Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 30, 2022

Church Reformed, Always Reforming
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12

First, a history lesson!  Today is Reformation Sunday, when Protestant churches around the world celebrate and remember the men and women who challenged the Catholic church and eventually broke away from it, creating a new way of following Christ and honoring God in community.  If you’ve studied this, you’ll remember that the Reformation was ignited in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of Wittenberg Chapel in Germany.  He was protesting the sale of indulgences, amongst other excesses and injustices wrought by the church at that time.  One would think that those days are far behind us, and they are – we get on beautifully well with our neighbors at St. Matthew’s, but there are still a few cultural flashpoints on which we differ with the Catholic community at large – who can be ordained, and a woman’s right to choose chief among them.  Our Presbyterian practice has grown distinct from the others even in our Protestant family: the Lutherans, the Congregationalists, the Methodists, the Baptists and so on.  Still, we all trace our roots back to the nail in the door at Wittenberg, back to that furious cleric courageous enough to criticize the church.

Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, Knox, and the other reformers didn’t believe that people needed an intermediary between themselves and God.  Instead, they taught people to read and put Bibles into peoples’ hands, so for the first time, ordinary folks had the chance to see and interpret scripture for themselves.  Before this time, education was restricted to the clergy and aristocracy – but the Reformers saw the importance of literacy and learning for everyone, which led to greater access to education for poor people across Europe.  Part of what drove the reformation was the invention of the printing press –when people had access to Bibles printed in their native tongue and could read the Word for themselves, it changed them, opening their imagination to new ways of building faithful community, to be in relationship with God.

We still believe that Christ alone is Lord of the conscience – that we can determine what is right and wrong, discern God’s will for ourselves and our churches through prayer and reflection, discussion and debate.  We see this at all levels of the Presbyterian church, in the work of the session, the Presbytery, the General Assembly.  And we believe that we are the church reformed, always being reformed…. Thanks be to God!  That is, the reformation wasn’t a one-time event.  God is still at work: shaping, changing, pushing us to adapt to new challenges and circumstances.  We are a confessional church, which means that at critical moments in history, we stop and assess, to reaffirm what we believe about who God is, who we are, and what we are called to do.

Accordingly, we should remember that today is the 40^th anniversary of the Belhar Confession: a statement against apartheid by the Dutch Reformed Mission Church in South Africa, calling the church to stand unified together against racist division and discrimination.  Belhar was written in 1982, and was adopted in 1986. Nelson Mandela was still in prison; this was 8 years before the end of apartheid and the first free, integrated elections there in 1994.  The confession was written not only because of the political and social horrors wrought by racist separation policies in their country, but because these divisions existed within and were perpetuated by the church, too.  So Allan Boesak and the other religious leaders had the courage to say that the church belongs not to humans but to God, and therefore “must stand where the Lord stands, namely against injustice and with the wronged;…[and] must witness against all the powerful and privileged who selfishly seek their own interests and thus control and harm others.”[1]  As you might imagine, this call to unity was not universally well-received.  One of the authors of the confession was jailed and tortured, and people denounced it as a communist document.  Still, the wheels were set in motion, and the change that many longed for was coming… in both the church and in the wider society.  And, within ten years, it did.

The Belhar confession was added to our own PCUSA book of Confessions in 2016.  It is worth remembering that it took more than twelve years of study and at least one failed attempt to include this statement and its powerful call to unity against racism in our book.  As the PCUSA’s history of the confession notes, “Apartheid is the human context for the Confession of Belhar, yet it is never mentioned in the confession. Rather, Belhar lifts up the heart of the Gospel as a bringer of hope for the human condition. Belhar presents a Christian view of racism, separation, and suffering by those who had experienced the realities of these evils.”[2] It was eventually included because leaders in our church here in the US hoped it might strengthen our common witness and work to build a more just church, and a more kind, loving, and just world.

So why remember this today?

In part, because it’s important to know our history.  But also because this letter to the early church in Thessalonica is problematic!  You heard, as I read it, the part that the lectionary leaves out: the promise that God will wreak vengeance on the church’s enemies; the threat that God will repay with affliction those who cause suffering.  The writer’s belief that suffering and persecution make us worthy of the kingdom of God!

The fledgling community to which Paul is writing WAS suffering persecution at that time in the declining Roman empire; Paul himself was imprisoned because of his efforts to spread the faith.  But that is not our context!  Looking around, we can see the problems that come from equating ourselves here in the US in the 21^st century with that persecuted Christian minority – the justification of discrimination against women, LGBTQ people, people of color, other religions on the grounds of our religious beliefs.  The embrace of violence as a means to protect a particular community or belief system.  The flag of the crusaders flying over a riot on the steps of the US capitol.  A man with a hammer attacking the spouse of the Speaker of the House.  This kind of thinking leads down a dangerous road.

But Paul’s letter to the church in Thessalonica should not be dismissed outright. Paul affirms the love and peace of the community as signs of their faith and persistence despite the challenges they face.  Our love for one another and commitment to unity in the midst of struggle are gifts from God, who promises to give us grace sufficient to the work to which we are called!  This letter is a snapshot, a window into a time as the church was just beginning to discover what it looked like to seek to hold fast to faith in the midst of adversity.  It affirms that justice matters to God, that though God is merciful, our actions have consequences.  As Americans in the 21^st Century, we would do well to remember that.

And also, there is room, space for us to change: just as Zaccheus was changed by his encounter with Jesus in the road – to atone for his wrongdoing, to become a person of great generosity.

In its exploration of the Belhar Confession, the PCUSA observes that “[Ours] is a faith and tradition that must be continuously liberated from its own failures and idolatries, but also a tradition with an enormous liberating potential.”[3]  That is, we don’t always get it right.  Luther was antisemitic.  Calvin’s Geneva was not a fun place to live – he was terribly harsh, and left no room for artistic expression or play-  he himself was sent away at one point for being too exacting.  We don’t have to look far back in the PCUSA’s history to find a reluctance to embrace integration, the leadership of women and LGBTQ people, and so on.  And so I am grateful that we are a church reformed and always being reformed.  That we have the capacity to change, and that this is in fact the work of the Spirit within us and through us!  I’m grateful for the promise that the Spirit continues to be at work, breaking open our hearts and our notions of what church looks like, or sounds like, or acts like – so that we can continue to become the beloved community God intends for us to be.  MAY IT BE SO!!!

[1] The Confession of Belhar, https://www.presbyterianmission.org/resource/belhar-confession/

[2] PCUSA History of the Confession of Belhar, https://www.pcusa.org/site_media/media/uploads/theologyandworship/pdfs/the_belhar_confession-rogers.pdf

[3] Smit, D.J., “The struggle against apartheid and its significance for Reformed faith today,” Reformed World (Volume 55/4, December 2005) pp. 366-367, quoted by Eunice McGarrahan, “A Study of the Belhar Confession and its Accompanying Letter,” Office of Theology and Worship, PCUSA, 1/28/2008.

Cat Goodrich
October 23,2022
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD

It Takes a Village
Joel 2:23-32

I have a friend who, when her kids were little and still a bit squirmy and rambunctious, remembers one Sunday when she and her family just barely made it to church.  They were just a little bit late, and once they got settled in the pew there were a lot of shuffled papers and dropped toys.  She says she and her husband cringed through much of the service, hoping that they weren’t being too disruptive.  Every parent knows this feeling, right?  Wondering if your child is going to be too much for this place – will you make it to the end of this, or are you going to have to pick the child up like a football and just get out of there?  Miraculously, they were able to stay until the end of the service.  As they gathered their belongings, picking up legos and toy cars from the floor, a matriarch of the church made her way “purposefully over to them.”  My friend braced herself, ready for some passive aggressive barb about children in church.  She was surprised when the woman smiled and said, “I’m so glad you made it today!”  When my friend apologized for being so unruly, the woman laughed and surprised her again by tearing up.  She said, “Honey, I can remember a time when it was too quiet in here. You keep coming back, and don’t you worry. Y’all can bother me anytime.”[1]

They did keep coming back.  It made all the difference to know they were truly welcome.

We don’t often get to be part of communities that are truly welcoming, where we can really show up with our whole selves – mess, noise, baggage, and all.  And we don’t often get to be part of authentic communities that are truly intergenerational.  Some of us are lucky enough to be part of families who span multiple generations. Some jobs – teaching, or work in a university, or parts of health care – allow us to interact regularly with people who are much younger or much older than we are.  But for the most part, we engage with and build community with our peers: in work, in our social lives.  This makes sense: we’re often thrown together with those in our same stage of life; it’s easy to connect with those who are going through the same joy, the same stress, whether it’s parenting young children, or caring for an aging parent, or grieving the death of a spouse, or enjoying retirement.

But for me, one of the gifts of church is the chance to be part of a truly intergenerational community.  Where we can learn from and support one another in all the different stages of life we might be in.  Where my children can know and be known by amazing people like Marilyn, who makes 90 look young.  Where we can learn with and appreciate the giftedness of someone like Samuel, who has lived and taught and played music all over the world.  This is a place where our old ones can dream dreams and our young ones can see visions together.  The real magic happens when the wisdom of the past connects with clear-eyed vision in the present, to give rise to a common hope for the future.  This is part of the vision of salvation shared by the prophet Joel, isn’t it?

I can remember convening a parent circle in my church in Atlanta, where parents of college students and twenty-somethings shared their experience parenting young children and kids in elementary school.  We crowded into a Sunday school room, the room filled with people clutching paper cups of coffee and overflowing with questions: How did they prioritize church in the midst of so many competing demands for their time?  How did they make a home for Faith?  It was so reassuring, to share and learn from one another.

We have a wealth of knowledge and experience here, right?  You people have been through a lot – this congregation has been through a lot.  You know the pain of grief, the shock of sudden loss, the difficulty of long-term illness.  You know what it’s like to lose a job, to be stalked by depression, to learn to thrive despite mental illness, or to have someone you love struggle with the demon of addiction.  Many of you have made it through the early days of parenthood, you’ve survived divorce, and most know what it means to retire, or to change jobs, or move houses, or send a child off to school.  How do we sustain faith through all of these changes?  How have we made it through political crises, how do we support each other as we fight the dehumanizing forces of white supremacy and racism?  What can we learn from each other?

God calls us into community because God shows up in and through our relationships with one another.  In our hands and feet.  In our listening, in our sharing, in our learning.  In our presence with and for each other.

The prophet Joel knows this.  It’s why, in the midst of the devastation wrought by a locust plague, he paints a picture of intergenerational community, and casts a vision of abundance, of hope for the future.

You may not be very familiar with Joel, and to be honest, I’m not either.  This is one of the only times in the three-year lectionary that we hear anything from him, and we don’t actually know a lot about him.  We don’t know when he was writing, and his location is lost to the winds of time.  But his words are meant to reassure, to give hope to people who are devastated after three years of locust plague.  Vegetation and crops have been stripped bare, threatening the lives of humans and livestock.  The people don’t know if they would survive.  Desperation looms large in Joel’s world. And he has a scary apocalyptic worldview, we hear that too in this passage, believing that the end of time is near.

Cast your memory back to the summer before last, to the great cicada emergence of 2021 and you’ll have a small idea of what his people were experiencing.  The noise of the mating calls filling the hot summer air, the deafening drone rising and falling in waves.  Cicadas covering every leaf, their bodies crunching under foot.  The way the trees drooped later in fall, sickened and weak from the leaves the bugs stripped bare and the nymphs nesting under their bark, and burrowing down in their roots.  Ugh.

Here in 2022, we know something about plagues and pestilence, more than we ever imagined we might need to, far more than we ever wanted to.  Think back to the scary early days of the pandemic, to the fear, confusion, and worry of March and April 2020: the world changing in an instant, shifting to weeks of lockdown and uncertainty.  Not knowing how to stay safe, not knowing when it would end, too many people getting sick and dying too quickly.  Disinfecting groceries, isolating from friends, and family, and church.  We didn’t know if we would survive, and many did not.

Yes, we can imagine something of what Joe’s community is going through: their fear, their stress, their worry.

We know, of course, our brains feel stressed and worried by uncertainty and scarcity all the time for lessor threats.  Will we make it to the end of this interminably long lecture, or worship service?  Will we survive?  Will there be enough money to do what we want to do, or to accomplish what we feel called to do?  Will there be enough people to show up to get the work done?  Will there be enough?  Try as we might to hold on to the truth of abundance, we have a tendency to believe the myth of scarcity – and suffer the anxiety and stress that go along with it.

So in times that are challenging and in the ordinary, everyday times, it’s important to remember Joel’s vision of God’s promise: The threshing floor piled high with grain, the wine jars and the oil press overflowing.  The whole community, old and young, enslaved and free, sharing their dreams and visions for the world that is coming to be.  What hope!  This promise of enough for everyone.  This radically inclusive promise that God’s spirit will be poured out on all flesh, that everyone who calls on God will know salvation.

We are beginning a visioning process here at Faith, with a small group of leaders taking a close look at our mission, vision, and values over the next few months.  We are pretty confident we know who we are as a congregation, but our world has changed through plague and pandemic and fractured politics, and we want to listen closely to how God is calling us to respond in the years ahead.  What is our vision of abundance, the threshing floor filled with grain, the wine vats brimming, the oil overflowing, here in North Baltimore?  How do we listen to the wisdom of each generation here, to respond to the needs both within and outside our congregation?  How will we strengthen our common witness to the God of hope, and deepen and expand our experience of beloved community?  All of these questions are worth exploring.

If the prophet Joel’s words are familiar at all to us, it’s because Peter quotes him at Pentecost, saying that Joel’s prophesy is fulfilled with the presence of the Spirit like tongues of fire, bringing dreams and visions to young and old, giving rise to the community of the church.  My hope and prayer for us in the months ahead, is that we, too, young and old and in between, will dream dreams together, and begin to share a common vision: of a congregation where all find welcome, meaning, and wholeness; where together we work to make our dreams reality of a city where each person can flourish.  Of a country free from the shackles of racism, a world where all know peace.  May it be so.

[1] Goodrich, Elizabeth, “Please, Bother Me,” Macedonia Ministry, https://mministry.org/please-bother-me/

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 9, 2022

Why Does It Have to be Hard?
2 Kings 5:1-15c, Luke 17:11-19

In November of last year, Disney released a film that swept the nation…at least, every household with a child between the ages of 3 and 13 – the movie is called Encanto. A musical with incredible, fast-paced lyrics that could only come from the brilliant Lin-Manuel Miranda, Encanto is set in a remote village hidden in the mountains of Colombia. It tells the story of the magical Madrigal family: matriarch abuela Alma Madrigal, her triplets Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno, and their families – each one gifted with magical ability by the miracle that protects their family and village. All, that is, except one: Mirabel, the 15-year-old at the center of the show. As the movie unfolds, we realize that the Madrigals are faced with an identity crisis: who are they apart from their powers? What will become of them if they lose their magical gifts? What trauma, what rifts must be healed in order to restore the enchantment and save their beloved little home?

If you ask my girls what the movie is about, they might tell you it’s about a family with magical powers – and if you’re lucky, they’ll sing you a swinging rendition of “we don’t talk about Bruno.” But thinking about it this week, I realized it’s also a healing story, not unlike the two healing stories we heard this morning. All three stories involve miracles. All three stories involve social isolation and stigma. And all three stories involve crossing borders that divide us in order to find healing. Amazing!

Granted, there is no leprosy in Encanto. But the character of Bruno is ostracized, demonized, and run off because of his magical gift – Bruno is a prophet who can see the future…and he runs into trouble when people do not like what he sees, or misunderstand his predictions.[1] When the movie begins, Bruno hasn’t been seen in 10 years, and the family refuses to say his name or mention his disappearance.

People afflicted with leprosy in Biblical times were considered ritually unclean – stigmatized and socially isolated because of their disease. They were not able to worship in the temple. And they were not allowed to be part of the wider community. That is why Jesus is met by the 10 men with leprosy on the outskirts of town, why they shout to him from far off. Perhaps, even, why they are healed from a distance, too.

Namaan, however, is a bit of a different story. Namaan is wealthy, powerful – a general in the Syrian army. We can presume that his skin condition was problematic for him, why else would he go to such great lengths to seek healing? But he seems like he is not as socially isolated as a poor person with the disease might be – he retains access to power, gains an audience with the King, and still has family and servants around him. Today, we know that wealth and privilege do not inoculate a person against illness, injury, or death. But money does open doors in our privatized healthcare system. Good insurance ensures access to lifesaving preventative care, and means that problems can often be caught earlier, leading to better outcomes. Healthy food is expensive. Research and common sense have shown that people living in distressed neighborhoods have higher instances of asthma and heart disease, the impact of stress on our bodies and the reality of food deserts in urban America lead to shorter lifespans and higher instances of disease.

All of that to say, Namaan is a bit of an exceptional case – he’s powerful enough to appeal to the king for help, and wealthy enough to be able to travel across borders to seek healing. A member of Bible study observed – even in Biblical times, you had to go to great lengths to get a referral to see a specialist! But really, this raises a question. Surely there were people in Israel with leprosy. Why doesn’t Elisha heal them? The question could be asked a million times a million times over, from hospital beds in every city, in every country, on every continent – why do some people find healing, while others suffer?

The short answer is – we don’t- I don’t- know. I do know that our bodies are beautiful, and fragile, and imperfect. That life is short, and precious, so we must love and care for one another as best we can in the limited time that we have. That the world can be an unfair place. As for Namaan – this story is functioning in a couple of different ways in the larger story. It’s a healing story, yes. But it’s also a story of God’s universal power. It testifies to the truth that God’s love knows no bounds – so much so that this man, Namaan, a general in an army that until recently had been attacking Israel, is able to be healed – not on his terms but on God’s terms. When he is healed, Namaan is overcome with gratitude – so much so that he humbles himself, transformed both outside and in. He acknowledges the ultimate power and sovereignty of God, and returns to thank the prophet Elisha.

Namaan has crossed from the land he knew into unknown territory to seek healing, and he returns a changed man. The gospel story testifies to the boundary-crossing power of God, too. Jesus is in dangerous territory, somewhere in the borderlands between Galilee and Samaria, when he is approached by the men who seek healing. Jesus must be in a hurry, taking a shortcut, because there’s no other reason why he would be in this region known to be unsafe for travelers. Still, he allows his journey to be interrupted, stopping to listen to the lepers when they cry out to him. And even though they are ostracized, sick and suffering in the street, or maybe because they are…he heals them with the instruction – go and show yourselves to the priest.

It is not a coincidence that the tenth leper – the one who realizes what has happened and turns back to say “thank you” – is a Samaritan. Like Namaan, he is an unsympathetic character – feared and reviled by Jesus’ community. The one you’d least expect to be the hero of the story.  Like Mirabel Madrigal, the one without power is the one who saves the day. The Samaritan is the one who realizes that he is in the presence of the living God, the one who stops, and falls in the road in gratitude. Demonstrating to all of us the outer and inner transformation that comes when we encounter the healing power of God.

Martin Luther called worship “the 10^th leper turning back,” to offer his thanks and praise to Jesus for being healed.[2] And so we gather here, too – Each one of you has made a choice to be here, interrupting a culture that has no time for church by gathering together in this space to give thanks to God for the blessing of this life, and I am so very grateful for that!

I don’t want to completely ruin the story for you who haven’t yet seen it, but in Encanto, it isn’t a person but relationships that are healed: the rift between Bruno and the rest of the family, and the divide between Mirabel and her sister, Mirabel and her formidable grandmother. And I think this relational healing is more often the kind of healing that we all have access to, the kind of healing that God promises us, healing that leads to flourishing and fullness of life.

I think I’m a little like Namaan, I expect it to be hard. There must be some mumbo jumbo, hocus pocus that will resolve the differences between us, soften the hardness of our hearts, help us speak to those on the other side of the aisle, the other side of the city, the other end of the spectrum, or even across the dinner table.  But how else can we heal the fractures that divide us? Does not God call us to cross the borders that exist to keep us apart?

Wash in the Jordan seven times and you will be made well.

Go, and show yourselves to the priest, and you will be made well.

It’s not difficult. It just takes a willingness to be changed. To listen, to humble ourselves, to admit when we need help! My prayer for us is we might find the humility of Namaan. The gratitude of the 10^th leper. The courage and wisdom of Mirabel Madrigal to talk about Bruno, to ask hard questions, to seek healing for the trauma that we carry. Because God’s will for us healing, and wholeness, and fullness of life. May it be so!

[1] as cousin Delores sings – grew to live in fear of Bruno stuttering and stumbling, always left abuela and the family fumbling, grappling with prophesies they couldn’t understand.

[2] Lose, David, “Commentary on Luke 17:11-19,” Preaching this Week on Working Preacher.com from Luther Seminary, 10/10/10, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=783.

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 2, 2022

You Gotta Have Faith
Luke 17:5-10

Our passage this morning needs a bit of context, because it begins in the middle of a conversation between Jesus and his disciples – and also because the text could possibly go into a narrow little file I have labeled “things I wish Jesus had not said.”

He’s teaching, expanding the idea of discipleship. What does someone need to do to be a disciple? First, they must be on guard against sin, and make sure they don’t cause anyone else to stumble. Then, they’ve got to forgive others. Not just once, but countless times. Okay…then our passage begins. Listen:

Right away, a question: How do we respond when we hear the language of enslavement in the mouth of Jesus? As far as insults go, calling someone a ‘worthless slave’ is not one I want to hear coming from my Lord and savior. I don’t know about you. And what is he doing here, putting the disciples in the role of enslavers? What?

We know that the Bible is both a living word and a culturally enmeshed document. That means, we can find new meaning and understanding in it, but we need to remember that it is a book that’s bound in part by the culture and time in which it was written, and slavery was common in the ancient world. Jesus is using a reference and example that people would understand – one he uses several times at other points in the story. Some translations soften the Greek and use the word servant – this translation, I think appropriately, uses the word slave. What do we do with it?

We must read scripture with both curiosity and a critical eye, constantly sifting through the stories to find what is relevant, meaningful, and true for us today. I don’t know about you, but I want Christ to write it on a tablet, to make it plain for all to see that slavery was wrong, and human beings deserve a fair wage for their labor. But he doesn’t. So we hold passages in tension with one another, remembering that more than anything else Christ was motivated by the call to love God and love neighbor. We can reject the example of enslavement here, even while we dig beneath it, asking what we think Christ was trying to say. The whole passage is expounding on the nature of discipleship. What does it take to be a disciple? With the examples Jesus gives here, we see that discipleship can be difficult. God calls us to lives of loving service, service that can be unglamorous and exhausting, that can feel more like a duty than a joy. Remember that the road Jesus is on leads to Jerusalem, into conflict with the authorities, and then right to Calvary, to the cross. Maybe he wants the disciples to realize that he is asking a lot of them when he calls them to pick up their cross and follow him. He’s asking for everything, their whole lives.

I don’t know about you, but the disciples hear his call to service, his commandment to forgive others relentlessly and ask – how can we do that? How do we have enough faith to follow him?

The disciples seem to be of the opinion that more is better. If a little faith is good, more must be better. But is that how faith works? I can think of plenty of examples where more isn’t better, it’s just more. A little ice cream is good, but more quickly becomes too much. Exercise is good in reasonable amounts, but we’ve probably all overdone it before, strained a muscle or ended up with an injury that put us out of commission for a while. How about time with our extended family? A little of it is wonderful. A lot of time…well, let’s just say that probably depends on the family!

Faith is like love – it’s impossible to quantify! If you have it, even a little bit, even faith just the size of a mustard seed, Jesus says – that’s enough. Enough to do something utterly unbelievable – enough to uproot a tree and throw it into the sea.

Is faith power? Is it like the force, the ability to move people and objects where we want them to go?

I heard someone pray, asking for more faith: “I don’t need faith to move mountains, God, I just need enough to move myself.” I just need enough to move myself. I like that.

We’re all familiar with a sense of inertia when starting a new project or embarking on something new. We feel anxiety that the project might fail or the work will be too hard; we fear we won’t be up for the challenge. Faith is what inspires and enables us to take the first step, and then the next and the next. Faith is trusting the future God has promised us, even when we can’t see it yet. Faith is trusting ourselves enough…trusting GOD enough…to risk trying something new. It’s the midwife of creativity and courage. It is the antidote to fear.

The images coming out of Florida this week, from Ft. Meyers and Sanibel Island and Cape Coral, are just heartbreaking. Whole communities wiped off the map, homes and businesses destroyed, neighborhoods flooded, livelihoods demolished, and human lives lost. There’s one county that has seen more deaths than others, in part because officials delayed issuing a mandatory evacuation order until it was, for some, too late. The state and local municipalities are in the process of assessing the damage and rescuing those in distress, and I’m amazed by remarkable local firefighters, police, emergency responders, public works, and the people from FEMA and the electric company who are doing that good, hard work. There’s even a ragtag group of folks that have come from Louisiana, and Mississippi, who call themselves the Cajun Navy. Have you heard of these guys?

They are not professionals. They are volunteers with boats. Their politics are probably a little different than yours and mine. But they go in after a hurricane has caused catastrophic flooding and use their boats to ferry people to safety. The first Cajun Navy was formed after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Louisiana coast and flooded New Orleans and a zillion other little towns in the region. The work started with a group of about 30 people with 23 boats. Now there are almost 50 different groups calling themselves a Cajun navy, comprised of hundreds, thousands of volunteers who rush in when disaster strikes. To save lives. To use what little resources they have to help others. They saw a need, and realized that they had a way to help. That’s faith.

There’s a philosopher named Blaise Pascal who famously made a case for the existence of God – pascal’s wager – basically, in a universe of infinite possibility, you are better off believing there is a God, because you lose nothing if you’re wrong. He said, even if you don’t have faith, act as if you do. Do the things a faithful person would. Serve others. Forgive others. Be a part of a community of faithful people. You may find, he says, “your actions leading your heart and mind in faithful directions.”[1] And one day, you might surprise yourself, discovering just a tiny seed where there wasn’t any before.  Pascal says, “Don’t worry about what you believe! Focus on your actions and convictions will follow!”[2]

By acting as if we have faith, we just might find we have enough – maybe not enough to move mountains, but enough to move ourselves toward where God is calling us to be. Faith, then, is not a thought exercise, it’s not an ascription of belief, saying or reciting the right words to please God. Faith is an action, it’s what we do! It’s how we respond to the gift of grace, and the experience of love. We extend forgiveness to others! We show compassion to others! We build communities like this one, where we are reminded of the love God has for us, of the grace God offers us, and share those gifts with our neighbors. This, Faith, is faith.

David Lose says, “Faith is a muscle that gets stronger the more you use it.”[3] The joy and challenge of everyday life in the Anthropocene gives us plenty of opportunities to practice our faith – I’m so grateful we get to do this work of discipleship together.

[1] Pascal, Blaise, quoted in the Theologian’s Almanac for the Week of June 19, 2022, The Salt Project, https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2022/6/13/theologians-almanac-for-week-of-june-19-2022.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Lose, David, “Everyday Faith,” Dear Working Preacher column, September 30, 2013, https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/everyday-faith