Sermon for June 9, 2019 - The Day of Pentecost - The Rev'd Jeffrey Mello

Day of Pentecost

Genesis 11:1-9; Acts 2:1-2; John 14:8-17, 25-27

When a Graduation speech, lecture or worse, a sermon, includes the phrase “The dictionary defines [insert subject of speech, lecture, sermon here] as…” it is usually my cue to tune out.  If I wanted to know what the word meant according to the dictionary, I would have consulted a dictionary.

And so it was, with great trepidation, that I felt myself drawn to consult the dictionary on the subject of belief. I won’t tell you what the dictionary said.  If you wanted to know what belief means according to the dictionary, you could have consulted the dictionary.

But what I do want to say is that what drew me there was my sense that the word “belief” is elusive in its meaning.  That what I mean when I say belief can vary from what you mean when you say belief. Unlike the word table, or window, or hair that can vary in expression, but are constant in general understanding, the word belief isn’t so easily confined to a common, shared understanding.

And yet we put a great deal of weight, we invest a great deal in this word.  It is often spoken of as the currency of a life of faith. Speaking of faith, what is the difference between faith and belief, if there is one?

There was a definition offered at the end of a long line of definitions of belief, though, that shocked me.  It read, “a freedom from doubt.”

That was a surprise to me, as I consider doubt an integral part of faith, of belief.  Without doubt we have fact, and when it comes to matters of the Divine, who can claim absolute fact?

So what does it mean to utter the words “I believe….”

What does it mean when we say it to someone who is sharing their truth with us, without need of evidence?  “I believe you” we say. What do we mean when we say that?

Each week, we stand to say the Nicene Creed.  And as much as we can offer nuance on its role in our lives of faith; that it is a hymn, that the corporate “we” frees us from individual accountability, that it is the story of our faith not a recitation of facts,” ultimately, we start each section, “We believe.”  What do we mean when we say that? Do we mean that what follows those words is scientifically provable fact? Good luck with that.

Do we mean we don’t understand it, but trust the history and tradition of the church enough to accept it as fact.  Well, the history and tradition of the church also supported slavery, soooooo….

And today, during the sacrament of Baptism I will ask you “Do you believe” three times and three times you will be asked to reply “I believe.”  Not, in this case “We believe” but “I believe”.

Do you know what you’re saying?

If you’re like me, you’re pretty sure, but not exactly sure, not absolutely assuredly, without-a-doubtedly sure that you know.

And yet, we will say those words, because we think we know what we mean when we say belief.  And some of us won’t say those words because we think we know what we mean when we say, “I believe.”

If belief is the currency of our faith, we ought not spend it if we don’t know what it’s worth.  Belief, for me, is a lot like bitcoins. I think I know what they are, but I have no idea what I mean when I use “bitcoin” in a sentence.  Including this one. So don’t give me any Bitcoins to spend. Whatever they are.

Words like belief scare us, I think.  Either because we imagine they are asking something of us we cannot give, or because they are used so carelessly as to lose any real meaning.

I don’t think belief has anything to do with assenting to a list of facts, any more than sin is about a list of behaviors.  

Like sin, belief is about relationship.  Sin has to do with separation from God, separation from our best selves and separation from our siblings in God.

Belief has to do with living our lives as though the thing we are being asked to believe is true, whether or not we know it actually is.

When we tell a child, “I believe you” we aren’t saying we have all the facts sufficient to close the case.  What we are saying most of the time is that we agree to move forward from that moment as though their truth is true.  It requires trust, it demands relationship.

“I believe” is not “I know.”  “I believe” is not “I can prove.”

I believe is I agree, based on our relationship, to live as though the belief is true.

In her book, “Inspired,” which we are exploring this summer in Adult Education, author Rachel Held Evans spends a chapter talking about the miracle stories in scripture.  Did she believe a giant whale swallowed Jonah for three days? That Jesus walked on water? That a small amount of fish and bread fed 4,000 or 5,000 depending on the story?

She felt trapped between literalism on the one side and the purely metaphorical on the other.  Jesus’ bodily resurrection felt, to her, insufficiently explained by either pure science or pure metaphor.

Enter belief.  Enter relationship.  Enter a desire to live her life as though it were true.

Our skepticism serves us well.  It is there to protect us from being duped, or hurt.  But I felt a hard pain of recognition when I read the line “my skeptical mind is both protecting me from exploitation and blinding me to a spectrum of colors I know others can see.”

That spectrum of colors that others can see is the core of my longing in my relationship with God.  What others seem to have, that spectrum of colors, is what I am after. How might my protective skepticism be preventing me from seeing the colors that are right in front of me.

Held Evans quotes Dallas Willard, who wrote, “We don’t believe something by merely saying we believe it...or even when we believe that we believe it.  We believe something when we act as if it were true.”

“So,” Held Evans continues, “perhaps a better question than ‘Do I believe in miracles?” is “Am I acting like I do?”

When we profess what we believe; a story, a confession, our the story of our faith in the words of the Nicene Creed or the Baptismal Covenant, might a better question than “Do you believe” be “Are you acting as if...are you living your life as if you do?”

Are you living your life as though God is a loving parent?

Are you living as though God loved you enough to come and live among us, feel our pain and die in pursuit of the freedom of all?

Are you living as though the Spirit of God, whose Feast day we celebrate today is still active and moving in the world, moving in you?

Are you living as though the God who chose the most unlikely of candidate to bear God incarnate might just choose you to do the same?

More Held Evans.  She writes,

“A lot of religious folks think they can help by insisting over and over again how important it is to “just believe,” as if belief were something on could conjure by force of will. But in my experience, simply wanting to believe doesn’t work.  The only thing that ‘works’ -- and probably only about half the time--is the long and storied spiritual discipline the sages of the faith refer to as ‘fake it till you make it.”

Go to church.

Take communion.

Show up at the homeless shelter.

March in the protest.

Pray for healing.

Rebuke the chaos.

This is what I want for Jack and Anne who we Baptize this morning.  Not to assent to a list of beliefs as facts, but to live their lives as though it is all true.

As though this community has their back, all the time, in every time and place.

As though God loves them unconditionally, even when they have a hard time understanding why.

As though, as the blessing goes, “They can make a difference in this world.”

I want them to go to church, to take communion, to march, to speak, to grow, to feed, to clothe, to soothe not because they know it works for a fact, but because their relationship with God and with those around them frees them to stand in front of the God who loves them and mutter, “I believe.”

That is my prayer for Jack and Anne.

That is my prayer for me.

That is my prayer for you.

That is what I believe.

AMEN.

© 2019 The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello