Luke 1: More on Certainty, Uncertainty, and Faith

Whereas the gospel of Mark ends with uncertainty, Luke begins with certainty: "...since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, I too decided to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught." (The NASB translates certainty as exact truth.)

That, of course, is the certainty of the narrator, the certainty of hindsight, the certainty of investigative gospel writing. But the characters in Luke's narrative seem less certain—at least initially. Zechariah, for example.

Zechariah and Elizabeth's story echoes the barren matriarch tradition, a tradition which carries within it a lack of certainty as a condition of faith in the face of a seemingly impossible promise. Remember Sarah's laughter? Zechariah's "How can I be sure of this?" reflects his uncertainty, which is all the more remarkable because as a priest he certainly knows the story of Sarah and Abraham. (But these are just stories of the olden days. Things like that don't happen to us nowadays. Maybe that's how Zechariah thought.) His question, however, is answered not with any certainty but with another dubious sign: he's muted, "because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time."

Mute Zechariah then, reduced to communicating by signs, manages to persuade barren Elizabeth to lie with him, by faith. She becomes pregnant as promised.

Having learned his lesson about men, Gabriel next goes directly to a young woman. Mary, perplexed or greatly troubled by Gabriel's greeting, wonders what's going on. She's uncertain. After Gabriel tells her what being favored by God means, she's still uncertain. "How can this be?" When Gabriel explains—which is no explanation at all, for how do you explain this impossibility?—Mary's response is faithful obedience which incorporates her uncertainty. She trusts God beyond her uncertain knowledge.

Faith is only faith in the presence of uncertainty. Faith is trusting an apparently impossible promise made by a trustworthy messenger sent from a trustworthy God, and acting in the present on that future promise as if it were certain—even if we are uncertain and all our experience mitigates against the possibility of the promise being fulfilled.

Now, for a little immaculate conception humor:

I think the 99.99% needs a few more significant digits. Ha!

Doubt and Faith at the End of Mark and Matthew

Both Matthew and Mark end without certainty, which is to say with faith.

At the end of Matthew’s gospel “the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” (28:16-17) Yes, some of the eleven doubted even as they saw him. Yet in Acts, the eleven are again together in the upper room in Jerusalem, “all joined together constantly in prayer.” (1:13-14) Their doubt did not preclude their faith, did not invalidate their faith. Doubt did not engender disobedience or abandonment of the community. In fact, doubt was an element of their faith, not an embarrassing lack of faith. “I’m not certain about what just happened here, but I trust Jesus, so I’m going to Jerusalem with you guys.” By faith, not certainty beyond a shadow of a doubt, they obeyed. I think this is what the gospel of Matthew shows us about faith by including those three words: “but some doubted.”*

Uncertainty rules the ending of Mark’s gospel. First, there are the textual problems of how the gospel actually ends—uncertainty which is itself a metaphor for faith. How does this story end? How will it end? We’re not sure, but can we trust the one whose story it is? Mark thinks so, and wants us to trust and obey, however it ends.

But suppose you pick an ending of those offered by the different manuscripts. Do you end with verse 8? Do you end with a young man’s promise that you will see Jesus in Galilee, to which, “Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.” I’d say “bewildered” and “afraid” are strong synonyms for “uncertain.” Yet again, in Acts, among those who faithfully wait in the upper room along with the eleven are “the women.” Is it a stretch to assume that among these women are the same ones who fled the tomb? It doesn’t feel like too much of a stretch to me. Is it then fair to assume that their faithful obedience was not precluded by their uncertainty, but rather that their faith included their uncertainty, their fear, and their bewilderment? Can our faith accommodate our uncertainty, fear, and bewilderment? Can we faithfully trust and obey Jesus without being certain of what just happened or of the outcome? Isn’t that the very definition of faith according to both Matthew and Mark?*

If you’re not comfortable with such uncertain faith, there is an alternate ending to Mark in which Jesus upbraids those who have heard and not believed. Among the signs of certain belief are handling snakes and drinking deadly poison without harm. You know, just like Jesus did.

All of which brings me to this quote from Anne Lamott:

I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me—that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.**

Exactly.

Jesus is the one who is in the mess, the emptiness, the discomfort of life with us, which is to say he is with us in our doubt and uncertainty. He is the one who has brought, is bringing, and will bring light.

What then shall we do? We shall not fear or flee our doubts or uncertainties, nor pretend we don’t have any. We shall not proclaim as certain things which are not. We shall obey anyway. Because that is faith.

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*I'm aware that I am a privileged reader of these texts in that I am reading the Acts account back into the gospels. I celebrate that privilege.

**Anne Lamott's quote is from her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith.

A Brief Thought on Mark 7

I realize I'm a bit behind on the Lenten reading schedule, but as I was reading Mark 7 today, I just had to include a couple thoughts. Jesus prophetically rebukes the legalism of the Pharisees in verses 6-8 when he says,

"Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written: 'These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules.' You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions."

It doesn't seem like this section from Jesus needs much commentary. It speaks for itself. As I read this last statement from Jesus, about holding fast to human traditions, I found myself thinking that many Christians and churches today have probably fallen prey to this same Pharisaical mindset.

"What are we gonna do?"

In my previous post I wrote about sowing kingdom seeds and expecting "earth-changing wonders." Here's an apropo clip from the new History Channel series, "The Bible."

The more I've thought about this scene, the more I like it.

Take this bit of dialog:

Peter: "Hey! What are you doing? You can't just climb into my boat!"
Jesus: "You're right. Give me a helping hand."

The boat, of course, is Peter's life. And, as much as my Reformed/Calvinist friends may disagree, Jesus doesn't just climb into Peter's boat whether Peter wants him to or not; nor does he walk on the water and jump in. He simply extends his hand and says, "You're right. Give me a helping hand." (Is that a request or a command?) Even then it's an awkward entry, with Jesus flopping into the boat much like the nets full of fish will be pulled into the boat later in the scene. I like it. A lot.

Then there's the bit where Jesus stirs the water with his hand after Peter has cast his net. He's calling the fish and they respond to his call, giving their lives in self-sacrifice. They are his creatures. They respond to him. And he will make all things new. His plan is to do it with Peter's helping hand. Christ is there, hovering over the water, stirring the water—like the Spirit at creation—but Peter casts the net. And the catch is abundant, wonderful, beyond Peter's comprehension—in a word, a miracle. As the fish respond, so Peter is called to respond, to participate in making all things new, to join the Kingdom, to give up his life for a whole new one.

In the entire scene Peter doesn't believe first and then respond. He responds or acts even in his disbelief.  "There are no fish here." He knows there are no fish. He does not believe he will catch fish. He does not believe that Jesus knows what he is doing. But he casts the net. He responds. He acts.

Then he reflects. "How did this happen?" Which is, as we know, the question the disciples will ask over and over as they walk with Jesus through his teaching, his miracles, his cross, and his resurrection. It's also the question of Lent as we journey through the gospels.

Peter's "What are we gonna do?" is very similar to Bonhoeffer's "What then shall we do?" But in this clip it became very clear to me who "we" are.

"What are we gonna do?"
"Change the world."

Oh, boy! Which is to say, Amen!
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Thanks to Jim Wallis of Sojourners for sharing this clip and his thoughts. If you're interested, here's the link to the Sojourners site with this clip and a few others from the series.

Mark 4 "Seeds"

Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders. —Henry David Thoreau

Mark 4 is full of seeds. It seems God, like Thoreau, has great faith in seeds.

God, in expectant faith, is a prodigious sower of Kingdom seeds. He scatters Kingdom seeds everywhere. He’s not judicious or careful or cautious. His grace is abundant. He sows in good soil and bad, on paths and on rocky soil and among weeds. And, like parables, sometimes seeds take root, grow, and produce a harvest; sometimes not. But God gives all soils a chance to produce. He doesn’t elect only the best fields.

Jesus told so many seed stories: good seeds, bad seeds, mustard seeds that grow into the largest of garden plants, seeds and weeds, grains of wheat, mustard seeds of faith that move mountains, seeds that produce a great harvest, seeds that don’t, seeds that grow all by themselves and we know not how.

These seed parables can get confusing. Sometimes it seems we are the plants that grow from the seeds; sometimes it seems we’re the soil where the seed is sown. Sometimes it seems Jesus is the sower, sometimes (as in John 12:24…I read ahead) Jesus is the grain of wheat that falls into the earth—the implication being that we should be grains of wheat falling into the earth, too. We follow him down.

So where does that leave us?

Who is Jesus? Jesus is both the sower of the Kingdom seed and the Kingdom seed that is sown. He both speaks the Kingdom seed words and is himself the Seed of the Kingdom that is the Word. His plan, like the Father’s, is to faithfully sow seeds—even his own life—and expect wonders.

Where is Jesus? He is out prodigiously sowing Kingdom seeds on all soils. He is no respecter of soils. His Kingdom seed is abundant.

What then shall we do? We shall prepare our heart’s soil to accept the Kingdom seed so that we can produce a Kingdom harvest. We are not to have hardened hearts, like the rocky soil or the trampled path where the soil is hard and shallow. We are not to have a heart soil full of weeds. We are to cultivate and prepare our heart’s soil to accept the Kingdom seed. We shall know that all we can do is prepare the way; that God sows and reaps. And, like Jesus, we shall sow Kingdom seeds prodigiously, and we shall have faith in the seeds, and we shall expect wonders, earth-changing wonders.

Thoreau, again: “As I went by a pitch-pine wood the other day, I saw a few little ones springing up in a pasture from seeds which had been blown from the wood…. In a few years, if not disturbed, these seedlings will alter the face of Nature here.” Amen.

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Thoreau quotes are from Faith in a Seed (1993), Island Press.

The Kingdom of God is Like...

In Mark 4, our Lenten reading from last Thursday, Jesus tells parable after parable about the nature of the Kingdom of God. Most of his parables in this section are about agriculture and seeds, which is not an area in which I have much experience or expertise. To some degree I can relate to and understand each parable, but there is also a cultural barrier that is difficult to move beyond. As I read, I found myself wondering what kind of parable Jesus might have told for our contemporary generation. Here is a crack at a modern parable about the Kingdom of God:

This is what the Kingdom of God is like. A woman created a personal video that spoke from her passion, interests, and context and uploaded it to YouTube. She had no visions of grandeur about the video's popularity or reach, but simply desired to share her thoughts and dreams with her family and friends. But as the video was increasingly viewed and its network was rapidly enlarged, the video had suddenly gone viral and her thoughts were recognized, honored, and appreciated by millions.

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The following was my first draft of this parable. It did not end up as a parable, but more of a metaphor. I thought about just deleting it and never showing anyone, but maybe someone might be interested. It at least serves as rather obvious and overt explanation of the parable.

The Kingdom of God is like a YouTube video. It starts small - as a personal video that is only viewed by family and friends. Some end their life at this stage, while others enjoy a moderate existence, bearing an average amount of entertainment or illustrative value. But from time to time, as a video is gradually viewed by an increasing amount of people and its network reach is exponentially enlarged, it slowly but surely spirals out of control. The video has gone viral.

Mark 1, Ending/Beginning

“The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah.” (Mark 1:1)

I don’t recall ever reading the Gospels front to back, in canonical order. Maybe I have. I just don’t remember. Anyway, moving from the end of Matthew’s gospel to the beginning of Mark’s gospel is abrupt. We move from the crucified and resurrected Jesus back to John the Baptist preparing the way for Jesus’ ministry. No birth narrative here in Mark, so it’s not a total reset. There is, however, wisdom in this juxtaposition of ending and beginning, abrupt as it is. There is wisdom in the canon, pedagogical wisdom, just as there is wisdom in the seasons of the church calendar. Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, Pentecost,—the long season of ordinary time,—Christ the King Sunday, and then a new beginning.

We come to an end, and make a new beginning. We “begin again at the beginning,” as Karl Barth wrote. “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age,” in every beginning and every ending, until all is renewed at the end of the age. Jesus is always reminding us to remember, always calling us to obey, always offering new beginnings, always telling us anew the old, old story. If we didn’t get it the first time around (And who among us did? Did the disciples?), here it is again in Mark. Then Luke. Then John.

For me, 61 Advents, Christmases, Lents, Easters, Pentecosts, and Christ the King Sundays, 61 years of hearing the story…and still not enough. I still need new beginnings. I still need to hear it again.

The gospel is ever good and ever news. It is news that stays news.* The good news about Jesus the Messiah is eternally contemporary.**

So, right after the ending of Matthew’s gospel, we have the new beginning of Mark’s gospel, “the good news about Jesus the Messiah.” An ending. A beginning.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.

Who is Jesus? Let’s go over it again, from the beginning.

Where is Jesus? Once more, here is where I am.

What then shall we do? How many times do I have to tell you? Sixty-one times? Sixty one times seven?

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* Cribbed this phrase from Ezra Pound. The quote: “Literature is news that stays news.”

** “Jesus: The Eternal Contemporary” was the theme used by Herb Ham when he returned to Oklahoma Baptist University for Christian Focus Week during my senior year (1973-74). I think it was that year.