THE LEAP OF FAITH
March 28, 2009
Genesis 12: 1-4
John 3: 1-12
Rev. Dr. Dennis Winkleblack
Prospect United Methodist Church
Bristol, Connecticut
Once upon a time, there was a woman who set out to discover the meaning of life. First she read everything she could get her hands on -- history, philosophy, psychology, religion. While she became a very smart person, nothing she read gave her the answer she was looking for.
So, she searched out other smart people and asked them about the meaning of life. But, while their discussions were long and lively, no two of them agreed on the same thing and still she had no answer.
Finally, she put all her belongings in storage and set off in search of the meaning of life. She traveled to all of the continents. Everywhere she went, people told her they didn't know the meaning of life, but some had heard of a man who did, only they weren't sure where he lived. So she asked about him in every country on earth until finally, deep in the Himalayas, someone told her how to reach his house -- a tiny little hut perched on the side of a mountain just below the tree line.
She climbed and climbed to reach his front door. When she finally got there, with knuckles so cold they hardly worked, she knocked.
"Yes?" said the kind-looking old man who opened it.
She thought she would die of happiness. She’d found him.
"I've come halfway around the world to ask you one question," she said, gasping for breath. "What is the meaning of life?"
There was a long pause. "Please come in and have some tea," the old man said.
"No," she said. "I mean, no thank you. I didn't come all this way for tea. I came for an answer. Won't you tell me, please, what is the meaning of life?"
"We shall have tea," the old man said.
So she gave up and came inside. While he was brewing the tea she caught her breath and began telling him about all the books she had read, all the people she had met, all the places she had been, all the conclusions she had come to.
The old man listened (which was just as well, since his visitor didn’t leave any room for him to reply). As she talked he placed a fragile teacup in her hand. Then he began to pour the tea.
She was so busy talking that she didn't notice when the teacup was full. So the old man just kept pouring until the tea ran over the sides of the cup and spilled to the floor in a steaming waterfall.
"What are you doing?!" she yelled when the tea burned her hand. "It's full, can't you see that? Stop! There's no more room!"
"Just so," the old man said to her. “And so it is with you. You come here wanting something from me, but what am I to do? There is no more room in your cup. Come back when it is empty and then we will talk."
Meanwhile, several thousand miles to the west, a ruler of the Jews named Nicodemus came to Jesus by night. By night so no one would know. So that no one would know he had questions. So that no one would know that Nicodemus, a very religious man, didn’t have all the answers. So that no one would know that as happy as he looked on the outside, he wasn’t all that happy on the inside.
Jesus and Nicodemus dispensed with a tea ritual, but the outcome was the same. Nicodemus had come looking for answers. But Jesus wouldn't cooperate. So Jesus poured tea, so to speak, all over his visitor's hand and said, in effect, that Nicodemus already had gallons of answers available to him. What he needed, Jesus said, was the willingness to let go of present ways and practices and trust God to show him new answers, new ways, new truths. It would be, Jesus promised, something like a new birth for him if he’d give it a try.
When Nicodemus protested that he didn't know what Jesus was talking about, Jesus said, "If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?"
But Nicodemus still didn’t get it. Jesus and Nicodemus were clearly on different wave lengths. The problem was highlighted in the difference between what Jesus meant when he said "believe" and what Nicodemus meant by the same word.
On one level, to believe someone means simply to accept what that person says as true, usually on the basis of some evidence. Someone shows you a picture of himself climbing the rock face of a mountain, tells you it can be done, and you say, "I believe you." You accept the proposition. You give your intellectual assent, but it doesn't interfere with the way you live your life, because it's all in your head.
There's another level of belief, however, that's much more personal, much more life-risking. For example, if, instead of showing you pictures, what if someone were to invite you to go rock climbing with him?
I checked this out on the internet and if one were to go climbing with an experienced rock climber he would fit you with a harness, then run a safety line from your harness through what's called a carabiner around his own waist. And then, assuming you were physically fit, and after a little practice, you'd be ready to scale the heights.
Were you to ask if he was sure you'd be safe, he would assure you that yes, you’ll be perfectly safe – if you trust him and do what he says.
Accordingly, the proper response at that point is not "I believe you," but "I believe in you." Because you are way past anything like mere intellectual assent. You have set yourself in a trust relationship with this person – you are really trusting him with your life.
Nicodemus was halfway there. He came by night to interview the new teacher in town. By coming at night, he was hedging his bets. If nothing came of their encounter he could sneak back home and no one in his home town would know he'd been out looking for the meaning of life.
After all, it's terrible to be identified as someone who doesn't have their act all together. Better to perish than have people think you've got a problem. Especially, let me tell you, if you’re an ordained minister.
Of course, the truth is, all of us have at least one part of our life where we don’t have our act together.
Nicodemus knew Jesus was good -- he had checked his references -- but he wanted more information. He wanted to see first hand. He wanted to see the accident reports about mountain climbing, check out the insurance coverage. He wanted to handle the equipment, maybe try it on for size. Mostly he wanted the teacher to say something that would take away his doubts, and make it easy for him to say yes. But the teacher wouldn't cooperate.
“Believe in me. Really believe in me.” That was Jesus' dare to Nicodemus. “Turn your cup upside down. Empty it of all that stuff that you think you know for certain but which isn’t working. Step into the air. Ride the wind. Don’t look back. Trust me.”
"But how can this be?" said Nicodemus.
These are Nicodemus's last words in this passage, which makes him something of an example for all of us who get stuck at the foot of the mountain, looking up, without the faintest idea of how to begin.
“Here's how,” Jesus says. “Watch me. Put your hand here. Now bring up your foot. Don't think about it too much. Just do as I do. “Believe me. Believe in me. “Now, step out, trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
Such is the leap of faith. The leap. From what is known to what is not known.
Actually, living by faith is a million times tougher than climbing a mountain. Which is why we tend to shy away from making the leap of faith if there’s any other way to handle things. If we can try old, bad solutions one more time. If we can convince ourselves that surely God doesn’t expect us to really change things. If we can possibly buy something to ease our pain or our sadness or our boredom. If we can possibly do anything else, we are much more likely to do that rather than take a leap of faith trusting in Christ to meet us on the other side.
Who knows what excuse Nicodemus made himself believe rather than follow this Jesus. Rather than take that leap of faith. And, like Nicodemus, we can do the same. Make up some excuse for holding God at arm’s length and just go back home. We can go home after church today, close our door and no one will know if we came close to taking a leap with Jesus.
One of the things I’m finding as I’m getting older is that it’s harder for me to change, to be open-minded, than it used to be. Used to be, I prided myself on being open to new thinking, new ideas, new ways of doing things. Now I catch myself quite satisfied with my strongly held opinions and outlook. Sometime, I have to admit, I don’t really want to learn new things. I want to be justified that my present way of thinking is right. That I am right. Which is, of course, stupid of me.
After all, unless I’m God – and even in my best moments I don’t think that – then I have a lot to learn about everything -- especially how God wants me to think and live my life. Because, you know, not everything my parents told me is true. Not everything I’ve always believed is necessarily true. Not even everything the church has taught me over the years is necessarily true.
How dare any of us be content with a closed mind!
But, if we want to keep God’s Holy Spirit out, if we think we have all the truth we need, we can just go home today. Forget about this leaping stuff. Or, maybe there is nothing we need to change.
But, maybe there IS something that needs to change. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve felt something tugging at your heart in our worship today.
If so, you’re on notice. For that little tug is probably the God of the Universe trying to get inside you, to get you to pour out something from your full cup. Trying to get you to open up to something new. Trying to get you to see how you need to change something. Change your thinking. Change your mind. Change your attitude. Change your approach. Change your way. Change -- for Christ’s sake.
Our final hymn is a simple song with a profound prayer that begins where Nicodemus left off with Jesus: “Change my heart O God. Make it ever true. Change my heart, O God. May I be like you.”
Heidi will play it through once and then we’ll sing it through twice. And unlike Nicodemus, let us pray that we’ll not go home today quite the same as we left.