Faith and Prayer and Jesus

Sunday, March 22, I’m preaching a sermon called Gyro-Faith, and it’s introduced by the following little story that will be printed on the front of the bulletin.

A gyroscope is a device used in a guidance system to enable a vehicle to remain on course. Once it is set in a given orientation it resists change and becomes an internal fixed reference point so that a rocket, for example, doesn’t become “confused” by changes that happen around it.

There is a story (could be factual) about a rocket that was built in Britain. The gyroscope in the guidance system was set and tested, and then the rocket was shipped to Australia. Throughout the journey, of course, the gyro retained it’s orientation so that when it arrived in Australia, relative to the world around it, it was pretty much upside down.

Unfortunately none of the technicians noticed the problem. But, when the rocket was launched, they did notice that it rose in the air for about 30 seconds until the guidance system kicked in, executed a perfect turn of approximately 180 degrees, and headed straight for the ground.

Gyroscopes are marvellous things, but they need to be set right. And, every now and then, they need to be reset.

If Jesus was born a real human being we must assume he was essentially like the rest of us, not knowing much of anything when he came into the world. We may believe, as John tells us (John 1), that Jesus is the incarnation of the God who created everything, but Jesus couldn’t have known this, at least at the very beginning. If Jesus came to believe this about himself, he must have discovered it as he went along, the same way we discover who we are. In fact, Luke implies this when he says of him, Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and men. Luke 2:52

If we read the gospels carefully it’s fascinating to watch Jesus’ self understanding develop. For example, at age 12, he is already trying on the idea that God is his Father in some special way (Luke 2:4), and, at age 30, as his work begins, he spends 40 days fasting in the wilderness sorting out what this Messiah business is all about (Luke 4). And then one day Jesus asks his disciples what people have been saying about him. (Matthew 16) They share some of the opinions they’ve heard, and then Jesus asks, “What do you think?”. And Peter – who often puts his foot in his mouth, but not this time – replies, “I think you are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” It’s hard to know exactly what Peter means by this, but it’s clearly an attempt to articulate what he is coming to believe about this teacher he is following.

But it’s Jesus’ reaction that I find most interesting. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven.” In other words, God bless you Simon, because you didn’t get this from the people, you got it from God. And, by the way, I think you’re right about him being my father. This is not just a step in Peter’s understanding of who Jesus is, it’s a step in Jesus’ understanding. It’s a confirmation of what Jesus is beginning to believe about himself, that he is the Messiah, and that he actually does have a unique relationship with God. But Jesus also has some disturbing notions to share.

He begins to teach his disciples that there’s a certain grimness in the prospect of being the Messiah. And when he tells them that he believes he must go to Jerusalem where the religious leaders will eventually get to him and kill him Peter, understandably, tries to deflect him from this course. And he receives a chilling rebuke. Jesus calls him Satan, and orders him out of the way.

Here we have the faith of Jesus in action, for Jesus was a man of faith. He sets his course by prayer and fasting, and by pondering the evidence, including the opinions of others. And then, by faith, he stays the course.

And so we see that faith is neither blind nor uninformed, just constant and single-minded. And it’s not just a Jesus thing, a religious thing, or even a uniquely human thing; it’s an essential quality of all life. It was by faith that the Great Wall of China was built, and the Berlin Wall torn down. It is by faith that a violinist lands on a precise note, and an astronaut on the moon. A salmon swims upstream by faith, because it is by faith that anything swims upstream.

So, faith is a good thing, right? No, it’s just the thing that keeps us on a given course. It can draw a moth to a mate or a flame, a whale to it’s breeding grounds or a beach, a person to their life’s calling or an abusive partner, a nation to a noble destiny or an ignominious demise.

Faith is a gyroscope that must be set to a good course, but the course must be chosen carefully by prayer and pondering, and constantly reviewed. And we must continue to pay attention because if the course changes and our gyro stays the same we’re off course. And so, even as late as the night before he died, we find Jesus, by faith, in a garden, deep in prayer. (Matthew 26:36-46)

What kind of God is this?

These advertisements, sponsored by Richard Dawkins and a Humanist and an Atheist organization, have begun to appear on buses in Canadian cities. They first showed up in Toronto a few months ago, and slowly they’ve been working their way down the food chain. They’re appearing in Calgary and Edmonton now, and there’s really no telling how low they will go. I find them very interesting, and I’m happy to see our Humanist and Atheist friends returning to the God discussion after several years of relative silence. “You’ve been missed, at least by some of us. And we’re glad to see you’ve brought Professor Dawkins along... Oh, he brought you? Well, however it happened, glad you’re back.”

The first of several things I’ve found interesting about all this is the nastiness these ads have stirred up among many who call themselves Christians. I would remind everyone of Jesus’ teaching that you judge a tree by its fruit. Seems to me real Christians would be a little slower to anger having seen, in the crucifixion, what pissed off religious types are capable of. If you’re going to be nasty, fine, but please don’t confuse the issue by pretending to be following Jesus.

When Jesus met someone like the woman at the well (John 4), who was of a different faith, he entered into conversation. When he came upon someone like Zacchaeus (Luke 19), who was confused in his faith, he invited himself over for lunch. And when approached by someone like the Roman centurion (Matthew 8 and Luke 7), who perhaps had no faith at all, he offered healing. The only ones who made him angry were the angry religious folks like the Pharisees who fought with anyone who disagreed with them.

The second thing I find interesting is that this is the first time I’ve ever seen an ad that’s literally for nothing. Where are the “PROBABLY NO SANTA CLAUS!” Christmas ads, or the “BIG FEET BUT PROBABLY NO BIGFOOT!” shoe store ads, or the “NO LITTLE GREEN MEN!” ads for Saint Patrick’s Day? People who don’t believe in things usually just let it go at that. What is this need to advertise?

The third thing I find interesting may well be the answer to the second thing; the apparent assumption that people who think there might be a God are worried about it. How would you respond to someone who said, “When I realized that my father was probably dead I could finally stop worrying and enjoy my life.”? I know what my response would be. “What the hell kind of father did you have!?” And I suspect, if they described their father to me, I would understand why his probable demise was such a relief.

I’ve known of fathers like that, but I never had one. And those whose experience of fatherhood is that bad, don’t need rejection from us who have been more fortunate. Not all fathers are like my father. I’m sure there are some you’re better off without. And I suppose that goes for Gods too. I’ve never had a God I wanted to be rid of, but I’ve heard about them. And I suspect that most of the people who long to be rid of God are talking about the sort of God I’d want to be rid of too.

The fourth thing I find interesting is this benign view of probability. “Just point at anything and pull the trigger. It’s probably not loaded.” “Just say anything that pops into your head. The mic’s probably not on.” “You’re probably not too drunk to drive. Enjoy the trip home.”

If I believed about God what Dr. Dawkins and these Atheists and Humanists seem believe, I don’t think I’d be able to really stop worrying till I was certain he was out of the way. The God I believe in, however, loves us, including Dr. Dawkins and the Atheists and Humanists, and wants life in abundance for everyone. When I get wondering if it’s possible that he doesn’t really exist, that’s when it feel like I’m worrying. A little prayer on these occasions, usually helps.

But, one last thing. There are people in the world, notorious people like Clifford Olson , Idi Amin , Bernardo and Homolka, who have every reason to worry that the kind of God I believe in really exists. Most people, of course, are not like this, but still there are more of these folks than we might like to believe, and they have more to worry about than they might like to imagine. The only word of comfort I have for them is that, by the grace of God, they can be changed. But, barring that, I would suggest they take no comfort in God’s non-existence until they know for sure.

Do I love my country? Of course I do. But why?

As I said at the end of my last posting, I’m not expecting everyone, or even anyone, to agree with me about any of this. Even when I read over what I’ve written, I think some of it sounds like a major stretch, and much too alarmist for my taste.

Occasionally I consider giving up this silly personal protest, but then I get thinking about the incredible damage that nationalism does, what Gordon Lightfoot called “The patriotic fever, and the cold steel that kills”. I see the astonishing things that good people can be led to do to others, seemingly without thinking about it, and I wonder how they got there. And then I wonder if saying things together about themselves and their country that they would never thoughtfully say, might have prepared them to do things together for themselves and their country that they would never thoughtfully do. And then this sinister little voice inside suggests that, perhaps, that’s what this anthem singing is really all about. And I’m right back where I started, standing with my mouth shut.

But, all this being said, I do believe that love of country, like love of family and community, is a good thing. And I believe that this love, like all love, needs to be expressed. But it needs to be articulated carefully, thoughtfully.

When my children were small we had a little ritual they enjoyed. I would say “I love you”, and then I would ask, “Do I love you because you’re beautiful?”, and they would answer, “Noooooooooooo!”. “Do I love you because you’re smart?” “Noooooooooooo!" “Do I love you because you’re good?” “Noooooooooooo!" Then I might add a few current things like because you made your bed, or won a prize. And to each the stock answer was, “Noooooooooooo!” “So, why do I love you?”, I would eventually ask. And they would answer, “You love me because I’m me”.

This little game may seem a silly thing, but it’s actually one of the best things we ever did together. It reminded us that we love each other simply because I am their daddy and they are my kids. And so, regardless what they might become: beautiful or ugly, wise or foolish, good or bad, or what they might achieve or fail to achieve, this one thing will be forever true. As long as I am their daddy and they are my kids I will love them.

In 1918 a young Jewish immigrant to America, Israel Isidore Baline, wrote the simplest little song to express his love of country; unashamedly sentimental, and unapologetically a prayer. He was already a published song writer with a couple of hits to his credit, and one super-hit, Alexanders’ Ragtime Band. But this song he put away, and it didn’t see the light of day for 20 years.

As I say, it is a simple song, particularly for a song of this kind. But, far more than that, it is humble, a quality very rarely found in national hymns. There are no “ramparts” or “bombs bursting in air”. There is no “sending victorious”, not even one “glorious”, no “standing on guard”. His original begins with a spoken introduction reflecting the historical context of 1938, the year it was released, and the song says everything anyone need ever say in a national hymn.

While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,
Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free,
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.

God bless America, land that I love
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with a light from above
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam

God bless America, my home sweet home.
God bless America, my home sweet home. – Irving Berlin

I am grateful for my country, and committed to it. And I pray for its protection and guidance. But why? Because it's a great country, a large country, a rich country, a good country? Because we see it rise strong and true and glorious? Because someone has convinced me it's the land of the free and the home of the brave? No. I am committed to it, and pray for it, because I love it. And I love it because it’s my home; just because it’s my home. And as long as it's the land of my family and loved ones, and thus my home, I will continue to do so. Any more than that is less.