"Christ" is the Greek word for Messiah or King. To believe in Jesus Christ, therefore, is to affirm more than certain doctrinal statements about his divinity or the assurance of eternal life. To believe in Christ is to refuse to acknowledge anyone else in this life as King. It is to insist that the powers and principalities of this world do not have authority over us, even when they appear to be in charge. The New Testament writers boldly portray Jesus meeting the powers of this world head on in a showdown. And when it was over and the dust had settled, the resurrection story claims: those powers had been dismantled.
Walter Cronkite used to conclude his summary of the evening news by saying, "And that's the way it is." Political, industrial and religious bureaucrats echo the words, and usually add, "Take it or leave it!" The definers of worldly reality assume they have the right to say how it is, and how it will be. They know who is in charge and everyone else had better know it, too, because that's the way it is.
Unless, of course, you happen to buy the Jesus story. Because, if you do, the gospel newscasters are telling us, "No, that's not the way it is at all! There was this showdown in Jerusalem. Jesus is the Christ, and that's the way it is"
The question before the house is, "Do we believe them?"
When we are completely honest, the answer is probably, "Well, yes; but ..." So, we, like the disciples before us, cry out, "Lord, increase our faith!" We are fully aware that we need more faith. We have some but it is not nearly enough. Saints have more faith than skeptics, and clearly we want to be on the side of the angels.
Furthermore, we assume, as did the disciples, that Jesus is the one to see about increasing our store of faith. They came to Jesus with the request. So do we. His reply to them, as it probably would be to us, is, "If you had faith as a grain of mustard seed, you could say to his sycamine tree, 'Be rooted up, and be planted in the sea,' and it would obey you."
Jesus offers, what appears to be, a smart aleck answer. "If you had faith as a grain of mustard seed, you could tell that sycamore tree to move over, and it would do it. If you had even a little faith you could move mountains." In the eyes of Jesus, the disciples apparently had no faith whatsoever! None! Zip! Even a little of it could work wonders, but Jesus says they have not as much as a grain of mustard seed. Evidence: the trees remain rooted.
Can anyone take Jesus seriously? Does any believer truly think that if he or she had enough faith, mountains could be coaxed into leaping around like lambs or trees taken for a stroll? I put it to you that even the most spiritual, deeply committed Christian is doomed to despair if we take the words of Jesus literally. "If between you guys there was enough faith to fill a mustard seed, even that much faith, you could change the landscape," he tells the disciples. Clearly, his reply is at the very least insensitive to their request, not to mention our soul's sincere desire. And at worst, it exhibits callous cynicism.
But Jesus is not one to offer thoughtless answers. That is not his style. So, it is not that he is trying to put his disciples down or make us feel stupid. It is rather that he is cutting off at the pass our assumptions about faith.
Faith does not have to do with God, heaven, or anything else spiritual. On the contrary, faith changes the landscape of this world. It moves mountains and transplants trees. It is not a passport to heaven nor is it a belief about God. Faith is not even belief in God. It is a new understanding of the way this world can be. Faith sees with amazing clarity a reality that others do not yet see.
It was said that the great Michaelangelo attracted a crowd of spectators as he worked. One child in particular was fascinated by the sight of chips flying and the sound of mallet on chisel as the master shaped a large block of white marble. Unable to contain her curiosity, the little girl inquired, "What are you making?" Pausing, he replied, "There is an angel in there and I must set it free."
Faith is seeing the new reality and working to set it free. It is seeing the reality of God's kingdom and working with the Holy One to create the new heaven and earth.
When Jesus insisted, "My kingdom is not of this world," we assumed he was talking about heaven. But, it turns out, faith is a radically imaginative approach to this life. The categories of this world are not finally settled. The definitions that fetter us are not forged in steel. Jesus looks at life from a different and radically imaginative perspective and therein lies the kingdom of God.
Consider, for example, his perception of Zacchaeus, the despised tax collector, who made his living by cheating everyone. When Jesus came to town, Zacchaeus, being very short of stature, decided to climb a tree for a better look. Jesus noticed him out on his limb but the question was, what should he, as Messiah, do? "Try to change Zacchaeus?" the townspeople would have insisted, "You might as well try to turn stones into bread." Those things just do not happen. The options, therefore, were quite clear:
(a) Scold Zacchaeus for being a sinner.
(b) Ignore Zacchaeus because to recognize him in any way gives tacit support to his dishonest dealings.
(c) Laugh at Zacchaeus. He is, after all, a ridiculous spectacle: up a tree.
But Jesus selects a forgotten option: (d) "None of the above." He asks Zacchaeus to come down from the tree and invites himself to Zacchaeus' house for dinner and conversation. The next day the story is flying around town. "Zacchaeus is a changed man. He's not only giving back what he's stolen, but he's giving it back four times over!"
One of the most certain indicators of Jesus' divinity is not his virgin birth, nor his ability to perform miracles. The surest sign that this Jesus is the "Son of the Most High God" is his modus operandi, his style; time and again he lives the forgotten alternative.
When faced with the dilemma of 5,000 hungry people late in the day, his disciples came to him with the question, "What shall we do?" Worldly wisdom would suggest:
(a) Tell them to go home.
(b) Tell them to go hungry.
(c) Tell them to get a bite at McDonalds and reconvene at eight o'clock.
Jesus said, "There's another option, (d), 'None of the above.' We will bless what we have and feed them now. We will work with what we have and multiply it."
Christ gives us permission to look at the world differently and, thereby, frees us from the claims and definitions of the reigning authorities. Life is not settled. The way we have been told it is not the way it is at all.
Faith invites us to live with a God who consistently offers other options than those seen by the authorities and power brokers of this world. To those who think that all the categories of life are fixed and the world is a closed system in which there are no surprises, the gospel comes as good news. Faith in Christ brings unexpected alternatives into such an unimaginative world.
So Jesus comes to the poor. The poor, who have long since learned that they have been born poor, they are poor, and they will die poor. Society has defined their possibilities as nil. But Jesus says, "None of the above. Blessed are the poor." And to the meek who know their place in the social pecking order, Jesus turns their understanding of life on its ear by declaring, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth (Matthew 5:5)." To the rich who know what and whom they can buy and sell, who gather for cocktails at the country club while they benefit from the work of others, those who have life under control and know how much is in their pension fund for a secure retirement, Jesus levels the block-buster, "It will be more difficult for you to make it into the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to get through a needle's eye (cf. Matthew 19:24)!"
It was not a halo around his head nor a bag of tricks under his toga that caused such commotion among the authorities. It was the way he looked at life. "There's nothing settled about it!" he insisted. "We don't have to grant as final the present situation." Jesus is the Son of God and our Savior because he gives us permission to be in this world, but not of it; not defined by its options, nor bound by its alternatives.
To those who have spiritualized faith by insisting that it has to do with things otherworldly, this parable of Jesus comes as a shock. Faith has to do with this world and seeing it in a different way. There is mounting evidence in the field of cancer research, for example, that faith healing has little to do with belief in God. The research data suggest that patients who are terminally ill have a statistically significant chance of getting well if they can imagine the white blood cells as a victorious army putting to rout the invading army of cancer cells. Faith in Divine providence is not as important as mentally imaging the body as healthy. Faith in this sense is imaginative vision that sees what medical science and others are not yet able to see.
To visualize that which is not, is a uniquely human possibility.
Human responsibility - stewardship, if you will - for our planet and our individual lives rests on our capacity for envisioning alternative possibilities to existing realities. That is why it is crucial to be intentional about what we visualize. We are always imagining a future of some sort and letting our lives be shaped by the vision. Faith seeks to fulfill its own prophecy. If we believe that we can be well, our bodies begin to shape themselves around the new vision of health. If we believe that nuclear suicide is inevitable, we and our government, begin consciously or unconsciously, to speed up the process. Faith is simply living as though this is true or that is possible. The object of faith may be a variable, but faith itself, is a unique attribute indigenous to the human enterprise. Faith, in the sense that Jesus spoke of it with his disciples, is simply envisioning and practicing an alternative future. It is daring to risk living by a new vision.
Fortunately, according to Jesus, it does not take much faith to shape a new world. Even a little vision of new possibilities - as small as a grain of mustard - can work wonders. It can uproot trees, transplant mountains, or disarm a nuclear missile in its launch silo. The quantity of faith is not the issue. Apparently a person either has faith-vision or they do not. We either live in a world of possiblities or we live in a world of inevitabilities.
One of the difficulties we encounter in trying to deal with the issues facing our country and the world - unemployment, poverty, human and civil rights, and disarmament, to name only a few - is the paralysis that grips our society. We are overwhelmed and therefore, immobilized by the magnitude of the issues. The public feels powerless. As a result politicians can play on our lethargy and get by with cliches, easy answers, empty promises, and trite solutions. "The issues are too complex," we are told, so we let the "experts" deal with them. But the "experts" frequently do not deal with them and confidence in government "of the people and for the people" has been eroded.
In the face of such hopelessness, the church must call for a miracle of faith. Nothing else can save us. Nothing else can break the bonds of fear and futility. It does not have to be much faith, says Jesus, but it does have to be new. Faith is a new vision.
If mainline churches are languishing today perhaps it is because we have no vision that grips the imagination; one that is compelling enough to command our allegiance and channel our energies. The Old Testament prophets proclaimed the word of the Lord with the wind in their beards and fire in their eyes, convinced that without a vision, the people perish.
When Ezekiel sat in the valley of dried bones contemplating the future of his people, he saw no hope. It was as if the Jewish people had been scattered like so many bones lying bleached in the sun. Not only were they dead, they were scattered. The situation was quite hopeless. In precisely that unlikely cradle, faith was born. The Word of the Lord came to Ezekiel bringing with it a new vision of the possible. "Behold," God declared, "I will cause breath to enter these bones and they shall live. They shall be joined together and stand before me (cf. Ezekiel 37:1-14)." In the face of such a vision, his feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness were simply luxuries Ezekiel could not afford.
To be made to feel powerless is a satanic trick. We have been duped by bad propaganda if we feel helpless. The parable Jesus gives us makes it clear that any alternative vision can reshape the world, even if it is as small as a grain of mustard seed. To crumble the concrete highway down which our world sweeps with suicidal speed, is to plant the seed of an alternative vision right beside it. In time, the seed will sprout and grow into a mighty tree; its roots reaching and expanding under the road. Eventually the cement will crack and give way to the vitality of its life.
The promise of life contained in that tiny seed is the ground of our hope. It is also a threat because its vitality challenges the powers of death. Faith's vision is destructive as well as creative. There is a dark side to faith. It may be compelling, but it is frightening. It calls on reserves of imagination that see beyond what is. Its vision threatens to disrupt the status quo.
Instinctively we know that the comfort and security of our vested interests are in jeopardy. So we try to ignore it, discredit it, or destroy it. Jesus was not only cruicified as a political threat to the Roman empire, but as a spiritual threat to the religious establishment. Dead, the religious leaders could say what they wanted to about him. Alive, he spoke for himself! Therein lies the danger of a vision. It is like a live grenade rolling around among the troops. You never know when it will go off in someone's imagination. A non-canonical parable makes the point.
Once a farmer sought to raise a single baby eagle which he had found in the wilderness. He raised it with his chickens and it grew strong. But alas! this king of birds came to think of itself as a chicken rather than an eagle. Each day the farmer would throw it into the air hoping to see it fly, and each time it would return to the earth to eat the chicken feed thrown on the ground. One day, however, something began to stir in the bird's memory when it was launched aloft; a strange and fearful excitement surged through its breast. It stretched its wings and soared, lifted by the rising currents of air. The farmer was ecstatic until the eagle, sensing its true nature, swooped down on the chickens in the barnyard, and devoured them.
Faith, in any amount - even as small as a mustard seed - has such carnivorous capabilities because it grips the imagination and calls forth a vision of new possibilities which can destroy the old. Yet, it is the hope of the world. For believers living in, but not of, this world, faith in Christ sees his vision of God's kingdom. We begin to think in alternative terms and dare to live in a new reality; the reality of a new heaven and a new earth.
