The faith is a great mystery to me and nothing about it is cut and dried. Frederick Buechner, the American Presbyterian author, says if we want to discover God, we must carefully listen to the events in our lives (even the most insignificant) because, he insists, that’s where we’ll find God. Mainly, my life just jogs along, not very exciting, with the usual ups and downs, the joys and sorrows, much like yours I expect. Still, I do know this: That on some rare occasions I have discerned something so beautifully untouchable and loving and quietly powerful, yet with a twinkle about it that I cannot deny or explain, and I believe I have been touched by Mystery.
Malcolm Muggeridge said he believed in prayer but didn’t understand how it worked. That’s about where I am on the subject. Long ago (when I was about 35 years of age), a young minister asked me to lead a group of teenagers. No way! I used every argument in the book: they were smarter than me; they wouldn’t listen to me; I’d be hopeless and besides, I just didn’t want to do it. He smiled and handed me a thick book saying ,”This is the teacher’s guide, just study it and you’ll be fine.” Talk about throwing the Christians to the lions.
Well. The teenagers didn’t turn out to be lions. They were very sweet and gentle with me and I did try to make each lesson as interesting as possible. We had some fine discussions where I learned as much from them as they did from me.
After a while, I decided we needed to branch out a little and I arranged for us to attend churches of other denominations, including the Roman Catholic Church where the priest welcomed us and answered all the questions my kids put out to him. Then I contacted a rabbi in the city nearby and asked for an invitation to his synagogue. That too went well. Next I found the name of the imam at the largest mosque and he invited us to come one evening. And after a tour of the beautiful mosque, he invited us to a smaller room where some Muslim teenagers were expecting us. All the young people were a little uneasy but the barriers broke down as they began to discuss school and football games and music. Then the imam asked some of the Muslim youngsters to stand up and tell what they believed as Muslims. They did, reciting five precepts of their faith.
I grew increasingly uncomfortable, fearing he would ask some of my teenagers to do the same for Christianity. Thankfully, he didn’t and we left, all good friends.
The next Sunday, however, I asked the youth why they came faithfully to our class every Sunday for an hour before the service. There were about a dozen of them and practically all replied, “Because my mother makes me.” Try that for bringing down your ego.
Then I asked, “If you had to get up and tell why you’re a Christian and what you believe, what would you say?” There was a long silence and downcast eyes. When I pressed them, most of them admitted they believed there was a God and someone called Jesus who was kind and loving. Did they believe in the resurrection? Well, now, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it? Someone coming to life again after he was dead? But then, their parents seemed to believe it so it might be true. They didn’t know. (They were always honest.)
Now I wonder what I would say, or what you would say, if those questions were required of us? Do you remember that old poster: “If you were arrested for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”
That young minister who helped me through my faith crisis told me, “There are a lot of things you don’t have to believe, Gwyn; they’re not important. But if you won’t or can’t believe in the resurrection you really can’t call yourself a Christian because that is the foundation on which Christianity is based.” He suggested I go to the Bible for answers.
And that’s where my questions about the risen Christ were answered for all time. It was the complete turn-around of the disciples that did it. From scared, nervous, defeated weaklings they became bold, brave, confident, no-holds-barred followers of Jesus because they had seen the alive-again Jesus with their own eyes, had heard him with their own ears, and touched him and enjoyed breakfast with him on the beach. It wasn’t a hallucination or a vision; they had even eaten the fish he cooked and served to them that morning. And the greatest thing was that he’d told them that although he had to leave them, he would always be with them. Imagine the tears of joy that welled up in their eyes. Strengthened with great courage, they became zealots who went out to pass on with born-again passion this good news everywhere they went and to anyone who would listen. Nothing could stop them. St. Paul, too, said something to the effect that if his listeners didn’t believe that Jesus was risen and alive then they were a bunch of poor souls who were to be pitied. After Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus there was no way he’d ever forget.
We don’t have those “living” experiences, but still, many of us know there’s something within that tells us that it is true; Jesus is risen, is still here, with all of us. Don’t ask me how that’s possible because I don’t know. But that’s part of the mystery.
