Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it. Matthew 10:39
I lost my faith. And I speak, not so much for myself but for those who have truly suffered because of evil people, tragic events, and corrupt institutions. We have been forced to lose faith in the very things that give order and meaning to our lives. Just when we think we have finally found our lives, we realize we have lost them.
As I begin to write this, CNN and others are broadcasting non-stop coverage of the aftermath of terrorist attacks in Brussels. According to some, those responsible likely belonged to the same ISIS terrorist cell that took responsibility for the Paris attacks not long ago. And because of the recent ISIS inspired shootings in my neighboring city of San Bernardino, I cannot shove this to the back of my mind as if things like this only happen in other parts of the world. And even though it’s been 15 years, the “9-11” attacks continue to cast a dark shadow over everything, even while as a country and a world we find ways to celebrate our resiliency and even compassion.
Meanwhile we’re in the middle of one of the most divisive presidential election campaigns in my memory. No one has been assassinated, fortunately, but given the anger just below the surface on the part of both candidates and public, it will be hard not to think about that possibility. The campaign rhetoric alone seems worse this time around. And I’m not just talking about the words and gestures of protesters that the networks have to edit out with bleeps and pixilation. I’m talking about the personal attacks and an almost total abandonment of civility on the part of people who aspire to be statesmen. When did it become acceptable in public discourse to not only disagree but be downright nasty about it? Actually, there is at least a partial answer to that. Because public voting in recent history has rewarded candidates who “go negative,” now almost everybody does it. Nice guys do not finish first. We have made sure of that.
What bothers me as a pastor, however, is that even in-house discussions of faith tend to follow the same trajectory as the political discussions we’ve grown to abhor. And sometimes there’s not even a distinction made between the two. The trajectory starts with different points of view, often arising in the context of real pain, discouragement and injustice. But it ends, not with resolution and reconciliation, but instead with dispute, personal attacks, alienation, and in some cases even violence.
I remember a certain church about 20 years ago that had a serious dispute with its leadership. Reportedly, in addition to nasty words, a lot of physical shoving went on in the lobby and even a punch was thrown on the occasion of a meeting with church officials. Sometime before that, I had been personally involved as a delegate to a regional church meeting at which we voted to bring a lawsuit against our parent organization for financial misconduct. That one part of the church was suing another was bad enough. But the stubborn attitudes and rude behavior of both delegates and leadership was less than exemplary. More recently, one of my church elders confided that he personally knew of a number of new churches that had been planted simply because those in the original church couldn’t stand each other. Church growth is not always what it purports to be.
And that’s in part why I have lost my faith. To be more specific: I have lost my faith in faith. I no longer believe (if I ever did) that my faith, or your faith, or the faith of any organization, religious or political, will be the answer to the underlying problems of the human family. That does not mean I’m against good government or organized religion. But I remain skeptical, or perhaps realistic, regarding claims of progress, revival, or greatness, on the part of statesmen or religionists. So, does that mean I’m giving up on my church or my country? Absolutely not. But as contradictory as it might sound, a good dose of skepticism regarding our own faith might be a good thing.
One of the problems, of course, is the concept of “faith” itself. Faith it seems, is a very slippery concept. It’s like a greased pig (which I’ll admit I have never encountered literally); just when you think you have it in your grasp, it slips away. Take the phrase “righteousness by faith,” for example. It’s a time-honored expression with its roots in the New Testament and even the story of Abraham. Does the quality of our faith really make us righteous? If so, then we have every right to expect our faith, as expressed in both church and state institutions, to give us the answer to the human problem. The other possibility, of course, is that we have misunderstood Abraham, Paul, and maybe even Jesus on this point.
Ironically, it was the institutional religion of Yahweh, dating back to Abraham, that Jesus was skeptical about. To be clear, he was never skeptical about Yahweh. But he was skeptical about an institution of faith that had taken on a life of its own. And here’s where Paul helps us understand the trajectory of faith, both in its institutional dead-end form and in its eternal life-giving form.
It is not the quality of our faith that matters, says Paul. It is the quality of Jesus’ faith.
