Second Sunday in Lent February 28, 2010 "The Wisdom of Insecurity" Reverend Michael D. Powell John 3:1-8

Our scripture reading from the lectionary this morning is the story of Nicodemus. Nicodemus was a Pharisee, and Pharisees believed they could discern whether or not God’s will was being done by someone simply by observing that person’s actions. That belief is called “works righteousness.” Nicodemus was completely confident when he came to Jesus saying, “I know you’re from God because no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him.” But Jesus challenged him, saying, in effect: “The things you see with the eyes in your head don’t necessarily reveal the deeper movement of the spirit. You can’t see the wind, but God uses it in mighty ways.”

Thus began an exchange that completely turned Nicodemus’ world of spiritual certainty upside down. We don’t know what happened to Nicodemus. I suspect he went away from Jesus a little less certain of his traditional answers. He was probably less sure about what he knew for sure, but I also believe he grew in faith by being challenged by Jesus. Jesus is a very practical teacher. He’s saying that it isn’t always “what you see is what you get.” Sometimes we don’t get what we see, and sometimes we get what we don’t see. Jesus is saying that, in matters of the spirit, we have to look deeper, with the eyes of faith, and it’s from this exchange that we get the now famous phrase, “You must be born again.” Unfortunately, although originally intended as a cautionary word against being too certain that our perceptions are absolute, the phase has all too often become another way of dividing people into opposing camps for the purposes of judging between those who supposedly have faith, and those who apparently don’t.

Last week I talked about how Lent was a time for practicing our faith. This morning I want to say a little more about how I conceive of faith. In Hebrews 11 we have a great, timeless definition of faith: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen,” and then in the 8th verse we read this example: “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going . . . he was looking forward to the city with foundations whose architect and builder is God.”

All too often when people talk about faith they’re really talking about simply believing that some doctrine or passage of scripture is true. But faith is much deeper than belief. In Marcus Borg’s book, The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith: he talks about four ways that faith is understood. Belief, or assent is the most common, but belief, he says, is a matter of the head. He goes on to describe three deeper understandings of faith, which are all matters of the heart. He talks about faith as radical trust in God, faith as being in faithful relationship with God and, finally, he talks about faith as spiritual vision, as a way of seeing the big picture, which determines the way we respond to what we see with our eyes.

Some common faith clichés we’ve all used include “taking a leap,” or “stepping out” in faith. We also use the term “blind faith.” But, as I was saying last week, faith is something that has to be practiced, and practiced, and practiced. We don’t always get it right. When people talk about faith in very certain, very absolute terms, I get a little nervous. That kind of absolute certainty sounds a little like the Pharisees to me, who were the professionals of faith. But I think there’s wisdom in admitting that we’re still amateurs, still practicing and growing in our faith. I believe there’s real wisdom in being just a little insecure about what we know for sure, and that’s what I want to talk about this morning.

These are uncertain times for our Oregon Idaho Annual Conference in general and, more personally and specifically, for us here at Morningside. At both the Annual Conference and the local level we’re cutting hours for some staff, and cutting salaries for other staff who will be working the same, if not additional hours for less pay. And some of us are worried about what that means for Christian education, for youth ministries and for outreach into the community. Am I the only one who feels a little insecure at times? Well, maybe I’m just trying to put a positive spin on it, but I don’t think that a little insecurity is always or necessarily such a bad thing.

Abraham is known as the Father of our faith precisely because he didn’t know where he was going or how he was going to get there. He didn’t travel from one end of the known world to the other simply because of what he believed, but more because of the trusting, faithful relationship he had with God, and his vision of faith in God’s promised future that guided him.

In Genesis we read the story of God calling Abraham to “leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” Abraham was from Ur, a city in the south of Babylonia, in modern day Iraq, at the far southeast end of a great arc of land called the Fertile Crescent, stretching 1,200 miles from Mesopotamia in the east to Egypt in the west. Here’s a biblical map that shows this Fertile Crescent, as well as a NASA satellite photo of Abraham’s journey.

The word Mesopotamia means “between rivers,” because the two mighty rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates dominate the arc of this crescent. At the other end of this Fertile Crescent lies Egypt, nourished by the Nile River; and between these two great flowerings of civilization is some of the most arid, inhospitable land in the world, the Arabian and the Syrian Deserts. When Abraham experienced that inner voice of God directing him to uproot and literally move from one end of the known world to the other, he could have said, “I’m sorry, Lord, I just don’t see it. I don’t think it can be done.” He must have been a bit insecure, but that didn’t immobilize him. He recognized the risks, counted the cost, did the best he could to get his house in order, then stepped out in faith, trusting that God would show the way! That’s why he is called the Father of our faith. His faithfulness to his vision of faith is a model for what we hope to grow into in our own vision of faith.

If you’ll allow a little self indulgence, I want to tell about one of my experiences of growing in the faith. Just a year after Anni and I got married in 1969, I felt God was calling us to go live in Southwest Georgia. Anni’s a good sport and always up for an adventure, so we bought a 1959 half ton Chevy panel, from a used car lot on River Road here in Salem, loaded everything we’d need for a year into the back, threw a mattress on top and headed cross country. We had three months to get there and we were determined to drive the whole way on the back roads, never hitting an interstate highway. We looked like something out of the Grapes of Wrath, and we were about as financially insecure as we’ve ever been, but we were young and full of faith. The tires were bald, the ignition system was bad, and we broke down in nearly every state we passed through, but we met some of the most kind, helpful and generous people in the world that summer.

Along the way Anni and I would talk about our faith, and I remember how some of those conversations would go. We’d be bumping along on some back road and she’d say: “Now, tell me again how it is you know we’re being called by God to move to Georgia.”

“I just know it’s God’s will,” I’d answer. “I want to move to Georgia.”

“So, if you want to do something it’s God’s will, and if you don’t want to do it, it’s not God’s will?” she’d ask.

Every preacher ought to be married to someone who challenges his theology. In retrospect, I still believe it was God’s will that we went to Georgia, but I grew by having my faith challenged, by questioning and examining the roots my own certainty. Discerning God’s will is something I still wrestle with, and a little more insecurity concerning God’s will, especially among religious leaders, would probably make the world a safer place.

Jesus counseled faith, but he often questioned the certainty of traditional religious leaders, and that’s what’s happening in the story of Nicodemus. We don’t know what happened to Nicodemus after his conversation with Jesus, but I suspect he went away a little less certain of his traditional answers and, to my mind, that’s a good thing. He was probably less sure about what he knew for sure, but I want to believe that he grew in faith - in his trust, his vision and his relationship with God - by being challenged by Jesus.

And so we gather this morning to continue our own spiritual journey through the season of Lent. We gather in the midst of uncertain times, embracing our uncertainty and yet claiming the promise of that which we cannot yet see, contemplating the future though the eyes of faith, a future whose foundation, whose architect and builder is God. We gather, praying that our human insecurity will heighten our spiritual trust and help sharpen our spiritual vision. We pray for eyes to see and for faith to perceive God’s will. We pray for humility and receptivity, and for the wisdom to discern God’s guiding presence. Lord, hear our prayer!

Thanks be to God. Amen.