We walk by faith
and not by sight…
O God be in my mouth as I speak for you and fill this place with your great grace, that we may leave this place less of what we used to be and more of what we ought to be, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
So we are always confident; even
though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the
Lord—for we walk by faith not by sight.
After many years of work in
parish ministry, I have come to the conclusion that I have very little in
common with Saint Paul. For one thing there is no way I could have kept up with
his heavy travel schedule. One month in Ephesus, next month Corinth, and then
back to Jerusalem.
I get air sick just looking at a
plane and you have to remember St. Paul was doing all his travel in relatively
small boats that no amount of Dramamine could have convinced me to climb
aboard.
As a tentmaker, St. Paul was
also handy with a needle and thread and that is definitely a skill I have never
acquired.
And finally with a wife and
three daughters, I never would have written the infamous line in I Corinthians
about how women are supposed to keep silent in the churches. Then again, maybe
that is why Paul had to do all that traveling.
Despite these differences, the
one thing that we do share as pastors is the need from time to time to write
letters of consolation and encouragement to those who are facing illness, or
the death of a loved one. This is the case in second Corinthians where we find
St. Paul in his letter struggling to comfort folks, reassuring them that one
day our mortality will be swallowed up by life that is eternal.
Of course, people have always
struggled with questions regarding the nature of human suffering and death.
Recently, I was re-reading J. R.
R. Tolkien’s epic story, The Lord of the Rings.
I have been thinking of doing a
class next year on the ups and downs in friendship at Oxford between Lewis and
Tolkien. I remember that once Tolkien was asked in an interview what was the
theme of his great fantasy work.
Some critics had tried to read
the work as an allegory for the creation of the atom bomb. Some saw in the evil
forces of Mordor the rise of the Nazi party and fascism in WW II. Some saw the
story as simply a fable about the way that power corrupts people.
Tolkien in this BBC interview
was a bit more succinct. He told the interviewer the book’s theme was “Death”.
This surprised me when I first read it, but as I reflected on Tolkien’s comment
and Paul’s own musings, I found myself agreeing that a lot of human energy is
devoted to coming to terms with death.
At any given time, we are
surrounded by death as the threat of illness looms over those that we love; the
young, the old, many of whom seem innocent and helpless.
Of course, I console myself with
the thought that if I was in charge of the universe things would be different.
Bad things would not happen to good people. But then I remember my own set of
imperfections, and realize that my tenure as the almighty would probably be as
misguided and deformed as the David Koresh’s of our world.
That is the nature of the sin of
human pride. Most of us during our lifetimes at some point are convinced that
we could do a much better job of running the world than God.
This fallacy is captured in a
brief exchange that Frodo has in the Lord of the Rings when he tells
Gandalf that it was unfortunate that Gollum wasn’t killed earlier.
What a pity that Biblo didn’t
stab the vile creature when he had a chance!
Gandalf replied, Pity? It was
Pity that stayed his hand, Pity and mercy; not to strike without need.
I do not feel any pity for
Gollum. He deserves death, said Frodo.
Deserves Death! Said Gandalf. I
daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life.
Can you give that to them? Then
be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own
safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends.
Even the wise cannot see all
ends.
As I have sought God’s presence
these past few weeks in the midst of illness and death among those I love, I
remember this simple truth and it brings comfort to my troubled soul.
In these times of personal
struggle, I also remember what a wise friend once told me about the difficulty
of finding answers to the questions of human suffering.
First, as finite creatures he
said, the reason why things happen ultimately resides in the depth of a mystery
that we humans do have the capacity to plumb.
This is what God really is
saying in the book of Job when he answers Job out of the whirlwind: Where were
you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Have you commanded the morning
since your days began, Have you entered into the springs of the sea or walked
into the recesses of the deep?
As finite creatures we do not
have the capacity to fully understand because we are not the ultimate creator
of all things.
Secondly and this is my main
point for this morning when we find ourselves at those times in our lives, when
we are in the depth of sadness, in the valley of despair, wrestling with
questions that have no easy answer.
I don’t think an intellectual
explanation for our suffering is what we really want.
Let’s be honest with each other.
Even if God was able to sit down
with us, like our favorite Sunday school teacher, set up a power point, and
take us step by step through all the factors that went into God’s decision
making process.
We would not be satisfied with
the answer.
Let me say that again, any
answer to the problem of human suffering would not satisfy the complex
emotional make up of our human nature.
In the midst of human pain, we
are not looking for the sorts of answers that will give us a win on “Jeoprady”.
As my late friend John Claypool
once put it, “The point is that in the depths of our tragic experience what we
need most is the courage to face what has happened and; the strength somehow to
stoop over pick up the pieces and see what we can make of what is left. Courage
and hope are more valuable than a thousand intellectual answers”.
Courage and hope are more
valuable than a thousand intellectual answers.
As letter writers this is what
Paul and I have struggled to convey to people in times of their grief and pain.
For I believe that God comes to all
of us in these times of grief with the gift of presence. I am with you, that is
promise we are given.
The promise that despite the
death of those we love, despite the suffering of those we care deeply about, we
will not be abandoned by God.
In the midst of human pain, God
has promised to us his companionship and this is what sustains us in the
darkness that inevitably comes in the course of our human life.
This is the same trust that Paul
captures so well in this morning’s epistle.
So we are always confident; even
though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the
Lord—for we walk by faith not by sight.