Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

Title: "The Opposite of Faith Is …"

Text: Luke 24:36b-48

in this year’s journey through the church year,

that we probably don’t pay enough attention

to the disciples’ response to Jesus’ resurrection.

Yes, every year we repeat the story of old "doubting Thomas,"

but really, that only begins to get at the whole picture.

If you compare the stories in all four gospels,

you will begin to see that, in fact,

nobody believes it at first.

Mary Magdalene sees the empty tomb,

and tells Simon Peter and "the disciple whom Jesus loved."

The men see the empty tomb and depart, puzzled,

and don’t say or do anything about it. in that moment.

Mary stands there weeping,

and even when Jesus stands there and speaks to her,

she is so certain that people do not rise from the dead,

that she does not recognize him,

but assumes that he must be the gardener.

We find out a few verses later, when it is evening,

that the disciples are all in hiding with the doors locked

"for fear of the Jews."

I’m not certain what that means, except maybe they were afraid

that someone would come and accuse them

of having stolen his body away.

At any rate, they are not sitting around chatting about the resurrection!

Apparently, the possibility hasn’t even occurred to them

until Jesus appears in their midst.

Once they have seen him,

then they can believe.

Ditto for Thomas

He was no more of a "doubter" than the others;

he simply wasn’t there to see.

Once he saw, he believed as well.

Luke’s version of the story, which we just heard,

is not too much different except in details.

Just after Jesus has disappeared from the table in Emmaus,

and the two disciples there have run all the way back to Jerusalem

to tell the others,

Jesus appears in the midst of that gathering,

and says "Peace be with you,"

just like he said in John’s gospel.

Only Luke is, I suspect,

a little more truthful about the disciples’ reaction.

John merely tells us that they rejoiced,

which I’m sure they did eventually …

But Luke tells us that at least at first

"they were startled and terrified,

and thought that they were seeing a ghost."

A ghost, no doubt,

being a more plausible option than

an actual, resurrected body.

Jesus shows them his hands and feet,

and invites them to touch him,

to see that he has flesh and bones …

but Luke tells us that even in the midst of their joy,

"they were disbelieving and still wondering."

So Jesus gets a piece of broiled fish from them and eats it;

and since everyone knows that ghosts don’t eat,

this, apparently, is the final piece of evidence.

Then they are finally at peace enough to listen to what he says,

and he reminds them of everything he had taught them before,

and the fulfillment of scripture,

and he tells them that they are witnesses to these things.

But in both cases – Luke’s telling of the story, and John’s –

the disciples don’t believe anything good has happened

until Jesus shows up in person

and makes them believe it.

Hang onto that for just a minute,

and let’s think for a moment about

what it means to be a "witness."

If I’m a witness in a courtroom,

it means that I’m testifying about something I have seen

that the jury has not seen.

Or perhaps if I’m an expert witness,

I’m testifying about something I know

that the average person on the street

wouldn’t be expected to know.

In either case,

I’m trying to get a group of people to believe

my testimony, my telling, my version,

of a reality they have not experienced.

We know from a lot of different sources

that eyewitness testimony can be notoriously inaccurate.

We know that different people can observe the exact same event

and remember very different things about it,

and put very different interpretations on it.

So when I, or anyone, try to function as a "witness,"

part of the job is not only to tell what we know,

but to persuade the hearers that we are believable.

That our version of events is the correct one.

That we can be trusted to tell the truth,

the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Being a "witness" when it comes to telling the faith story

is similar.

Since Easter, we’ve already heard a couple of examples

of Peter giving his testimony to different groups of people,

recorded in the book of Acts.

And what gives Peter credibility?

He was there;

he saw things as they unfolded.

Not only that,

but Jesus had forgiven and commissioned him

even though he had turned chicken at a key moment.

When Peter can say to a crowd something like

"I was a coward,

but Christ has made me brave to speak" …

that has a certain compelling sound to it

even over and above his status as an eyewitness.

So what Peter is asking of those who hear his message …

which is the same thing as we ask of those

who might hear our courtroom testimony …

is that they have faith first in him and his trustworthiness,

and then, because of that, faith in the message he comes to share.

But back to this question of

disbelieving the resurrection …

Once the disciples had actually seen Jesus,

it was no longer a matter of belief, really …

it was a question of evidence.

They all doubted.

None of them had enough faith

to get them beyond the horror of Jesus’ death,

which they had not expected,

no matter how many times he told them.

But once you’ve seen for yourself,

it’s not a question of faith any more.

The disciples had it way easier than us in this regard.

They weren’t being asked to believe something unusual or even impossible …

they actually saw it with their own eyes.

A couple of weeks ago,

the religion section of the Dallas Morning News

had an interview with the writer Annie Lamott,

and in the course of that, she said a wonderful thing:

The opposite of faith is not doubt, she said …

the opposite of faith is certainty.

Think about that.

The disciples didn’t have faith in the resurrection;

they had certainty.

They saw Jesus; they touched him;

they watched him eat a piece of broiled fish!

We are the ones who must have faith to believe such a thing …

faith that the disciples’ testimony about what they saw is accurate,

faith that God can and does do miraculous things,

though not on demand, of course.

Think about the creeds that we say together every week.

Do we ever say,

"I know that such-and-such happened"?

We don’t, do we?

It’s always, "I believe."

We didn’t see it ourselves.

We didn’t touch Jesus, or speak with him in the flesh,

or share a meal with him in the body.

We choose to believe,

but we can never have the kind of certainty

we might have had, had we been there.

Think about it as well

in terms of our daily lives and struggles.

Do I have to have "faith" that the sun will rise each morning?

Or do I just know it?

Do I have to have faith that walking in the rain will get me wet?

Or is that something I can know?

Similarly …

Do we know what God’s opinion is on certain topics?

Or do we need to have faith that God will guide us

to make the best decisions possible?

Do we know what God demands of us?

Or do we have faith that God will direct us,

and show us what we need to do?

I think the reason that Annie Lamott’s statement

so captured my attention

is that it sums up what’s wrong with fundamentalism.

And I don’t mean just Christian fundamentalism …

I mean Islamic, and Jewish,

and even the fundamentalism of scientists

who say that observation and logic are the only way to truth.

When any of us is so wrapped up in our own view of the world

that we know we are right,

and anyone who disagrees with us is wrong …

that’s no longer faith.

It’s … idolatry, really.

But that’s another topic for another day.

We are told, far too often,

that doubt is the opposite of faith.

That any time we raise questions,

or wonder whether God is paying attention,

or feel that we don’t yet know what God wants of us …

that these are a sign of inadequate faith.

Has anyone ever told you any of the following things?:

Having trouble believing in the resurrection?

You just don’t have enough faith.

Wondering where God is in the midst of a hurricane or tsunami?

You wouldn’t be worrying if you had enough faith.

Grieving over the loss of a friend?

If you had just had enough faith, they wouldn’t have died.

You must have let some doubts creep in.

Unsure about what God wants you to do with your time?

Gosh, if you only had enough faith,

you would know what God wants from you.

Any time someone tries to replace your doubts with their certainty …

it’s no longer about faith.

We cannot have knowledge about death;

we haven’t been there yet …

We have to have faith.

We can’t know why God lets things like hurricanes and tsunamis

take such a terrible toll on human life.

We have to have faith that God is in charge,

when sometimes it doesn’t look that way at all.

We don’t "know" that Jesus died and was raised for us;

we weren’t there and we didn’t get to touch him.

We have to have faith in the witness of those who were there,

and in the God who sent him to us and for us.

We have faith precisely because

there are some things about which we cannot have certainty.

Doubts are not an obstacle to faith …

they are an indication that faith is sometimes difficult.

We believe, not because we have seen,

but because we have trusted the testimony of those who have seen,

and the generations who came in between.

We believe because, ultimately,

faith is a gift from God.

Knowledge is something we can achieve on our own;

faith is a gift.

May God increase our faith,

until the day comes, in that world beyond this one,

where our faith becomes knowledge and sight.

Amen!

© 2006 Julie Adkins (e-mail: DrJAdkins@trinitypresdallas.org)