Discarding Myth
Last week’s entry in this space told just a slice of the story of John the baptizer’s folks, Zacharias and Elizabeth, found in Luke 1. The piece wondered about faith in the midst of disappointment and how life can make turns we would never choose, and reminding believers that God hasn’t finished writing his story in us. I do hope you have or will take the time to read of their journey again, pausing long enough to let your heart fill in some of the color of the narrative.
There is so much in their story that we can learn from and, once again, I’m glad God doesn’t sugar-coat life, but shows it as we experience it, just in a different time and place. And while we know how their turn on the stage in Luke’s gospel turns out, they didn’t, and the drama of the God-encounter shows how hard, and great, and overwhelming, and joyous a life of faith can be.
One of the little things that caught my attention comes after Gabriel steps through the thin place of the Temple and greets, comforts, and informs Zach that Liz would bear a child after all their years of waiting. The old priest asks the obvious question and reveals a myth many believers embrace. The myth of certainty.
“How can I know this for certain?”
Get ahold of the scene again:
Zacharias has prayed for a child from his youth to his old age and has learned to live a godly, fruitful life in the midst of his disappointment at not being a parent.
He is serving God, alone, in his once-in-a-lifetime chance to offer incense in the Temple while Liz and friends wait outside.
Suddenly, as if stepping through a curtain, stands Gabriel, God’s messenger.
A proclamation of utmost importance, filled with amazing details is declared not just of a child, but of his impact on the world for all time.
Imagine a rather long pause as the old man tries to digest what he has heard: He looks wide-eyed at the angel then at his body and remembers his aging wife, he recalls the many close calls and false starts, he feels again the heartache of let-downs and he utters this phrase.
“How can I know this for certain?”
Gabriel is gobsmacked. After all, by his own words the angel stands in the presence of God and was handed a message and mission announcing the long-awaited arrival of the Christ, God himself, set to enter his creation as one of the created ones. Who could doubt the certainty of his message?
The curtain was about to go up on the greatest revelation of God to his creation, and Gabriel is dispatched to Zach with message #1, then Mary would be next, and the old guy stumbled out of the gate. Gabe had to wonder: What more could this man need to be convinced?
But, in fairness, how many times have you and I asked the same thing?
“How can I know this for certain?”
Our faith journey occasionally brings us to the very edge of our ability to hang on and keep following. While we know we grow strong and best when we trust in the unseen to bring about the seen, we still ask for certainty beforehand. But terrible beauty lies in the uncertain, when it’s Jesus or nothing. It is faith.
Eugene Peterson in the Message paraphrases Hebrews 11:1,2 in a way I can get my head around.
The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see. The act of faith is what distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd.
While faith in God is to be our calling-card, the myth of certainty shadows much of our world. We desire it, even demand certainty, but the truth is, much of living life carries no certainty of success, or of health, or of solid relationships, or jobs, or even safely traveling across your town. But we still look for the guarantee.
In place of certainty, believers hope. A Jesus-follower’s hope is not wishful thinking, like hoping for nice weather on picnic day, but a firm belief that our Father is good and loving and that all of life comes from his hand, directed or allowed.
Hope trusts in the dark.
Hope rests within the storm.
Hope pours into bowls our heart desires as prayers and lifts them up to be heard and remembered.
In the Zacharias story, after his question Gabriel causes the man to be unable to speak, and based on the line that the folks were making signs to communicate with him very likely meant he was deaf as well, until the baby is born. This is less a punishment for disbelief than a sign to others and to Zach that this is a real thing that happened there in the Holy Place.
For months, he possibly first endured, then loved and grew in the solitude until the day when John was named and Zach burst forth with praise he had been saving up for all that time. At the end of his prophetic praise, Zach says,
And you, my little son, will be called the prophet of the Most High, because you will prepare the way of the Lord. You will tell his people how to find salvation through forgiveness of their sins.
Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace.
So, let’s examine our faith lives for places where we might be embracing the myth of certainty. Letting go of that myth means getting comfortable with relying on biblical hope in a God who knows us by name and what we need and how best we will grow. Discarding myth calls for embracing hope.
Let’s end this, friend, with one question that might resonate from what we know to be, “How will my hope in God for (fill in the blank) affect my life this day?” Ask the Father to show you a place where your hope can replace fear, or anger, or apprehension, then lean into your firm assurance of God’s care for you.
Merry Christmas! Unto us a Savior is born, who is Christ, the Lord.
Carols are always good
And a couple of jokes for the road
Admiring the Christmas trees displayed in his neighbor's windows, a child asks his father, "Daddy, can we have a Hanukkah Tree?"
"What? No, of course not," says his father.
"Why not?" asks the child.
Bewildered, his father replies, "Because the last time we had dealings with a lighted bush, we spent 40 years in the wilderness."
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We had built our dream house some years ago, and furnished it with quality pieces as we could afford them.
Now, on Christmas Eve, the delivery truck carrying the last purchase, a new bedroom suite, was pulling into the driveway.
"Finally!" I exclaimed, flinging open the front door as the driver walked up to the house. "I've been waiting twelve years for this!"
"Don't blame me, lady," he said. "I just got the order this morning."