December 16, 2007
Faith and Doubt
Matthew 11:2-11
Fr. Keith Oglesby,
St. Aidan’s Episcopal Church, Alpharetta, Georgia
The dungeon wall was damp as water
dripped slowly into a puddle on the floor of the cell. The prisoner
crouched in the opposite corner, staring at the water. Occasionally he
would look up to the small window and the light it allowed into his
cell. He could only imagine the world outside-- What was going on,
what was happening among the people? It was frustrating for him—for
this man of action who was used to interacting with hundreds of people
in a day—to be locked up. This man had a clear sense of his mission,
what God had called him to do. And he had been faithful in doing it.
Thousands of people had responded to his message to repent and be
baptized; to live differently and to look for one to come after him,
one who would baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit. He had given hope
to those on the margins of society, offering forgiveness to those poor
souls whom respectable people would avoid. And he challenged the
respectable, those in the mainstream, telling them to share what they
have and not abuse their power over others. He also criticized the
most powerful, even the king. It was that criticism that landed him in
this prison. The most powerful really do not like to be criticized,
especially about their private lives.
Being in prison was a shock to this man.
He had been called by God from his earliest memory. His parents had
told him the miraculous story of his conception that had been
announced by an angel to his father while he was serving in the
Temple. He had been raised within the strictest discipline of his
religion—he had never had wine or cut his hair or been married. He had
spent years in the desert, in prayer and study, with a small community
of fellow believers. During this time the message that God wanted him
to proclaim became clearer and clearer. This land, this people, had
not heard from a prophet in years, even centuries. His ministry would
change that; causing the people to anticipate hearing from God today,
not just hearing about how God has spoken in the past. He knew that
his calling was not about him, but rather a sacred trust to prepare
the way for the Messiah, God’s chosen person to restore Israel.
Yes, being in prison was a shock. It
really should not have been a surprise-- the great prophet Jeremiah
had been put in prison when he spoke against the king. The prophet
Elijah had also challenged a king. Elijah expressed what he had often
felt since being imprisoned:
I have been very zealous for the
Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your
covenant... I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take
it away. (I Kings 17:10)
He hated to admit that he felt…
depressed, sorry for himself, abandoned. His whole life should have
prepared him for this type of testing. After all, he was not a reed
shaken by the wind, blown this way and that by the circumstances of
his life. He should be strong. He knew that God would triumph,
that the Messiah would come and restore Israel and… hopefully free him
from this cell so that he could be a witness to that glorious day.
Yes, that day of the Lord, the day he had been waiting for,
anticipating since he was a young boy, the day he had been preaching
about for years. That day that seemed so far away as he sat alone in
his cell.
So when his disciples came to visit him,
he had questions about what was going on in the outside world. His
main question was about Jesus, his kinsman, the man whom he had
baptized, the man that appeared to be the one to come.
His anticipation for the coming of the day of the Lord-- and his
imprisonment in this dark cell—had been almost too much to bear. He
had sent his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come,
or are we to wait for another?” So when they returned, he asked them,
“Well? What did Jesus say? When will the kingdom come?” His disciples
looked hesitant, almost confused. They told him, “Jesus said to tell
you what we hear and see—
The blind receive their sight, the
lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are
raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.
(v. 5-6)
And then Jesus added, “Blessed is anyone
who takes no offense at me.”
The prisoner looked at his disciples and
nodded. Jesus was quoting Isaiah and prophesies about the day of the
Lord. Jesus talked of healing and freedom and restoration. But where
was the promise of fire and destruction and the violent end of the old
order? That judgment was necessary before there could be restoration.
That fire, that destruction, was a core part of his message. And it
had worked! It caused those who came to hear him to repent; and it
motivated others to come so they too could hear his message and repent
and be ready for the day of the Lord. Of course that message had
landed him in this prison cell, too.
He kept his thoughts to himself. He
nodded to his disciples. The prisoner did not say anything, but the
disciples could tell it was not the response that he expected, what he
hoped for. When they left, he was alone again, with the drip, drip,
drip of water; the beam of light shining through the small window;
alone with his faith… and his doubts.
Doubts are something that we don’t talk
about very often in the public settings of church. It’s like we’re
afraid that if we admit doubts, then all bets are off—we’ve let the
cat out of the bag. Our faith is not 100% pure. We may share our
doubts with a close friend or relative or even a trusted priest or
counselor. Or we may just keep our doubts to ourselves, keeping them
hidden until they come out at those lonely times at four in the
morning when we wonder, “Is any of this true? What really does happen
to me when I die? Is there any hope?”
Doubts are something that all of us have
as human beings. John the Baptist had doubts—that’s why he sent those
messengers to Jesus to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or
are we to wait for another?” Preachers have spent a lot of time trying
to explain that expression of doubt by John. I think Jesus understood
John and his doubts. He knew that despite his questioning, John was a
man of faith. He was not a “soft” man, living in a king’s palace and
idly speculating about the meaning of life while having so much more
than other people. John was a hard man, a man who had lived as an
ascetic in the desert, a man who had been tested in the crucible of
public ministry and now, prison. John was a prophet. Jesus spoke
glowingly about John—“among those born of women no one has arisen
greater than John the Baptist.” But John, this great prophet, had
doubts.
Even our Lord, God incarnate in Jesus
Christ, expressed words of doubt. The writer of the letter to the
Hebrews states that
In the days of his flesh, Jesus
offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to
the one who was able to save him from death… (Hebrews
5:7)
Later in the Gospel according to
Matthew, we read that Jesus was “grieved and agitated” (26:37) as he
went to pray with his disciples in the garden of Gethsemane. And even
at the end of his life, while hanging on the cross, Jesus identified
with the words of the psalm, crying out, “My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?” Doubts are part of what it means to be human and our
Lord could not have been fully and truly human without experiencing
doubt.
But that is not all of the
story. The Lord, in his grace, has given our doubts a companion—faith.
It is one of the paradoxes of the Christian life that faith is only
possible when we have doubts. Otherwise, our faith is not really
faith—it is simply a superficial and unreflective credulity. True
faith is a relationship based on love, a relationship that requires
courage and hope in order to entrust our lives to almighty God without
being certain of the outcome. This is the type of faith that we
recognize and celebrate especially during Advent.
Many of us may have been raised in a
faith tradition where there is no room for doubts. We may have heard
the answer from parents, teachers and clergy, “This is the way it
is—you just need to believe and not question it.” Some of those
responses may have been intended kindly. They may have been based upon
the wisdom of a deep faith that was trying to help us believe and
carry on with the tradition of the church. But I wonder how often
those responses from family and religious authorities were really an
attempt to repress their own doubts?
Gospel faith, the faith of Jesus, is
bigger than our doubts; but that type of faith does not
need to overwhelm our doubts. Rather Gospel faith, the faith of Jesus,
is able to abide with our doubts and even embrace
them. Doubts are a necessary part of faith—they keep us honest and in
touch with those who do not believe or who barely believe or who
believe differently from us. Because it is those people
for whom Christ died, those people whom God loves so much, not just
the people who believe the “right way.” I wonder how often our desire
to set people straight and overcome their doubts has caused them to
abandon the church because they think it does not have room for them
and their doubts.
In my life, I have had a chance to talk
to several people who are exploring their faith—what they believe and
what they no longer believe. I think that is one of the great
advantages of the Episcopal Church—we are not very uptight on “right
belief.” That gives us freedom to invite people to enter into a
relationship with us and add their questions and insights to our
conversation.
One person in particular comes to my
mind. She was raised in a family with an unchurched father and a
mother who was a member of the Society of Friends or what most of us
know as the Quakers. Her father was a pilot who taught her how to fly
before she could drive. Her mother raised her in the Quaker faith but
also gave her a lot of freedom in finding her own way. This woman
eventually earned a PhD in Aeronautical Engineering and currently
teaches in college.
I met her while teaching a class called
“Bible 101” for people who were new to the church or uncertain about
the Bible. What became very clear to me is that this woman knew the
Bible at least as well as I did. She was friendly and engaging— her
approach to the class was honest inquiry. She did not want to debate
me, but she did have questions, doubts. This woman asked me about the
Nicene Creed—because of her education and her religious background,
she was not sure if she could believe everything that it asserted. We
would continue our conversation over several weeks. What I remember
most was that neither one of us was concerned about scoring points
about what we thought was “right” belief. Rather we focused on
learning from each other and about each other. We developed a
friendship. We trusted each other. A priest in the parish ended up
giving her a book and having conversations with her that helped her to
engage many of her questions about the Nicene Creed. That was an
important and valid part of the process for her. But what seemed at
least as important was the nature of the relationship that she
developed with me and many other people in the parish. Her doubts did
not cause her to feel excluded or demeaned. She entrusted herself to
us and to God and was welcomed in our church in the same way that she
welcomed her doubts to live with her faith. When she was baptized at
the Easter Vigil later that next year, it was a glorious and
meaningful time not only for her but for all of us who had come to
know her and support her in her journey.
Doubts are part of our
journey. Whatever your doubts are, don’t let them be a barrier to
entrusting your life to God and participating in the life of the
church. Doubts are the honest companion of faith. When
we have doubts, no matter what prison or palace we may be living in,
our best response is to follow the example of John the Baptist—express
our doubts to Jesus, knowing that he too had doubts. As the writer of
the letter to the Hebrews tells us
(In Jesus) We have a high priest
who is able to sympathize with our weaknesses… Let us therefore
approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive
mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews
4:15-16)
As we find that grace, let us not keep
it to ourselves, but share it with others who-- like us-- are seeking
faithful companions to abide with them-- and their doubts—in this
journey of life. Amen.
© Fr. Keith Oglesby. All Rights
reserved.
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