Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
(June 24, 2012)
Many times in our
lives we face the unknown, the uncertainty of the future or of an outcome we
cannot see: a diagnosis of disease, perhaps, or an impending operation; the
loss of a job or the tragic loss of a loved one. During moments like these we
are told to hold onto our faith in God: that God is with us, and that God will
be our solid rock to stand on. These are good sentiments, of course, and are usually said to us by friends and loved ones with the best of intentions. And yet
it is during these times that we, like Job, have difficulty finding comfort in
our faith. Instead what we experience is doubt and uncertainty. Perhaps we even
become angry with God, questioning, “Why?”
It is times like
these, when I find myself struggling with the human condition, particularly in
a pastoral situation where I am expected to have just the right words to say at
just the right moment, that I take great comfort in something that Richard
Holloway, the former Bishop of Edinburgh (Episcopal Church of Scotland), once
said: “The opposite of faith is not
doubt, it is certainty.”
I realize that this
might seem counterintuitive on first hearing. It’s not typically what one hears
from a pulpit, especially here in prosperous America, where many evangelical
peddlers of popular religion will tell you the very opposite, i.e., that faith
is certainty, and that doubt is the enemy – the very antithesis of faith. There
are many churches on the American landscape that would be happy to tell you exactly
what you should believe about any point of Christian doctrine or on any
pressing social issue. They might even tell you how to vote, and do so with the
utmost certainty that God is on the side of a particular candidate for public
office or on the side of a particular political party. As much as we might
think that we don’t like it when someone else tells us what to believe or how
to vote, the paradox is that these are the very churches in America that are
experiencing booming success.
And still Bishop
Holloway’s statement bears repeating: The
opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty.
Isn’t this what we
learn from today’s lessons from Scripture? That faith is not a system of
ready-made answers or a list of comforting sentiments that we pull out when we
need them? That faith, while not to be confused with doubt and uncertainty,
nonetheless must still exist in tension with doubt and uncertainty else it
would not be faith?
Consider our passage
from Job. You remember Job. He served God his entire life. He was faithful,
stalwart, never failing in any of his duties or obligations to God as a master,
husband, or father. He was greatly blessed by God, with lands, flocks, herds
and sons. His righteousness is so noteworthy that even the angels in heaven
take notice, including the adversary, Satan. As the story unfolds in the Book
of Job, God asks Satan his opinion on Job. Satan answers that Job is pious only
because God has put a “wall around him” to protect his favorite servant.
However, if God were to allow Job to be afflicted, then he would surely curse
God. God then gives Satan permission to test Job’s righteousness by afflicting
him with curses. The story of Job is especially intriguing
in that, while the reader knows the reason for his afflictions, Job himself is
never made privy to “what’s going on behind the scenes.”
Tragedy falls
upon Job. All of Job’s possessions are taken away or destroyed: 500 yoke of
oxen and 500 donkeys are carried off by Sabeans; 7,000 sheep are burned up by “the
fire of God which fell from the sky”; 3,000 camels are stolen by the Chaldeans;
his house is destroyed by a mighty wind, killing off Job’s offspring. At this
point Job shaves his head, tears his clothes, and says, “Naked I came out of my
mother’s womb, and naked shall I return: the Lord has given, and the Lord has
taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” After all this, Job still does
not curse God. Yet even then, his tribulations are
not over. Job is then afflicted with dreadful boils. He is reduced to scraping
his skin with broken pottery. His own wife prompts him to “curse God, and die.”
But Job answers, “Shall we receive good from God and shall not receive evil?”
These are statements of
a man of faith, and YET, if we had only the above statements to go on we might
be tempted to equate faith with certainty. But as we see later on, Job was
anything but certain. He struggled with his faith, he struggled through his
faith. The messiness of doubt and uncertainty were very much a part of his
faith.
Three of his friends
come to console him. After seven days of sitting with him in silence, Job finally breaks his silence by cursing the day he was born. Each of his friends
then take it in turns to convince Job that he must have sinned grievously before
God, else he would not have been cursed. They exhort him to repent and be
restored. But Job knows that he was blameless; he becomes angry with his friends,
he becomes angry with God. He demands that God give him an answer.
When God finally does reveal
himself to Job, he does not provide the answer that Job demands. Instead, God
poses a series of rhetorical questions to Job, (questions that we all must face):
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of
the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements-- surely you
know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone
when the morning stars sang together
and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?”
Essentially God asks, “Who
do you think you are?” Even after God reveals his glory to him, Job is not given
answers, but rather he is left with mystery. He is left to ponder the majesty
of God. His questions remain unanswered and will remain unanswered. But in the “mystery”
he discovers something about himself in relation to God, something that only
faith can reveal: Job experiences his utter dependence upon his Creator.
Again, it bears
repeating: The opposite of faith is not
doubt, it is certainty.
Sometimes there are no
answers, at least ones that we are privy to. And sometimes the questions, or our
struggles with the questions, are more important than any answer that we can
come up with, because, in the human realm, all answers are merely preliminary;
all “truths” merely provisional.
The story in our Gospel passage also confronts
us with a question, one that the disciples are left with to ponder: Who is this
Jesus?
The scene is a
familiar one. Jesus is asleep in the stern of the boat while his disciples,
fearing for their lives, struggle to maintain control of their tiny vessel
during a ferocious storm. As the boat is being tossed by the waves and begins
to take on water, they finally wake Jesus and say to him, “Teacher, do you not
care that we are perishing?” Jesus then rebukes the winds and the waves: “Peace!
Be still!” And a dead calm comes over the sea. “Why are you afraid? Have you still
no faith?” It is at this point that we see the question of faith. The disciples
are filled with awe – confronted with mystery – “Who then is this, that even
the wind and the sea obey him?”
The Church answers
this question quite eloquently in the Creeds. For example, the Nicene Creed confesses
“God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of
one Being with the Father.” But what does any of this really mean? These
statements, as precise, as eloquent, as grounded as they are in the New
Testament witness and in the faith experience of generations of generations
Christians, are merely approximations of what we must ultimately assign to
mystery. If the Christian faith could be reduced to the mere assent to a set of
propositions, however eloquent, then what have we to do with faith? What happens
when those eloquent propositions fail to answer the questions that often
confront us? Why did my child die? Why do I have cancer? Why did I lose my job?
What is the purpose of living?
Our “beliefs” (as
opposed to our faith) are only propositions. They are not the objects of faith. We
are not saved by doctrine or creeds or even the liturgy. Rather they are, at
best, but witnesses to the object of our faith, pointing us to him – to Jesus Christ.
“Who is this Jesus?” That is the ultimate question, which only faith can
discover as it struggles to experience him, as the disciples did on that
fateful day on the boat.
So we are left with these
two questions: “Who am I? Who is Jesus?” These are the questions of faith. They challenge
us to think big, to think beyond ourselves. They also challenge us to examine
our innermost selves, to involve God. “Who am I?” and “Who is Jesus?” Such
questions are life- and faith-changing. Look at Job. Look at the disciples.
They were each and all forever changed, forever clarified, by these questions.