The Second Sunday in Lent

 

Genesis 12:1-4a and Romans 4:1-5; 13-17

 

 “Leave your country, your people, and your father’s household, and go to the place I will show you.”

We all know the familiar story of Abraham.

What we sometimes don’t know is that it is the story of all our lives.

We were standing in the parking lot at Plymouth State College. All the necessary things had been carried up to our son’s dormitory room, and now we were back at the car, shuffling our feet and making small talk, knowing that it was time to say, “Goodbye.” It was one of those moments when we all had so much to say, but we just couldn’t say it for fear of the emotion spinning out of control. And then, all at once, there was a hug and a kiss, and our son slowly turned and walked away, out of his parent’s household, into the future. His mother and I wept – and worried – as he walked away. I can imagine he did the same.

I was walking down the aisle with my daughter on my arm. The organ was playing a wedding march, but I was hearing that old schmaltzy song that goes, “Where are you going my little one, little one? Where are you going my baby, my own? Turn around and you’re two, turn around and you’re four, turn around and a you’re a young girl, going out the door.”

And then the verse that sings, “Turn around and you’re tiny, turn around and you’re grown, turn around and you’re a young wife, with babes of your own.”

Her mother and I wept – and worried – as she took her husband’s hand and stepped out of her home country, into the future. I can imagine she did the same.

Erica and Nicholas were sitting on either side of their mother in the hospital bed in Boston, holding tightly to her and relishing her touch for they had been unable to have any physical contact for the several weeks of isolation during her bone marrow transplant. She was bald from the chemotherapy, and jaundiced from the failure of the transplant. She was dying. Still, Patty held her babies in her arms, kissing them and assuring them that it was okay…that God was calling her…

“Leave your country, your people and your family’s household and go to the land I will show you.”

 And Bob, her husband, and her two beautiful children, and I, her pastor, wept – and worried – as she slipped away into the future.

The Abraham story is our story too, because the future is always calling, and we have no proof of the outcome. From the day we are born until the day we die, we must launch out to places we have never seen before, and to experiences we have never had. A couple has a child, and all of a sudden they are in a new world of uncertainty. What in the world is certain about having children? That child goes off one day on a school bus, and steps into the unexplored wilderness of the world “out there”. There will be good things learned, and bad things. She will encounter love, and rejection. There will be wellness, and sickness. Relationships will be formed, and sometimes lost. She might remain single, or get married, and even then there could be a divorce. A fulfilling career may end up being outsourced, and age may stand in the way of finding another. She could proudly watch her own child – her son – don the uniform of his country, and later tearfully receive him home in a flag-draped coffin. Over the course of her life, she will have to say “Goodbye” to many loved ones who she thought would be there forever.

She will come to understand what Abraham came to understand, and what you and I know from experience: there is nothing certain in life. We are always being called to leave our country, our family, our parents’ homes to go to unknown places.

Life is full of uncertainty.

And that’s why religion is so popular.

I will always remember a family in the church I served while in seminary. They were a great family – an all-American family – a family that was full of love, high values, and integrity. They were everything that comes to mind when you think of what a Christian family should look like.

And then one day, they learned their son was a drug addict.

And the question they put to me at that difficult time was an interesting one: “What did we do wrong? We’ve been good Christians. We built our home on Christian principles, and took our kids to church. Our son is in the Youth Group, and was at the top of his Confirmation class. We have loved our children, and given them affirmation and self-worth. How can this have happened to us?”

It is the same question people often ask when tragedy touches their lives: “Why did God let this happen? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

And questions like these are built upon the idea that, if we follow the rules of our religion and embrace the faith, we should be able to insulate ourselves against life’s uncertainties.

That’s what many people look for in religion – a faith that will remove the uncertainties from life – a faith that will answer all the questions and resolve all the doubts.

But there is no such religion.

Richard Feynmann, the late Nobel Prize winning physicist, says in one of his books that religious people have a more difficult time dealing with uncertainty than scientists do. He says that people often labor under the misconception that science can prove things to be absolutely true. But it can’t, Feynmann says. What scientists do is to test a theory by doing experiments, and the experiments – over time – will help them be able to say, “We think this is more or less true.” And there are varying degrees of certainty that something is true. Even our most commonly known laws of physics – like the law of gravity – are not 100% certain. Just in our lifetime, the old saying that, “What goes up must come down” has been changed. Now we know that is true in a gravitational field, but not in zero-gravity. Not until the exploration of space began did we know that. So things are always changing, and new horizons open up new understandings. Nothing is 100% certain.

And this is a lesson people of faith need to learn. For instance, not one of us can say that we can prove with 100% certainty that God exists. And not one of us can prove with 100% certainty that God does not exist. So our belief in God – or unbelief in God – is somewhere on a scale between 99.99% certain and say .001% certain. Where would you place your own level of scientific certainty about God? 90%? 50%? 10%? Less?

What about prayer? Is anyone 100% certain that you will get what you pray for? I know that I have prayed for many things that have not come my way. So, you say, “Well God answered the prayer, but in a different way.” Fair enough. But now my belief that all I have to do is ask God for what I want is qualified by the idea that sometimes God answers the way I want, and sometimes God doesn’t. So my certainty of having my prayers answered shrinks significantly. What percentage of yourprayers are answered the way you want?

And for that matter, how certain are you that if you love your enemy, as Jesus taught, everything will work out for the better? Anybody sitting at 100% on that one these days? And if you give away all you have to the poor, as Jesus taught, how sure are you that you will not end up in bankruptcy court? How certain are you that, if you lay down your life for another, you will live? To what degree is anyone certain about these things?

Many of us would love to have a faith where there are no questions, only answers; no doubts, only doctrines; no uncertainties, only assured results.

But there is no such religion.

And that was not the faith of Abraham. To him, faith was not about being certain, but about facing uncertainty by trusting God. When Abraham left the old country, he did not know where the journey would end, but he trusted God, and so stepped out into the future. And Paul, writing in Romans, tells us that Abraham’s risky trust is what faith in God is all about. “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness” is Paul’s way of saying that true religion is not about grasping certainty, but about placing radical trust in God in the face of all the uncertainties of life as a human being.

As my friend Jim McGinness said the other day, “That’s why they call it FAITH!”

Here is what faith looks like:

You can’t be sure your prayer will be answered the way you want, but you pray anyways, trusting God! You can’t be sure there will be reconciliation with that other person, but you forgive. You can’t be sure your own needs will be met, but you give. You can’t be sure your love will change that other person, but you love her anyways. You can’t be sure your child will be well at college, but you trust God and send him anyways. You can’t be sure your daughter will have a good marriage, but you trust God and bring her down the aisle. You can’t be sure what will happen when you die, leaving behind your children and your spouse, but – like my friend Patty – you place your trust in God and  “leave your country, your family, and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.”

This is the faith we see at work in the life of Jesus as he goes to the cross.

There is no certainty in this Lenten season. Will Jesus’ friends stick by him? Will justice set him free? Will his accusers tell the truth? Will the governor have mercy? Will the soldiers beat him? Will the driven nails hurt? Will it be over quickly? Will God intervene at the last moment and save him? Will his death matter? Will his life be remembered? Is it worth it to die this way?

And so in the Garden of Gethsemane, the uncertainties overwhelmed him. He prayed, “Father, if there is any way, please get me out of this…”

And the prayer was not answered.

So Jesus got up, and began the uncertain journey out from his country, from his family, and from his parents’ household to the land he could not see, but that God had promised.

“…nevertheless, not my will, but Thine, be done.”

And then…it was all up to God.