“Losing Certainty, Finding Trust”
Livestreamed service part 1
Livestreamed service part 2
Matthew 4:1-11
an excerpt from Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World
The original story is set in Japan, but it could be anywhere—New York, Los Angeles, even Amherst, Massachusetts.
In the original, the spiritual tradition is Zen Buddhism, but it could also happen in any number of faiths—Judaism, Islam, even progressive Christianity.
The main character, according to the original, is a young worker who finds himself both disillusioned and burned out by the proverbial rat race, but it could be almost anyone—an exhausted parent, a questioning student, anyone in search of meaning and purpose.
The central character could be you, or it could be me; it could be any one of us. The details of the story don’t matter. What matters is the clear lesson on the value of, and the reason for, spiritual practice.
The story goes like this:
A young worker left the big city and his whole life behind, and, seeking spiritual enlightenment, traveled to a monastery high up in the mountains. Month after month he practiced sitting meditation, night and day, day and night, and after many months he still felt nothing. No enlightenment, no relief of his suffering, no answers to life’s big questions—nothing.
Frustrated and confused, he went his mentor monk and said, “What does all this sitting have to do with enlightenment?”
“Everything,” replied the zen master. Sitting “has as much to do with enlightenment as it does with the sun rising in the morning.”
This was not what the young man wanted to hear. “I’m not feeling anything,” he said. “Nothing is happening. So why should I continue to practice?”
Unperturbed, the zen master replied calmly, “So that when the sun does rise, you will be awake.”1
And so it is with us and spiritual practices. So it is with us as we begin the spiritual journey and disciplines of Lent.
We pray, meditate, study scripture, give of our time and treasure, worship together, build community, work for justice and peace, and pursue other, less traditional, spiritual practices so that, in the words of author Barbara Brown Taylor, we might “wake up to” the reality of God and God’s presence everywhere and in everything—including the most mundane aspects of our lives, the most challenging situations, and the most irritating people.
We practice staying open to Spirit so that when life happens, we will be ready. We practice showing up for Love so that when the sun rises, its radiant beam will shine upon us. We practice the loving and giving ways of Jesus so that when we get lost, we will know which way to go. We practice giving so that we will be available to others. We practice building a spiritual toolbox so that when the storm hits, we will be standing on solid ground. We practice learning God’s voice so that when grace arrives, we can welcome her with a joyful heart and open arms.
“The whole world is the House of God,” after all. And with regular practice at letting the Spirit of Love transform our hearts and minds, we might come to see “the whole world as an altar,” worthy of our attention and praise. With love and practice and the power of Spirit, we might come to understand that “the divine could erupt anywhere.”2
To awaken to this fundamental reality, to know life as bottomless mercy and endless grace is the ultimate invitation—not only of Lent but of the entire spiritual journey and life itself: to become so fully aware of the love and light of God shining in and through everything and everyone that we are made new. And to understand that in our being made new and whole and one with the Ground and Source of All That is, the whole world that God so loves might yet be healed, undivided, and at peace.
And if all that sounds like pie in the sky, enlightenment, nirvana, heaven, or some other seemingly unrealistic and unattainable goal, that’s precisely the point. That is what God wants for us. This is the love we were made for.
Jesus called it the Kingdom of God, the Realm of Heaven. Jesus said it was just around the corner. Jesus said it was within us.
“Follow me,” Jesus said, “and I’ll show you. Follow me, and we’ll go together.”
And, he added, “It won’t always be easy.”
Indeed, our gospel readings this Lent include several of Jesus’s so-called “hard sayings” or teachings, all of which boil down, more or less, to this:
“You who want to save your so-called life will lose it, but you who are willing to lose what passes for life for Love’s sake will find the life that truly is life.”
It’s a hard thing to understand and even harder to live out, which is why it takes practice and trust and lots of grace. We will be getting to that this Lent, exploring different aspects of life and practice each Sunday, reflecting on which burdens of the false life we need to lose and which gifts of true life we can find along the way.
But for now let’s be clear: Following Jesus is not about sacrifice for the sake of suffering. Being faithful is not about making ourselves miserable to prove that we’re trying to be good. Coming to church is not about earning a grace that’s already been poured out upon us. Lent is not about giving up a favorite food while ignoring God and hanging on to false notions of faith.
And still, this transformation, new-life business is not magic. Like anything worth doing, it takes commitment. It requires intention. It involves practice. And the only real guarantee is that Jesus will be with us. Always. The God who is love and the Spirit of Power will be with us. Always.
Meanwhile, the journey may sometimes lead us into the wilderness. Or we might get lost occasionally. But we’ll be amazed at what we discover when we’re lost. There’s no telling who we can become when our trust in God’s faithfulness is stronger than our discomfort with uncertainty.
God told Abraham and Sarah to leave their homeland for a promised but unknown future. The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years before reaching the promised land. It took decades in exile for Jerusalem’s most powerful people to realize how much they needed God. And Jesus, newly baptized and anointed as God’s beloved, was led into the wilderness, where he practiced the presence of God for 40 days and nights.
There was, of course, no red devil with a pitchfork—only Jesus’s own hungers and desires, fears, anxieties, and weak spots. But because he had practiced prayer and learning God’s truth, he was able to remain true to himself and faithful to God’s love.
Most of us do our best to avoid wilderness experiences. We don’t want to get lost, and uncertainty makes us anxious. But who among us has not had some setbacks, struggles, or stretches of feeling that we’ve lost our way? Who among us has not experienced difficulty and loss?
Barbara Brown Taylor goes so far as to name getting lost as a spiritual practice—because there’s a lot to be said for learning that we need God and other people. Independence is over-rated, and inter-dependence an under-developed skill. Getting lost or sick or injured can be a crash course in interdependence and trust, but there are easier ways: We can practice moving out of our comfort zones. We can practice trying new things and meeting new people. We can practice letting go of our needs for certainty and control. We can practice trusting God with our needs for this day and our plans for the future.
Indeed, mental-health studies conducted since the pandemic suggest that “because life is inherently uncertain” and change is a constant, “being open to uncertainty is critical for mental well-being.” These studies suggest that “learning to lean into uncertainty” will make us stronger, steadier, and better able to weather life’s ups and downs.3
And what better way to learn to lean into uncertainty than by practicing trusting God? By reading the psalms, by learning the words of Jesus, by remembering and reflecting on all the times God’s love and grace have brought us through, by meditating on God’s promise to be with us always, by opening our hearts to God’s presence with us.
Without even thinking about it, we trust that the sun will rise every morning. We trust that the sun is there even when thick clouds hide it from our sight. Can we trust God’s love in the same way?
Let’s practice. Together.
