Faith in the in-between

Someone loaned me the book, 'The Secret,' recently. It is based on the idea that if we envision what we want (instead of focusing on what we don't), then what we want will come to us. The Universe, supposedly, works that way. The author claims that this positive thinking is the secret in all major world religions, a secret 'they' don't want you to know.

It is seductive to think that if we imagine checks in the mail, they will appear.

Let me quote Mondi Bridges as she lay dying from cancer, talking with her husband, William. "This positive thinking stuff is crap," she said to me one evening as I sat on her hospital bed. "But then, so is negative thinking. They both cover up reality -- which is that we just don't know what is going to happen. That's the reality we have to live with. But it is easy to see why people take refuge in optimism or pessimism. They both give you and answer. But the truth is that we just don't know. What a hard truth that is!" (The Way of Transition, William Bridges, Da Capo Press, 2001)

Positive thinking aside, God does not promise us an easy road. Jesus's invitation is not to 'think positively' but to take up our cross daily, living as those who know that death is inevitable. Inevitable, but not final. We take up our cross daily, knowing that God is with us in the Valley of the Shadow as well as on the mountain of Transfiguration. Change will occur, whether we like it or not. Life will be filled with joy and pain, as well as many ordinary days somewhere between extremes. Thinking positively or negatively are quite beside the point.

Will we hang on with God, regardless? Isn't that faith? Continuing the conversation with God, even when it is a cry of agony or anger or blame? Walking with God, humbly, on high days and low roads, and every boring day in between. Noticing God's presence, learning, learning, always learning that God's grace is sufficient. Choosing to trust that, somehow, God is in the midst of it - with us - is not a secret. It is life.

All of these words don't make the valley easier, do they?

Question and Answer

Answers. I like them. According to all tests, I'm a J on the Myers-Briggs, so I like decisions to be clear (and preferrably made quickly). I like to be right. I like to know the answers.

Only I don't think life is conducive to that, very often. One of my wise friends says to assume God is sending what we ask for or something better. My optimistic self wants to believe that, but then I think about the Jews and the Holocaust, and I wonder. No answers. Job didn't really get answers to his questions either. All he wanted was to have his day in God's court, I suppose to accuse God. What he got was God accusing him, nailing him with questions. Not answers.

Moses asks God how to tell the Israelites who God is. God just says "I am that I am." Not really an answer. We have turned that cryptic response into a name - Yahweh or Jehovah - but it's still not really clear, is it?

Why did the Levite chop his concubine into pieces? What were you thinking then, God? Were you behind that grisly effort? What was the reasoning behind Lot sending his daughters out to be raped instead of the heavenly visitor? Were you there with them?

How do I help the couple who comes to me, on disability, addicted to tobacco, $2000 behind in their rent? How do we work for the improved economy of Elkhart, what can you say to the thousands of people here who have no work and no prospects? What will happen when the unemployment runs out?

That doesn't even include cancer (something God created? a mutation? what purpose does it serve?) and child abuse.

My Jewish friend asks, "If Jesus was really the Messiah, why are people still dying? Don't you Christians think he conquered death?"

I don't have an answer - I am sure there is a theologically sound one, but it won't really answer him. He wants to SEE the resurrection, and I am no different. We both want answers. All we ever get is faith. All the Jews in the Holocaust got was faith. God just doesn't give us the answers we crave.

Jesus didn't answer a lot of questions; in fact, he asked more than he answered, just like God in Job. Jesus didn't solve his disciples' problems or end poverty in their lifetime, though some commentators say the Devil gave him a chance. A lot of Jesus's friends ended up with many more problems because they followed him. Some of them died for it. Answering questions, making it all make sense, doesn't seem very important to God.

Not trying to be depressing. It's just life. Sometimes, there aren't answers. Jesus just gave us himself, without answering a single question. Maybe that's the way to live without answers. Maybe that's the way God intends it to be.

I have no answer for that, either.

Fire from Heaven, and other stories that I've never actually seen happen

I want it to be exciting.

Tonight, James and I were reading the story of Elijah, how, when Elijah asked God to send fire from heaven on the wet wood of an altar, God sent fire. James just looked at me. He has become a skeptic where God stories are concerned. James understands that God did a whole lot of stuff that's really cool, dramatic, fiery, BIG, exciting, but he doesn't believe God really does that stuff now. I want him to believe, I want him to be excited.

If I'm honest, I want to be excited, too. Passionate. All-consumed. On fire. Sometimes it is that way with God. Remember church camp? That was big! Remember the first time you knew, just knew, that a prayer you prayed was truly answered? Or the confirmation of a call? I do.

Passion is what we're preaching about at Trinity these days. Yet even as I hope for passion, I remember that all those exciting times, for Elijah, were preceded by many, many days of simply walking with God, not to mention some persecution and extreme loneliness. Before the fire rained down, he had to gather wood, after all, and tote the water for the whole production. The writer doesn't really tell us about all that.

I remember that my own 'passionate' moments were preceded and followed by a whole lot of ordinary days when little old church ladies were praying for me. They were surrounded by huge stretches of time when I put one foot or one word or one action in front of the other and did my best to stay open to the ever undramatic nudging of the Holy Spirit. Passion is big moments, sure, but it's also coming to God daily, reading his word and looking for him in it regularly, doing something for someone else often, listening to the wisdom of the Body, and being ready for the big stuff when it's time.

Dailiness doesn't make a good story, I suppose. Maybe the parts of the Bible that talk about fire from heaven and crazed wicked queens are for the child in us. We need them. They remind us there is such a thing as faith that risks death. God is so much bigger than most of our puny prayers. We're kept on our toes, turning the pages day after day, never knowing just where or how the Wind of God will blow. As we do the daily work, as we keep returning our attention to God, the altar is built for the time when fire rains down.

I've never been good at manufacturing adventure or passion or excitement. All I can do is keep returning to Jesus, walking with him, doing what I can do to build the altar. He took care of the fire for Elijah. I suppose he just might do the same for me, and James.