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Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City,
August 8, 2004, The
Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year C
by Adam
Shoemaker, Seminarian
Genesis 15:1-6
Psalm 33
Hebrews 11:1-16
Luke 12:32-40
The Gospel of Luke is known for
its emphasis on the place of the poor in the Kingdom of God. For
Luke, in fact, the poor are depicted as being especially blessed
and especially set apart by God in some unique way. And yet it is
also clear that this special blessing does not come as a result of
being poor – of lacking material goods or possessions, but rather
is due to the fact that Luke seems to feel that those who are poor
very often tend to exemplify a particular posture towards the
world. A posture of openness – a posture that, by necessity,
reaches out beyond oneself and towards God and other people. A
posture of humility that Luke seems to have found lacking by those
who had more wealth or more social standing. It seems, in fact,
that Luke often experienced the wealthy as claiming or holding
onto a very dangerous privilege. A privilege based upon and built
upon individuality. A privilege that allows those with money or
power to choose whether or not they want to reach out to others.
To choose, in fact, to put forth a pretty convincing façade, to
both themselves and others, that they don’t really need any help
from anyone. That there is no one in this world that they need to
depend upon, thank you very much.
And this distinction between
these two very different postures – one of spiritual poverty and
humility on the one hand and of arrogance and individuality on the
other, becomes very important when one tries to get at what
exactly it is we are talking about when we talk about having
faith.
As a result of our beautiful
passage this morning from the Letter to the Hebrews, I have found
myself thinking and praying all week long about faith. What is
it? How is it obtained? How is it spread? And how is it
sustained given all of the changes and chances and challenges of
this life? And my initial thought, particularly after reflecting
upon many of the men and women I have gotten to know who pass
through our parish soup kitchen week in and week out, is that I
think faith is too often dumbed down and over-simplified in
Christian circles. That a text like we are presented with in this
morning’s epistles is too often used to admonish us to maintain
our faith blindly, unceasingly, and without question no matter
what life throws in our way. That a good and worthy Christian is
some how only the one who exemplifies a steady “assurance of
things hoped for and a conviction of things unseen” despite
evidence to the contrary – and that those of us who may have a
more difficult time with out faith; who wrestle with or entertain
our doubts have just missed the boat and need to be encouraged to
get on with the program.
And this, to my mind, just does
not strike me as being very realistic – very fair – it does not
describe a conception of faith that gels with my own experience or
the experience of anyone that I know. For isn’t it true that
sometimes life can just be too overwhelming? That we can find
ourselves in such a place that even the gentle words of Luke this
morning, to “not be afraid for God desires to give us the Kingdom”
– even words as consoling as these can feel extremely empty and
extremely hollow? For what happens when we’ve lost our job and
can’t find work or can’t find work that will pay the bills,
despite our best efforts? Or when a partner of spouse dies,
leaving us alone in our grief and without much needed and much
relied upon financial support? Or what about if we fall ill or
lose the ability to be the person we used to be – left with
nothing but anger and frustration? Having faith means something
totally different – the act of faith means something totally
different during moments like these.
So, in order to get a more
realistic and more nuanced idea of what faith might be, I decided
to go back over the whole of Luke’s Gospel and look for all the
instances of where faith was either mentioned or in some way
embodied – and I was really struck by what I found.
For I had always been taught to
look upon faith as an individual project and, to be sure, it is
upon us to try in all our sincerity to wrestle with our own
relationship to God, but the faith of the Gospel, at least as Luke
describes it – seems far less incumbent upon the efforts of a lone
individual as it is upon the work of an entire community. That to
have faith seems very naturally to include a dynamic of
interdependence – a dynamic that implicitly recognizes that we all
struggle along in very different spaces and with varying levels of
belief. That sometimes we struggle to believe in God’s abundance
and other times we feel very powerfully God’s love and embrace.
And so we are called to faith as
Paul once wrote to be “heavenly partners in a holy calling.” We
are called to minister to one another – to encourage, inspire, and
lift up all those around us – to recognize, in that oft quoted
phrase of Martin Luther King that “I can’t be all that I am meant
to be until you become all that you are meant to be.” To
recognize that all of our faith lives are intertwined and somehow
diminished if we fail to offer the love and support that another
woman or man may need to grow into their faith or to have hope in
a better future. Faith, in fact, means not just being open to
God, but also means being open and vulnerable to other people and
to be actively engaged in the world around us. For it is only in,
with, and through such mutual love that Christ is ultimately made
known and real in our world and we are all granted the grace and
the strength we need to persevere.
And therefore, we are called upon
to strive to develop the capacity within ourselves to be as open
to God and other people as possible. To try, as best we can, to
be “spiritually poor” and humble – and to trust that as we
struggle along in our vulnerability, we will all be lifted up by
and through our efforts with others.
AMEN.
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