand, it tends to emphasize the vulnerability of the disciples. No creature in the animal kingdom is quite as ill-equipped to defend itself against predators as a sheep, and so there is something particularly fragile about the image of a "little flock." So, again, the reassuring message from Jesus is all the more necessary and important.
Even while inviting his disciples to take daring -- seemingly risky -- steps of faith, Jesus' logic is that there is no risk, at all. Rather, the reasoning here is reminiscent of the parables of the buried treasure (Matthew 13:44) and the priceless pearl (13:45-46). The logic is this: If what you gain is more valuable than what you give up, then the transaction is a no-brainer. So it was for the pearl merchant. So, too, for those who will recognize that impervious purses and "unfailing," invulnerable, and eternal treasures are worth far more than all our worldly assets.
In this teaching, Jesus extends the logic one step further: "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." We'd like to think that the river flows in the other direction. We'd like to think that our treasure follows our heart. But not according to Jesus. According to his paradigm, our affections and allegiances are more effect than cause when it comes to the stewardship of our treasures.
Finally, Jesus turns his disciples' attention to the familiar theme of his sudden and surprising return. Now after so many years, cynical Christians may have lost some sense of expectation. The first generation of believers may have believed that he would return any day. Now, 2,000 years later, however, most Christians do not genuinely expect his imminent return. That fact, of course, makes this teaching all the more relevant to us, and makes us all the more vulnerable to being surprised and, consequently, unprepared.
Application
We have considered above two illustrations of childlike faith. In the first instance, I recalled my daughter hanging from high monkey bars and how she relaxed and let go once she knew that I was holding her. In the second instance, we envisioned a small child nervously perched on the edge of a pool, and the parent in the water reaching up to catch the reluctant jumper.
In both images, the child is encouraged to leave their present place, but that letting go is a frightening prospect. And so the child must act in faith -- complete trust in the love and the protection, the presence and the promise, of the parent.
This is the faith of Abraham. God called upon him to do some considerable letting go: leaving behind his home and the land of his ancestors in order to jump into a great unknown. And "by faith Abraham obeyed…and he set out, not knowing where he was going." His confidence had to be in God, you see, for there was no known destination on which to hang his hopes.
Even that land of Canaan, however, which we think of as the promised land, was not the final destination. Abraham was a mere alien and sojourner there, and so the author of Hebrews has a larger letting go in view. Both Abraham and his descendants, you see, are invited not to cling too tightly to this world, where they are "strangers and foreigners." Instead, "they are seeking a homeland" and "they desire a better country that is a heavenly one."
All of which brings us to the disciples in the gospel lection. They, too, are urged to let go of this world and its stuff. They, too, are challenged to live with a sense of eternal destination.
You and I are the latest descendants of Abraham (see below). We are the next generation of Jesus' disciples. So we are heirs both to their calling and to their example. We, too, are encouraged by our Father to let go of this life and this world. And we need not fear the fall, for we fall into his arms.
Alternative Application
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16. "Of Things not Seen." You and I live in a culture that has an idiomatic association of seeing with believing.
We begin, of course, by being physical creatures who naturally rely on our five senses. Consequently, I suppose that there will always be within us a Thomas that says, "Unless I see … I will not believe" (John 20:25).
Beyond that native reflex, however, the tremendous progress of our scientific age has perhaps made us even more creaturely in our epistemology. While science takes our knowledge deeper within certain material spheres, our consequent prejudice in favor of science has perhaps narrowed the scope of our sources of knowledge. While earlier generations -- now dismissed as primitive -- were unapologetically open to spiritual realities beyond their senses, the scientific age resolves to be above such superstitions.
And so the "seeing is believing" tendency, which is already so native to human beings, is even more firmly entrenched in modern man.
Yet a voice from the ancient text of scripture hounds us, challenging the twenty-first-century believer to an uncomfortable -- perhaps even unnatural -- faith: "the conviction of things unseen."
How shall we set aside what we see -- and, therefore, what we know to be true and real -- in order to believe something that we do not see? It seems like a fool's choice. Yet the Bible is rich with examples of people who are fools in the other direction: People who believed what they saw instead of believing in God.
Joshua and Caleb saw the same reality as the other ten spies, yet their faith saw something more (Numbers 13:1-14:9). Likewise, while all his peers saw only Goliath, David's faith was in touch with something greater (1 Samuel 17:1-51). Consider also the examples of Elisha (2 Kings 6:13-17), Shadrach and his friends (Daniel 3:8-30), and the thief on the cross (Luke 23:40-43).
The writer of Hebrews, meanwhile, holds up Abraham as a conspicuous example of such faith. The reality that he saw before him was his own aged body and his apparently barren wife. Yet he believed -- and eventually received -- God's promise of a son. In order to believe that promise from God, however, he had to look beyond the visible reality that was in front of him.
Looking beyond may be the central issue of faith. Even as he roamed the hills and valleys of ancient Canaan, we are told that he "looked forward" to another place. His descendants, likewise, lived with a sense of destination that was above and beyond this present world. In this regard, we do well to remember that you and I are counted among his descendants (Romans 4:16-17; Galatians 3:6-9).
Horatio Spafford longed for the day "when my faith shall be sight." In the meantime, though, you and I are called to live with a "conviction of things not seen."
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 50:1-8, 22-23
One of the mistakes that people of faith keep making over the eons is the error of assuming that God is like us. Rather than being created in God's image, we too often create God in our own image and set about worshiping a God that really isn't God, but a reflection of ourselves. It's an understandable gaffe. After all, God is so huge and awesome; so immense that the reality of God is not possible for us to comprehend. So, we work with what we know. That is, we give God human attributes. That's why sacrifices to God included the best goats and lambs. We like our lambs and goats, so the assumption is that this is what God would like as well.
In this psalm we see that God doesn't really want animal sacrifices. Indeed, the angry comment comes, "Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?" It's a rhetorical question, of course. Certainly God doesn't consume this stuff.
What God wants, it turns out, is songs of thanksgiving, not the specter of slaughtered animals.
Reading this psalm takes us back to a different time. We no longer sacrifice animals. Indeed, the notion of sacrifice of any kind is far from us. Yet this psalm offers a challenge to us today as we contemplate the notion of sacrifices to God. The question comes now as it did to the people of Israel. We want to honor God, of course. But how shall we do that? How shall we make sacrifice to God today in the twenty-first century?
First, perhaps we should settle the question of sacrifice itself. In a narcissistic culture like ours, sacrifice is a tough sell. What? Me? Give up something for someone else? The very idea rings hollow in the contemporary ear. And yet, it is to sacrifice we are called.
Thankfully, Paul comes to the rescue as he calls us to become "living sacrifices," offering our lives to God. Yet the question doesn't merely go away with a neat quote from Romans. What do our lives look like if we live them sacrificially for God? If we truly committed to this kind of living, what would need to change? What old habits or ways of doing things would we abandon? What new disciplines would we embrace?
Answering these questions and then following through in living out those answers could well be a major step in the revival of the church of Jesus Christ.
One of the lovely features of my little girls is what the hymn writer might have called "simple trust." Because I have cared and provided for them every day of their young lives, because they have depended upon me for virtually everything, and because I have never significantly failed them, their instinct is to trust me. They trust what I say, and they trust what I do.
They are not without fears, of course. They may, at times, be afraid of the dark, or a storm, or a certain unfamiliar setting. Yet they are young enough still that my presence or my promise is sufficient to relieve their fears.
I think of an occasion recently when my youngest girl wanted to try her hand at the monkey bars on a playground near our home. The monkey bars were higher than she was able to reach by herself, and so I had to lift her up to the first rung. She tried diligently, clinging to one bar while swinging to the next, and she did make some progress. Eventually, of course, her strength gave out, and before she had reached the other side, she needed to give up and let go. Because of the height of the monkey bars, however, she was afraid of the drop, and so she urgently called to me, asking me to help her. Once she felt my arms around her little body, then she let go of the bars, knowing that she wouldn't fall or get hurt.
My children's example of simple trust is a sweet challenge to me. How much more have I been cared and provided for by my heavenly Father? How much more completely am I dependent upon him for everything? And how much wiser and stronger is he than my little girls' poor father is? Given all of that, shouldn't I be characterized by just such a simple trust -- such a childlike faith?
As we explore this week's selected passages, we will be invited to consider the definition of faith, as well as a few real-life examples of faith. We will see children of God who were so certain of their Father's strong arms and care that they had the faith to let go. And we will hear the challenge for us to do the same.
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
It is sometimes a frustration to a newcomer to Bible study to discover that the Old Testament is not arranged chronologically. While the story is more-or-less continuous from Genesis through 2 Kings, beyond that it can become something of a quagmire to the beginner. That is especially the case when the reader arrives at the prophetic books.
In the case of Isaiah, happily, the prophet places himself very precisely on the time line for us. He identifies his ministry with the reigns of four consecutive kings of Judah -- Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah -- and we can turn back to the history books and read about their eras (2 Kings 15-20).
King Uzziah was an institution, reigning in Jerusalem for 52 years. An entire generation grew up never knowing a time when Uzziah was not the king. His son, Jotham, and grandson, Ahaz, succeeded him, but their tenures were considerably shorter than Uzziah's (sixteen years each). Hezekiah completes the quartet with a reign of 29 years. Uzziah, Jotham, and Hezekiah are all recognized as good men, though the nation itself persisted in sinfulness and idolatry.
The salutation in verse 10 -- "your rulers of Sodom" and "you people of Gomorrah" -- is deliberately provocative. Those twin cities of sin had been wiped off the face of the earth by God's cosmic judgment in the days of Abraham, over a thousand years earlier. Certainly their reputation for wickedness had only grown with the passage of time, and still today their very names are synonymous with sin. For the prophet to address his message to his contemporaries in those terms, therefore, was both an accusation of historic wickedness against the present generation and a dreadfully grim forecast for it.
As though the name-calling was not enough, then comes the real kick in the gut. In verses 11-15, the Lord utters an astonishing rejection of the people's worship. This is a truly shocking message, for his lament is not that the people were neglecting the elements of worship, nor in this case that their worship was idolatrous. Rather, God's complaint seems to be the incongruity between their worship and the rest of their lives.
We certainly recognize that this theme is woven throughout scripture (cf., Isaiah 55:1-7; Amos 5:21-24; Matthew 23:23; James 1:26-27), yet the implications remain mind-boggling to us. Translated into the vernacular of our churches, this is God saying, in effect: "I've had enough of your Sunday morning services. I'm tired of hearing your hymns and your praise songs. I won't listen any more to your prayers. Your communion and baptism celebrations are a burden to me. And I hate your Christmas Eves." It is a harsh message, and the Lord takes the gloves off to deliver it.
Of course, if we can get past the unsettling -- even insulting -- quality of it, we see the logic. No child can enjoy trinket gifts from an abusive parent. No wife cherishes the flowers that come from an unfaithful husband. Likewise, the Lord cannot delight in the gestures of worship when they are empty gestures. The worship is sure to seem out-of-tune to him on Sunday morning if the people are singing a markedly different song on Monday through Saturday.
As always, the Lord's will is not to destroy but to redeem. Ultimately, therefore, he does not so much want them to stop worshiping as to start living properly: "learn to do good; seek justice; rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow." He gives them hope in that effort: promising both the thorough cleansing of their sins and the lovely blessings that will come with obedience.
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
The Bible features 1,189 chapters, and I believe that all of them are "inspired by God and useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness" (2 Timothy 3:16). Still, over time, some chapters have emerged as particularly special for the people of God. Psalm 23, John 3, and Romans 8 come immediately to mind. Also, a number of chapters are so memorable and distinctive that they have earned nicknames, including the "Lost and Found Chapter" (Luke 15), the "Love Chapter" (1 Corinthians 13), and the chapter from which this passage is taken: the "Faith Chapter."
Here the anonymous author of Hebrews offers us the quintessential definition of faith. He calls it "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."
The Greek word for "assurance" here, hupostasis, is quite unappealing at first blush. Aristotle defined it as "that which settles at the bottom, sediment." Over time, however, that completely physical image grew into a more conceptual one. That which settles at the bottom was transformed into meaning something foundational. By New Testament times, it had come to mean a "ground of hope."
Meanwhile, the Greek for "conviction," elegchos, appears nowhere else in the New Testament. In the classical era, it was a legal term meaning, "a cross-examining" or "testing." The elegchos was a means of proving or disproving facts in a courtroom setting. Thucydides used the term to refer to "the evidence on which (he) was convicted."
So, while hope might seem to be an airy, ethereal thing, faith makes it into a solid. And while certain things of God may lack eyewitness testimony, faith becomes their certain proof. Such is the bold definition of faith offered by the writer of Hebrews.
Sometimes, of course, a mere definition is not enough. In order to fully understand a concept, we need examples. And that is where the rest of Hebrews 11 takes us. Faith is defined by the lives of those people who demonstrated it.
The specific person presented here in our passage as the embodiment of faith is the patriarch Abraham. While many others cited in the chapter are mentioned for one particular "by faith" moment or choice in their lives, Abraham's whole story is characterized "by faith." The writer reports Abraham's obedience in responding to God's call, even though it meant leaving home behind and going to an unknown place. His nomadic sojourn in that place is also remembered as "by faith." Consistent with the earlier definition of faith, we discover that Abraham's real destination was not the visible land of his itinerating, but rather "the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God."
Meanwhile, it was also "by faith" that Abraham and Sarah welcomed their miraculous progeny. Isaac is not mentioned by name here in this context, however, for the author has a broader view in mind than just that first son of God's promise. Instead, he recalls Abraham's many descendants, and he links them with Abraham's own experience: They, too, were faithful in waiting to see and to inherit the fulfillment of God's promises. Just as Abraham's real destination was more than just the land of Canaan where he lived as an alien, so too his descendants "desire(d) a better country." The author is sure that God "has prepared a city for them."
Luke 12:32-40
"Do not be afraid" is a common command in the Bible, and especially frequent in the teachings of Jesus. The accumulated evidence of scripture makes it quite clear that the Lord does not want his people to live in fear. And unlike the typical comfort given by parents -- "There's nothing to be afraid of" -- the Lord repeatedly tells his children not to fear even when there is some genuinely frightening circumstance or reality.
In this particular instance, I envision a parent in a swimming pool, arms stretched upward toward the toddler on the edge, who is afraid to jump. The pool seems big and unknown to the little child, and so to jump into it is a frightening prospect. Yet the parent knows the pool, and he or she guarantees the child's safety.
Likewise here in this instruction from Jesus, he invites his followers to jump into kingdom living with both feet. "Sell your possessions and give alms," he says, as he encourages them to divest themselves of all the worldly preoccupations that are native to them. They're naturally afraid of such radical choices: afraid of being in over their heads. Yet Jesus stands in the water assuring them that they do not need to be afraid.
The phrase "little flock" does not appear anywhere else in Jesus' teachings, but it is a poignant expression within this context. On the one hand, it has a certain tenderness to it, which fits the reassuring language and tone of Jesus' encouragement. On the other hand, it tends to emphasize the vulnerability of the disciples. No creature in the animal kingdom is quite as ill-equipped to defend itself against predators as a sheep, and so there is something particularly fragile about the image of a "little flock." So, again, the reassuring message from Jesus is all the more necessary and important.
Even while inviting his disciples to take daring -- seemingly risky -- steps of faith, Jesus' logic is that there is no risk, at all. Rather, the reasoning here is reminiscent of the parables of the buried treasure (Matthew 13:44) and the priceless pearl (13:45-46). The logic is this: If what you gain is more valuable than what you give up, then the transaction is a no-brainer. So it was for the pearl merchant. So, too, for those who will recognize that impervious purses and "unfailing," invulnerable, and eternal treasures are worth far more than all our worldly assets.
In this teaching, Jesus extends the logic one step further: "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." We'd like to think that the river flows in the other direction. We'd like to think that our treasure follows our heart. But not according to Jesus. According to his paradigm, our affections and allegiances are more effect than cause when it comes to the stewardship of our treasures.
Finally, Jesus turns his disciples' attention to the familiar theme of his sudden and surprising return. Now after so many years, cynical Christians may have lost some sense of expectation. The first generation of believers may have believed that he would return any day. Now, 2,000 years later, however, most Christians do not genuinely expect his imminent return. That fact, of course, makes this teaching all the more relevant to us, and makes us all the more vulnerable to being surprised and, consequently, unprepared.
Application
We have considered above two illustrations of childlike faith. In the first instance, I recalled my daughter hanging from high monkey bars and how she relaxed and let go once she knew that I was holding her. In the second instance, we envisioned a small child nervously perched on the edge of a pool, and the parent in the water reaching up to catch the reluctant jumper.
In both images, the child is encouraged to leave their present place, but that letting go is a frightening prospect. And so the child must act in faith -- complete trust in the love and the protection, the presence and the promise, of the parent.
This is the faith of Abraham. God called upon him to do some considerable letting go: leaving behind his home and the land of his ancestors in order to jump into a great unknown. And "by faith Abraham obeyed…and he set out, not knowing where he was going." His confidence had to be in God, you see, for there was no known destination on which to hang his hopes.
Even that land of Canaan, however, which we think of as the promised land, was not the final destination. Abraham was a mere alien and sojourner there, and so the author of Hebrews has a larger letting go in view. Both Abraham and his descendants, you see, are invited not to cling too tightly to this world, where they are "strangers and foreigners." Instead, "they are seeking a homeland" and "they desire a better country that is a heavenly one."
All of which brings us to the disciples in the gospel lection. They, too, are urged to let go of this world and its stuff. They, too, are challenged to live with a sense of eternal destination.
You and I are the latest descendants of Abraham (see below). We are the next generation of Jesus' disciples. So we are heirs both to their calling and to their example. We, too, are encouraged by our Father to let go of this life and this world. And we need not fear the fall, for we fall into his arms.
Alternative Application
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16. "Of Things not Seen." You and I live in a culture that has an idiomatic association of seeing with believing.
We begin, of course, by being physical creatures who naturally rely on our five senses. Consequently, I suppose that there will always be within us a Thomas that says, "Unless I see … I will not believe" (John 20:25).
Beyond that native reflex, however, the tremendous progress of our scientific age has perhaps made us even more creaturely in our epistemology. While science takes our knowledge deeper within certain material spheres, our consequent prejudice in favor of science has perhaps narrowed the scope of our sources of knowledge. While earlier generations -- now dismissed as primitive -- were unapologetically open to spiritual realities beyond their senses, the scientific age resolves to be above such superstitions.
And so the "seeing is believing" tendency, which is already so native to human beings, is even more firmly entrenched in modern man.
Yet a voice from the ancient text of scripture hounds us, challenging the twenty-first-century believer to an uncomfortable -- perhaps even unnatural -- faith: "the conviction of things unseen."
How shall we set aside what we see -- and, therefore, what we know to be true and real -- in order to believe something that we do not see? It seems like a fool's choice. Yet the Bible is rich with examples of people who are fools in the other direction: People who believed what they saw instead of believing in God.
Joshua and Caleb saw the same reality as the other ten spies, yet their faith saw something more (Numbers 13:1-14:9). Likewise, while all his peers saw only Goliath, David's faith was in touch with something greater (1 Samuel 17:1-51). Consider also the examples of Elisha (2 Kings 6:13-17), Shadrach and his friends (Daniel 3:8-30), and the thief on the cross (Luke 23:40-43).
The writer of Hebrews, meanwhile, holds up Abraham as a conspicuous example of such faith. The reality that he saw before him was his own aged body and his apparently barren wife. Yet he believed -- and eventually received -- God's promise of a son. In order to believe that promise from God, however, he had to look beyond the visible reality that was in front of him.
Looking beyond may be the central issue of faith. Even as he roamed the hills and valleys of ancient Canaan, we are told that he "looked forward" to another place. His descendants, likewise, lived with a sense of destination that was above and beyond this present world. In this regard, we do well to remember that you and I are counted among his descendants (Romans 4:16-17; Galatians 3:6-9).
Horatio Spafford longed for the day "when my faith shall be sight." In the meantime, though, you and I are called to live with a "conviction of things not seen."
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 50:1-8, 22-23
One of the mistakes that people of faith keep making over the eons is the error of assuming that God is like us. Rather than being created in God's image, we too often create God in our own image and set about worshiping a God that really isn't God, but a reflection of ourselves. It's an understandable gaffe. After all, God is so huge and awesome; so immense that the reality of God is not possible for us to comprehend. So, we work with what we know. That is, we give God human attributes. That's why sacrifices to God included the best goats and lambs. We like our lambs and goats, so the assumption is that this is what God would like as well.
In this psalm we see that God doesn't really want animal sacrifices. Indeed, the angry comment comes, "Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?" It's a rhetorical question, of course. Certainly God doesn't consume this stuff.
What God wants, it turns out, is songs of thanksgiving, not the specter of slaughtered animals.
Reading this psalm takes us back to a different time. We no longer sacrifice animals. Indeed, the notion of sacrifice of any kind is far from us. Yet this psalm offers a challenge to us today as we contemplate the notion of sacrifices to God. The question comes now as it did to the people of Israel. We want to honor God, of course. But how shall we do that? How shall we make sacrifice to God today in the twenty-first century?
First, perhaps we should settle the question of sacrifice itself. In a narcissistic culture like ours, sacrifice is a tough sell. What? Me? Give up something for someone else? The very idea rings hollow in the contemporary ear. And yet, it is to sacrifice we are called.
Thankfully, Paul comes to the rescue as he calls us to become "living sacrifices," offering our lives to God. Yet the question doesn't merely go away with a neat quote from Romans. What do our lives look like if we live them sacrificially for God? If we truly committed to this kind of living, what would need to change? What old habits or ways of doing things would we abandon? What new disciplines would we embrace?
Answering these questions and then following through in living out those answers could well be a major step in the revival of the church of Jesus Christ.
