Our Faith is God's Faith - Reformation 500 - Oct 29, 2017

“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. What does this mean? I believe that I cannot, by my own reason or understanding, believe in my Lord Jesus Christ or come to him. But instead, the Holy Spirit has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, made me holy and kept me in the true faith.”

You may recognize this from Martin Luther’s Small Catechism - his explanation to what we call the Third Article of the Apostles’ Creed. This is the heart of our Lutheran faith. Now, of course, in the Lutheran church we say that the heart of our faith is Luther’s emphasis that we are justified by faith. In our reading from Romans today, it says, “justified by faith in Jesus Christ,” but the Greek is a bit ambiguous, and the translation can also read, “justified by the faith of Jesus Christ.” And so as Lutherans, we say, “justified by faith, through grace.” Luther made clear for us that this justification, and the faith connected to it, come to us from God, through the grace of God. It is not our own doing. And so this is why I say that Luther’s explanation to the Third Article is the heart of our faith.

Faith is not our own doing. It is the work of God. Our faith is the work of God. Our faith does not come from us, from our own work, from our own efforts at belief, from our diligent reading of the bible, from our daily prayers, but from God, though the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit makes us holy and keeps us in the true faith. She, and Luther called the Spirit “she” in his Catechisms, gives us the faith that we need to believe that we are indeed justified––made righteous and holy––by God.

This means every good thing you do as a Christian is not because you’ve decided to do it, but because the Holy Spirit in you has decided you will do it. When you walked in the church doors this morning, it’s because the Holy Spirit brought you. When you come forward to receive Holy Communion, it’s because the Holy Spirit is bringing you forward. When you volunteer to be on a committee, it’s because the Holy Spirit has moved you to. When you help your neighbour across the street,when you donate to the food bank, or spend time with a friend who is feeling down, when you help someone find something in the store, or say something kind to someone, this is the the Holy Spirit working within you. All your good acts committed in the world are acts of the Holy Spirit, working to make the world a place that reflects God’s goodness and righteousness and care for all of God’s children––working to make the world holy.

And this is all well and good. We can all nod our heads and say, yes, of course, this is what we believe. God justifies us, God gives us faith, God makes us holy through the Holy Spirit, and not through anything that we ourselves do.

Except that deep down, we don’t always believe this. I say this because of how I often I hear, and how often I speak myself, of my faith or our faith. Things like “My faith wasn’t very strong at that time.” Or “our faith should be stronger.” Or even “their faith is strong,” or “their faith is weak.” The problem with saying this is that it’s not our faith to begin with. Our faith is not our own faith. My faith is not my faith. My faith is actually God’s faith. God is sharing it with me, through the Holy Spirit, but it is not my faith. So when I say, “my faith was really strong at that point in my life,” I really ought to be saying, “the faith God had given me was really strong at that point in my life.” Or when I say, “my faith isn’t as strong as I would like,” I really should be saying “the faith God has given me isn’t as strong as I would like.” Our faith is not our own faith. We don’t develop it in ourselves, we don’t strengthen it, we don’t weaken it. Our faith is God’s faith, given to us through the Holy Spirit. Luther himself says, “the Holy Spirit comes and preaches, that is, the Holy Spirit leads you to the Lord, who redeems you.” The faith that has carried this congregation through its years is not Advent’s faith. It is the faith of God given to Advent. The faith that has carried the Lutheran church through the last five hundred years is not the Lutheran faith. It is the faith of God given to those who call themselves Lutherans.

There are two implications here. The first is that we are no longer able to judge the faith of others. We can’t look at others and say, they don’t come to church, they don’t have faith, they don’t believe in God, and judge them for that. God gives faith through the Holy Spirit. For reasons we don’t understand, what the Holy Spirit has done and is doing in the hearts of those who don’t come to church is not evident to us, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. When we see people in the world doing good things, and they’re not Lutheran, or even Christian, we have to understand that God is still working in them through the Holy Spirit. All good and righteous things come from God, and therefore the good and righteous things we see in others come from God. We may not understand it or recognize it––Luther himself didn’t always understand or even recognize it––but our theology compels us to. Faith and righteousness and holiness are gifts that come solely from God. God makes holy the deeds of others, through the Holy Spirit. It is not our place to judge them. It is our place only to thank and praise God for accomplishing these things at all.

The second implication is that we are no longer able to judge our own faith. It is not up to us even to say that our faith is weak or strong, or that we need more faith. Who are we to judge the faith that God has given us? Who are we to judge God’s faith? God gives us the faith we need, in the moment that we need it, in the ways and to the degree that God alone deems sufficient. We cannot judge whether it is enough or not. There are times when it seems that God does not give us enough faith––when we waver in our trust of God, when we fear things we shouldn’t fear, when we betray the truths we hold to. There are times when we are paralyzed with fear, or anger, or doubt. There are times when we are simply exhausted, too tired to be God’s hands in the world, too burnt out to commit ourselves to making the world a better place. But to condemn ourselves for those inadequacies is not our place. In those moments when we feel at sea, it is not up to us to look at ourselves and say, “What a wretched person I am, what a terrible Christian, I should go to church more, I should pray more, I should read the Bible more, I should have a stronger faith.” The faith we have is the faith God has given us. In those moments, take a breath, and tell yourself that it’s okay. Not having a strong faith does not mean you are an awful Christian. Your status as a Christian is not up to you. Christ’s death and resurrection has made you holy, and it’s done, and there is nothing you can do––or not do––about it.

That being said, we can and indeed we should ask God for more faith if we need it. That is, we can certainly pray, “God, please give me more faith.” Or, as the father in the Gospel of Mark said to Jesus, “I do believe! Help thou my unbelief!” Because God will help. We can pray, “God, the faith you have given me is not enough to get me through. Please give me more.” And God will. God’s Holy Spirit, who already abides in you, who has been in you since your baptism, will strengthen God’s faith within you.

 This is the heart of our Reformation faith––this is the message we are celebrating five hundred years after Martin Luther shared it with the world, this is why we thank God so deeply and profoundly on this day. Because in the end, all the achievements and the advancements of the last five hundred years pale in comparison to this profound truth that sets us free: The Holy Spirit made you holy and keeps you in the true faith. The Holy Spirit gives you the faith of Jesus Christ. This is most certainly true. Thanks be to God, Amen.

Sunday, October 15 - The Table in the Outer Darkness

Isaiah 25:1-9; 

Psalm 23; 

Matthew 22:1-14

“Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” I’m not getting a lot of easy texts to start my time with you, am I? Last week we heard about giving thanks when we’re not feeling thankful, and this week it’s hell. Yes, this outer darkness with weeping and gnashing of teeth is a reference to hell.

Now hell is actually something most of us are familiar with. Not in the fire-and-brimstone, pitchforks and the devil way, but in the original meaning of hell, which is that place where God is not. Hell is that place where God isn’t. That outer darkness, where there is no light, and no God, and no life. Hell is the place where we are alone when we desperately need a friend, where we can’t see the light and we feel swallowed up by darkness, where we feel overwhelmed by everything and see no way out.

I’ve been in hell, in that outer darkness, at least three times in my life. The first time was when I was doing hospital chaplaincy in my first year at seminary, and I was assigned to the Medical Respiratory Intensive Care Unit and the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. In two short months, over twenty patients that I had been in contact with had died, from the elderly to babies. At the end of those two months, I felt like I was in the back of a very deep and very dark cave, and I couldn’t find my way out.

The second and third times were after the births of my two children. In both of those cases, it was when they were each about eight months and I was feeling beyond overwhelmed in caring for them. One time, I went for a walk in the woods and wondered on the way there if anyone would notice if I came back without the baby. Another time, I remember actually wanting to drive my car into a brick wall at top speed. Clearly, I did neither of those things, but I still remember the feeling of being in that hell, in that outer darkness. Feeling completely abandoned, bound hand and foot and thrown out there, in the dark, alone.

As it turns out, all three of those times were episodes of clinical depression. And during that third time, I went to the doctor and was diagnosed and was given medication that I will probably be on to one degree or another for the rest of my life. And I share this story whenever I can because this past Tuesday was World Mental Health Day, and this outer darkness of mental health is not something we talk about in the church very much. And I want you to know that if you have had times when you have felt bound and thrown into the darkness, or if you feel that way right now, you are not alone and we can talk about it.

Of course, depression is not the only time we can feel like we’ve been cast out into the outer darkness. Being rejected by a friend, facing a medical emergency, losing a job, losing a loved one––loss of any kind, actually, can throw us into that darkness, whether for just a moment or for years. The outer darkness, the valley of the shadow of death, the funeral shroud that covers the people––this is a common experience throughout history––the writer of Isaiah experienced it, the Psalmist who gave us Psalm 23 experienced it, the community of Matthew’s Gospel experienced it. 

There’s a line in the Apostles’ Creed that I find particularly comforting when I’m in that outer darkness. I know we turn more to the Lord’s Prayer than the Creed when we’re in need of comfort, but for me, that line is there in the Second Article, “I believe in Jesus Christ.” After talking about Jesus’ life and death, we then say, “he descended into hell.” The alternate line says, “descended to the dead,” but for me, “descended into hell” is particularly comforting. Jesus was in hell.

This is profound. It means that when that man at the king’s son’s wedding banquet was bound hand and foot and cast out to the outer darkness, he was cast in to the place where Jesus was. It means that when we are suffering through our own personal hells, whether it’s the result of our own actions or someone else’s, Jesus is there. There is nowhere we can go where God has not gone - that’s Psalm 139. You are not alone in that outer darkness, in that valley of the shadow of death. God is with you. Martin Luther himself strongly believed this, and preached that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, fully human and fully divine, descended to hell, to be amongst the sinners and the lost and the abandoned and the rejected. 

Being with you means more than just Christ suffering with you in the darkness, sitting there in dark cave next to you. We have God’s promise, given to us over and over and over again, that God transforms darkness into light, death into life. Psalm 23 assures us that, in the presence of our enemies, God prepares a table for us. When death surrounds us, when we feel overwhelmed, when the odds are stacked against us, God sets up a feast. Isaiah says this too, in the reading that we often hear at funerals. In the midst of loss, God is setting up an overabundance of good things - an overflowing of all those things that nourish us and bring us life.

Because ultimately, as Isaiah says, God is swallowing up death. God is making death no more because God is feeding us with new life, life that overflows the boundaries of darkness, and wipes away every tear. Life that spreads into every corner, into the backs of the deepest caves, into the moments of blackest darkness. The table that God is preparing for us is constantly expanding to include more and more people, and the food that God provides never ends. 

We see it, actually, every time we come to this table. We come to this table with all of our darkness inside of us, we come to eat and drink of our Lord with all of our feelings of abandonment and rejection and loneliness, because this table was also set up in the outer darkness. Christ was abandoned and rejected by his followers, he died on the cross crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and he descended to hell, and this is his table. And on the third day he rose again. And in that rising, God swallowed up death, and wiped away every tear, and shed light into the darkest corners, and granted new life to all the dead. 

And God did it for us. For you. When you are at this table, when you hear, the body of Christ, given for you, and the blood of Christ, shed for you, know that in that for you are God’s words of life to you and for you. For you in your moments of light, and, more importantly, for you in your moments of darkness. Christ gives himself to you, to feast on and be filled, to carry inside of you even as you leave the table, to bring with you wherever you go, even into the darkness that is threatening to swallow you but never can.

“Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth.” “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me.” The God whom we worship is, ultimately, the God of light and life, revealed to us in Christ, who prepares a table for us in the midst of our enemies, in the midst of our hell. It is a table overflowing with new life, and you are welcome to it, over and over again, as many times as you need, because it is “for you.” Thanks be to God. Amen.