Why is It, Every Time I Talk about Faith...

Yes, the blog is called Shepherd Book, and as Zoe (Gina Torres) was a guest star on this week's Castle (Nathan Filion's current and very successful ABC drama), so today we celebrate the enduring legacy of Firefly, Joss Whedon's short-lived and beloved science fiction drama. "Why is it every time I talk about faith, you think I'm talking about God?" Shepherd Book asks Captain Reynolds in the follow-on movie, Serenity...

And why is it, when we talk about faith, we almost always think we're talking about God? It's not a contradiction  of course, but when the Son of God walked the earth, he seemed to be looking for something 
- he even went so far as to say it out loud, once or twice:


And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?’ - St Luke 18

Time and again, Jesus said to folks, 'your faith has made you well,' 'your faith has saved you.' That's when good things happen. As Jesus helps poor old St Peter out of the water, sputtering and gasping, he asks him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" (St Matthew 14)

I always thought this a bit harsh of Jesus, as St Peter to this day still ranks as the premier water walker of all time (certain Messiahs of fully-human, fully divine nature excepted). But there it is: St Peter didn't necessarily have to have faith in God to walk on water, or faith in Jesus, necessarily, but rather, faith that he was going to walk on that water, just as Jesus was so pointedly doing. If he can do it, I can do it. As far as I know, there was no prayer said before, except... St Peter asks Jesus, "Lord, if it is you (there was some doubt among the soggy apostles), command me to come to you on the water."

Consider. I'm asking you there to command me here to come to you. I want to come to you anyway, but I (for some reason) need you to command me. I want my Lord to command me to do this.

Huh. I've never thought about it like that.

Do I have something I really want to do, some ministry to perform, some task that I'm scared about?

Do I have some chore that needs doing, but I'm lazy, even?

Lord, command me to come to you on the water.

Lord, command me to pursue this vision. Command me to set out on this journey. Command me to do this thing. Huh.

It's not a rule, more like a guideline, really, or just a simple insight. Maybe we need to pray that God would command us more often. Maybe we'd ignore him. Maybe we'd disobey him. But maybe, just maybe, we'd have the faith and the gumption to go out and do it.

Maybe then, when the Son of Man comes, maybe he WILL find faith. I sure hope so.

Rilke for a Cold Monday

Rainer Maria Rilke    (1875-1926)

I am, you anxious one.

Don't you sense me, ready to break
into being at your touch?
My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.
Can't you see me standing before you 
cloaked in stillness?
Hasn't my longing ripened in you 
from the beginning 
as fruit ripens on the branch?

I am the dream you are dreaming.
When you want to awaken, I am waiting.
I grow strong in the beauty you behold.
And with the silence of stars I enfold
your cities made by time.

                 I don't read much poetry, as I prefer my poetry to have a beat I can dance to, generally. But Rilke I would love someday to set to music. And he wrote in German - I've a book at home with German and English on facing pages - and when I read the German out loud, I sound elegant to my own ears, at least. German is notorious for its gutterals and harsh consonants, but we all know that stereotype doesn't always ring true.
        I remember before we left Franconia (a northern province of the old kingdom of Bavaria) in 2000 our children had taken up the local accent - Carol and I were students at the Augustana Hochschule, and as is characteristic of German higher education, the students there came from all over Germany, from Brazil, Tanzania, and even Japan. They necessarily spoke Hoch Deutsch, the German dialect common to all. But our children at the Kindergarten played with children from town, and their lilting, soft and musical Franconian accent was as sweet as anything I remember.
        I can imagine Rilke talking in that same soft and lilting dialect or something like it. There is so much insight, so much grace in his words. Someday, I pray, if I read his words, think his thoughts, I'll maybe echo his language. Someday. It's worth thinking about on a cold Monday morning like this one.