Several years ago my friend Dean Thompson told me the story of his visit with a parishioner of his, a professor from Cal Tech. The man in the hospital was dying of AIDS.
He asked Dean to rehearse his faith for him. Dean in his weighty voice told the man of the promises we have been given by God. When he completed his proclamation of the promises the man looked into his eyes, sighed and said
"I'm too weak to believe that now." Dean returned the man's gaze, looked into his eyes and said, "Then maybe you need to lean on my belief right now."
My friend Bob Dunnum tells of a conversation he had last spring with his mother-in-law Ruby Hooper. Ruby was beginning to slide more dramatically into the morass of Alzheimer's. She had not been sleeping well, was worn out, and so the conversation was disconnected in many ways, and it was hard to say for whom it was more difficult. In those days she was remembering her childhood, and she thought Bob was her brother. She kept saying the same things over and over again. Sensing Ruby's weariness after a while he took her by the hand. "Maybe we could have a prayer together," Bob said. And she looked at him plaintively and said, "I'd like that, but I don't remember how to do it." Bob replied, "Then how about if I do it for both of us?" And as he prayed she drifted off to sleep.
About twenty five years ago Noel Mostert wrote a non-fiction work entitled Supership. The book tells the true story of a remote island located nearly 1500 miles southwest of Cape Town. It had been dubbed by some as the loneliest island in the world. He tells of a young boy who lived in a remote fishing village on the island who had sustained a serious leg fracture that was going to require surgery
beyond the capacity of the village doctor. The next day a boat was readied to take the child to Cape Town, and the boy was brought to the docks. But before he was taken aboard, as he lay on a stretcher at the wharf, every other man, woman, and child in that small village appeared on a nearby hill. Each one came down to the harbor, took the boy's hand, kissed him, and sent him off on his journey to wholeness with Godspeed.
There once was this man in ancient Palestine who was paralyzed. We do not know whether he believed he could be healed of his affliction or not. Throughout the tale he does not speak a word. What we do know is that the people around him believed he could be healed and they were prepared to do whatever was necessary to make it possible.
Four of them carried his limp body as the others directed traffic. When they could not get to Jesus they were not deterred, they scrambled onto the roof with the paralyzed man in tow. We do not know, but it is entirely possiblethat at this point the man wanted to halt all of this nonsense and return home. What we do know is that these crazy, gullible, faithful people around him had no intention of giving up. They dug through the mud and twigs and thatch of the roof to bring this man to Jesus.
Jesus' first response is not to this paralytic man who is being lowered into his very midst. He responds by looking upward to the people straining with the ropes, slowly lowering the man down. The text says, "When Jesus saw their faith," then the paralytic man is offered forgiveness of his sins and healing for his body. The text continues with a theological battle between Jesus and the scribes about authority but let us leave the scribes for another day.
What intrigues me today is this group that sweated and strained and believed enough to get this man to Jesus. What fills me with hope is Dean's steadfast offering of belief in the midst of another's suffering and disbelief. What strengthens me is Ruby Hooper finding peace and sleep to Bob's gentle prayers. What lifts me up is every member of that small villagecoming down to the docks to lay hands on thiat suffering boy awaiting his journey.
Whenever there is a discussion of homelessness someone always makes the point at how thin the line is between those of us who have a place to live and those of us who do not.
A chill inevitably runs down our spines when we calculate what variety of factors could put us in a similar situation, the loss of a job, divorce, long term illness, addiction, mental incapacity. Many of us take comfort in the fact that even if we were hit with a series of calamities we have a network of family and friends who would protect us from homelessness. Certainly Westminster would seek to be a part of that protective support network in such arduous times.
But there is another kind of homelessness to which we are perhaps more vulnerable. Spiritual homelessness and the thin line that separates belief and disbelief. It may arise in the obvious tragedies in our lives, the same ones that put us at risk for actual homelessness, the loss of a job, or a divorce or an illness, leaving us feeling betrayed by God...or it may arise from a long term ennui that leaves our faith dull and lifeless as our disbelief weighs heavy upon our chests...or it may be a realization that we have never really believed in all of this Jesus thing, this improbable story of a God taking human form, a God being crucified, a God conquering death. There are so many ways to lose our faith, to lose our ability to pray, to being broken beyond the point of recognizing the existence of God.
That is why the endeavor of faith is always a community activity. We need each other to keep the faith alive. Some Sundays we show up here and we are not even quite sure why because belief and faith seem so far away. I assume that there is not a Sunday that goes by where there are not people in this sanctuary who have lost or at least misplaced their faith.
Why do we come on those Sundays? Some might say it is out of habit, or because the kids need to be in Sunday school or the choir would be missing a tenor, but I think we come especially on those Sundays because we need to hear that others believe. We need to hear other voices rise up and firmly affirm their faith when our faith is so unsteady.
We need to hear voices singing to the glory of God when we see no vision of God's glory. We need to hear the prayers of others when we can find no prayers of our own to offer.
Just as I am sure that on every Sunday in this sanctuary there are people struggling with belief, I am also sure that on every Sunday there are people here whose steadfast faith carries us all. There are always women and men who are grappling with the deepest issues of their lives and yet they stand on the bedrock of their faith in God and know they will not be moved. I call these people, like Dean and Bob, spiritual warriors because of the passion and determination they bring to breathing life into their faith in the midst of all that may question it.
There are times in our lives when our faith is weak and we are like lost children looking for our way, in need of a hand of guidance...a hand to lift us up or lower us down to a place where we can be touched by God. And there are times in our lives when our faith is strong and we have a hand to offer to others. Times when we are called to remember those vows we acknowledge during baptism when we promise to tell the good news of the gospel, to help them understand all that Christ commands, and by our fellowship, strengthen the family ties of the household of God.
We made those promise on behalf of crying little Lauren today, but those are not promises that are exclusively given to children. We too know can be so wearied by life that we need to weep. We too need to be comforted. And thus we offer that promise to each other as well. When one of us loses belief we can rest upon the belief of another. When one of us loses the ability to pray we can find sustenance and peace in the prayers of others. When one of us is too broken to find God in our lives, others will lay hands of comfort upon us that we may know God's love and compassion.
Thank God for the community of the church which believes even when we disbelieve...which seeks to carry us to Christ through all obstacles. Thank God for the community of the church which is constantly seeking to bring us to a place with God where we can find grace, and healing, and wholeness even when we may lack the strength to make the journey on our own. Amen.