Archived Homily: “The Journey to a Place called Joy: The Hammer of God’s Answers falling on the Anvil of Our Questions”

Brothers, have you ever been afraid of the unknown? Have you ever asked God to stop rocking the boat? Have you ever encountered a problem so big that there was no human solution for it? I remember, as I was growing up in Michigan in the early 1980’s, the fear and anxiety that gripped so many of the people I knew – especially my family. My father worked in the automotive industry for almost all of his career. He was a human resources manager with various companies and could see what was beginning to happen in the early 1980’s. I remember him watching with interest the news reports about climbing unemployment – especially amongst the big three auto makers and their suppliers. I remember him saying to my mother – at various points – that he needed to get his resume out “just in case.” I remember the rumors and reports about robots completely taking over automotive manufacturing. I remember – quite vividly – living with the fear of not knowing what was going to happen next. More to the point, I remember the scenarios that crept into my mind and how I assumed it would all play out. We have a tendency to do that, don’t we? We have a tendency – when we’re afraid – to let our imaginations get the better of us. We let them build a scenario that usually turns out to not match reality. And that – it just so happens – is the biggest obstacle most people face when we think about God. We hear about God’s invitation to new life and we focus on the blessings and the miracles. Then we hear about his call to holy living and self-denial, and we allow our imaginations carry us away from Jesus. We don’t even stick around long enough to let God describe the joy that’s gained through self-denial and living for Jesus. We allow our questions to loom larger than God’s answers. We allow the shear volume of our questions to drown out God’s answers. And, let’s face it, our questions usually – though not always – have something to do with fear: The fear of having to surrender this or that; the fear of being pushed too far; the fear of losing some sort of comfort. We might think that by asking all sorts of questions we can somehow change God’s answers. We might think that our questions will raise an issue that God hasn’t thought about. Or, we might think that our questions will show God that he doesn’t love us enough. But in most cases, our questions only serve to show us the absurdity of our imaginations. You see, the Bible tells us that even before we ask a question, God’s already answered it – he’s already met our need. If that’s the case – and it definitely is – then there’s no way we’re going to change his answers, or raise an issue he hasn’t thought about, or show him to be less than loving toward us. It’s amazing what our feeble imaginations can trick out of us, isn’t it? We can become so paranoid about any threat to our comfort level that we close our eyes, put our fingers in our ears, and shout at the top of our voices until we think God has given up. We do all this based on what we assume. We do it based on what we think might be the case. We do it without any proof or any basis in reality. Once upon a time, I was privileged to serve as a musician for the Saint Matthew A.M.E. Church in Lansing, Michigan. One of the first things I noticed about the A.M.E. Church was the logo they use: It’s often referred to as the “Cross and Anvil”. In front of the cross there sits an anvil, and for the longest time I saw that logo as a symbol of God wanting to pound something out of me – something I didn’t want to surrender. Years later, I discovered that the A.M.E. “Cross and Anvil” meant something completely different to what I had imagined. Far from signifying God beating down the human person, it represents God’s attempts to make us free. You see, on that anvil – through the power of the life-giving cross – the chains of African-American slavery were broken. On that anvil of questions about human freedom God lowered the hammer of his answer and broke the chains of human slavery – not the men and women held in slavery. Likewise, God wants to lower his hammer on the chains that bind us, setting us free to experience to joy he intends for us. You can imagine how embarassed I was, having thought that the “Cross and Anvil” were a symbol of God’s desire to pound me rather than free me. Yet, when we pepper God with so many questions that we can’t hear his answers, aren’t we assuming that his answers are aimed at hurting us instead of freeing us? The only way for our questions to be answered is by laying our chains on the anvil – and that requires faith. Jesus was asked, in today’s Gospel lesson, to reveal himself. The men asking the question were desperately afraid of his answer. If the truth is told, they wanted to use his answer to destroy him before he could destroy them. The funny thing is that his answer would have brought them joy, not destruction; freedom to worship God in spirit and in truth, not despair. The even funnier thing is that Jesus had been answering their question – even before they asked it – by the miracles he was working. But – like you and I have often done – they had closed their eyes, put their fingers in their ears, and tried to shout him down. What’s so sad about this is the fact that they had made their imaginations their “shepherds”. So, when the true Shepherd showed up, they wouldn’t allow themselves to follow him. You can almost hear the hurt and pain in Jesus’ voice as he tells them, “…but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep.” Do you belong to his sheep? Are you following a false shepherd, created in the imagination of your heart? Have you allowed fear to lead you astray from the one Shepherd who alone can lead you into all joy? Before you answer that question, think about Moses and the joy he was forced to surrender because he allowed his imagination – his own fears and frustrations – to shepherd him away from the living God. Moses lost God’s promise – God’s answer – because his question interrupted and blocked what God intended. To put it another way, there are consequences for questioning when we should be listening. The consequence is losing God’s gift of joy. As we continue our “Journey to a Place Called Joy” this Easter season, this issue should be on our minds. The last Sunday we were together we explored the gap between what we’re able to see and what God is promising. Today we’ve taken that a step further by asking ourselves whether we trust God enough to start listening. That’s a big step to take. Our Lord’s first disciples – those who were gathered in the upper room, those who walked with him on the road to Emmaus, and those who saw him standing on the lakeshore – had to come to the place where they decided whether or not to trust this man who triumphed over the tomb. Saint Paul says as much to the Jewish congregation gathered in Antioch. Near the end of his message in that synagogue, Saint Paul shares how the people of Jerusalem, and their leaders, failed to recognize who Jesus was – the implication being that they chose to close their eyes and stop up their ears in the face of the truth, just as we read in the Gospel today. Then the Apostle says something that every believer must place at the center of his being. He says, “Let it be known to you therefore, brethren, that through this man forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you, and by him every one that believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses.” He drew the proverbial line in the sand with that statement, didn’t he? The acceptance or rejection of that statement determines whether or not we will allow the hammer of God’s answers to fall on the anvil of our questions and set us free. When we look inward and see the things that haunt us – just as the disciples did between Easter and Pentecost – or when we look at the world around us and ask where the hope is, we have to make a decision. We have to make a decision to listen to the voice of Jesus as he ties together the story of his suffering with the story of his victory; we have to make a decision to listen to him as he binds our questions to his answers. One of the things I admire about Baptist preachers is that they often – very often – draw a line in the sand and ask their flocks to make decisions in response to the Gospel. That’s healthy. And so I ask us, this afternoon, to likewise make a decision – a decision to listen to God as ardently as we’ve questioned him. In a few moments we’ll have the opportunity to act on that decision. We’ll approach the Altar to receive the Body and Blood of Jesus – the Sacrament of his Covenant with us, his answer to our questions made real. Each time we do so, we’re telling him – and ourselves – that we hear him, that we love him, and that we trust him. Brothers, I pray that we will continue in the journey to a place called joy. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Father Todd Boyce, Vicar The Fellowship of Saint Joseph Sunday, April 25, 2010