Preacher Man

I preached again. Not much more to say beyond that... Enjoy!

The lectionary can be found (Track 1): 

http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Pentecost/CProp4_RCL.html

It can sometimes be a challenge when one sits down to write a sermon to determine just what exactly the through line is between each text; what is the shared thought in the reading, epistle, and gospel passage? Not so much this week. Within moments of having looked over our texts for today the thematic element of “faith” struck me as obvious and notable. But what would come next was where I then stumbled. Because what could I say in the face of Elijah’s unwavering strength? What did I have to share when confronted with the Centurion?

I must be honest, I really struggle with today’s passages because of what they imply; because of the the comparison I inevitably draw between myself and these men of great faith. And the comparison isn’t the easiest to accept. Because I don’t have faith that strong. I don’t believe with enough fervor to enable long-distance healing or light drenched wood on fire. I don’t have the confidence that God will listen or the assurance that God will act. I don’t experience faith as a test that can be beaten with just enough belief or the right kind of belief. I find these stories to be far from inspiring.

That being said, I draw inspiration from at least one aspect of our gospel passage in a way that is entirely impossible for me with 1Kings. Elijah’s test is a wonderful story filled with excitement and one can easily imagine it being told around fires and in halls as generations of Israelites took heart in the cunning of their prophet and the power of their God. But more than two thousand years removed from Ancient Israel and with a message that has grown beyond the possessive relationship between Yahweh and his people, I struggle to find relevance in this battle of divine power. I struggle to see myself in Elijah. 

With the Centurion I can feel somewhat connected; I can imagine his motivations and I can certainly sympathize with his hesitancy. Because who wouldn’t struggle with the idea of Jesus entering their house? Even if you didn’t know--as the Centurion presumably did not--exactly who Jesus was, his holiness and prophetic power would likely have seemed too much to play host to. We often do not feel worthy and much like the Centurion we keep ourselves at a remove from challenging business of the meeting God. And yet despite his fear and humility, despite his status as an occupier on Jewish soil, despite his complicity in the sort of systems Jesus seems intent on challenging--the sick man in question is a slave after all--the Centurion believes. He believes in Jesus’ power and compassion. He believes that the promised Kingdom of God has no limits.

So once again I am stuck, on the outside looking in, as humbled and challenged by the Centurion’s faith as I am by Elijah’s spiritual strength. Because I don’t have faith that strong. And when making that comparison, when feeling weak and small in the context of these two incredible acts of God, I cannot help but take one step further and note that these miraculous acts happened because of the strength of their conviction; there is seemingly no grace. Both men did not doubt the ability or willingness of God to intercede and their faith was rewarded. As the Epistle of James says “the prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective”. If one prays the right way or is fervent in prayer and firm in belief then God will come to your aid. But the flip side of this coin can quickly lead to blaming and shaming in the context of prayers left unanswered. Because God did not listen, because my greatest hopes and desires were not answered, then I must be deficient somehow, my faith must surely be lacking.

I cannot abide that logic and I cannot imagine that God only pays attention when requests are put forward by the right people in the right way; I cannot believe that God only responds when spoken to. But if I question or doubt the truth of these stories am I not as bad as the much maligned scribes and Pharisees? I readily admit that my faith has limits, that I could not have stood idly by assuming that Christ’s healing would work. The same humility that prevented the Centurion from ever dealing with Jesus beyond an intermediary would probably have stopped me from even asking the question. The basic audacity that assumes God would care, that Christ would intervene, seems like an incredible step for the Centurion or any person to make.

And yet that is what makes faith, in general, so amazing. Because why would God care? The mover and builder of all that is and has been, a deity of scale and power so vast that it silences the most confident believer--this God, is a God who listens, a God who saves. How absurd. 

Though I do not buy into the idea that there is a wrong or right way to do faith, that God is only as powerful as the person asking the question, I see myself in Elijah and the Centurion and in every human who has fought, struggled, and battled for their belief, for their faith in a loving and intimately involved God. Whether or not I could bring down fire from heaven and set a sodden pile of lumber ablaze matters less than the basic impulse to pray. Faith has less to do with the results than with the desire to ask in the first place; to believe that God is invested in our lives is the most impressive action of faith. 

And so, regardless of how I feel about Elijah and my comparable deficiencies, I will still pray. I will still ask for intercession. I will still hope for the Christ’s healing of the world. I will doubt. I will waver. And much of the time, my prayers will not be answered (to my benefit and to my ill). But I will still lift up my innermost parts to God, assured that God cares. It’s a small act of faith, a weak, humble and much maligned act of faith; it is a faith that can back track and miss the point; a faith that can assume the worst and doubt the very purpose of the exercise; it is a faith that will never move a mountain, a faith that is surely smaller than a grain of sand. But it is still faith. And it is mine. And I am still asking, strengthened by the belief that God is listening.