Tag Archives: Faith

Why are you still a follower of Jesus?

Recently, a friend and colleague posed this question on social media.

It’s a great question and one that isn’t asked enough. Particularly with all the misuses and abuses of Jesus and Christianity for causes which are harmful, hateful, and opposed to the very message of the Gospel. These are not new misuses and abuses, they have happened over the centuries, but it is particularly troublesome now as we see a new brand zealous nationalism, white nationalism, and growing economic injustice dressed in religious clothing.

And it is a good question because it caused me to think. I’m not often asked this question. I wish I was, to be honest. Not because I can convince people to believe like me, but because it opens a rare but very meaningful conversation. One that I don’t often have because I am, most certainly, the world’s worst apologist. (Well, at least in the modern evangelical/fundamentalist militant apologetic style).

My faith includes reason and critical thinking. For me, faith includes seeking understanding with the mind as well as the heart. I also agree that we must “Always be ready to make your defense [reply/answer] to anyone who demands from you an account of the hope that is in you.” (1 Pet 3:15). At times, many of have overcorrected from this aggressive evangelistic style and have declined to talk about Jesus at all. Neither of these poles are helpful, we must find a middle space. A space which can hold difference, and a space where the Christ can still make an appearance.

But the first cause, the root, the answer of why I am still a follower of Jesus has little to do with logic or reasoning. I wasn’t argued into the faith, backed into a corner so I had to accept it because I couldn’t come up with a better counter-argument. It is true that I was born into and raised in the Christian faith, but I’m also not a follower of Jesus simply because it is how I was raised. Indeed, many of my understandings of Christian faith are different (or at least nuanced differently) from the church of my formation.

Everyone who asks me this question and is expecting an argument, or logic, or an irrefutable set of propositions will likely be disappointed.

I am a follower of Jesus because I don’t know where else to go.

That’s pretty much it. I don’t know where else to go. I don’t know what else gives life, I do not know what else can help make sense of things, I do not know what else can comfort and challenge in the same way.

I am reminded of the story in the Gospel According to John.

…many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, ‘Do you also wish to go away?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.

(Jn 6:66-68)

I am a follower of Jesus, because I don’t know where to find life. I don’t mean simply life after death, I mean life here. I don’t know what else can bring life to the world.

Has the message of Jesus been twisted for money and power and oppression? Yes. I will be the first to admit that all too often, people who claim the Christ fail to reflect his teachings. But when you look through that–life, liberation, peace, and wholeness is the resounding song. And this is a song that I need, that the world needs. And I don’t know where else to find the music to sing it.

Wait…Where are we going?

Sermon originally delivered to the Calvary Reformed Church of New Berlin, Wisconsin. Text: Genesis 15:1-18.

It is one thing to hear about the promises of God, or to read about the promises of God. It is another thing altogether to really feel and understand the promises of God. Especially when you are in a difficult place. It can be hard to think that God has a purpose when it seems like you’re just moving this pile of bricks from here to there and back again, or when you are facing seemingly endless health problems, or when you feel trapped. It can be hard to believe that God has a purpose when you look around and see the sparse sanctuary. It can be hard to believe that God has a purpose when this world seems to only tear itself apart.

It is easy to read about the promises of God, it is easy to hear about the promises of God, but when things don’t seem to be working, when things don’t seem to be turning out, it can be really hard to truly believe the promises of God.

But surely this is just a problem for us? Right? Surely this didn’t happen with the great patriarchs and matriarchs of the faith? Right? Well, maybe not.

Abram — later to become Abraham — is the perfect example of faith, I would always think. You see, when God told him to get up and move out of his country, away from his home, and move to the other side of the world — at least what he would have understood to be the world. What did Abram do?  Genesis never reported him ever saying a word, just that he got up, packed up his tent, gathered his flock together, loaded his camels, and he and his wife Sarai headed off to a new land that they did not know, filled with people that they did not know, who spoke a language which he did not know. At the command of God, Abram just packed up and went. The perfect exemplar of faith.

Abram goes up and settles in what would be the Promised Land. There was a famine, though, and so he moved to Egypt, a major world power, where he would have access to food and resources. He did well there, although he had a little run-in with the Pharaoh — the ruler of Egypt — who sent him away. Abram went back to settle in Canaan, the land that God Promised to his descendants, while his nephew, Lot, settled elsewhere. God told him to get up again, and to walk the length and breadth of the land. So Abram got up, and he wandered all around, and finally made camp.

Up until this point, the relationship between God and Abram had been pretty straightforward. God speaks, Abram listens. God commands, Abram obeys. Abram, the perfect exemplar of faith. But we must keep reading, because the story of Abram doesn’t end there, and there is certainly more than what we have seen thus far. Abram, gets to a point where he says, “Wait…I don’t quite understand this.”


Twice in our passage today, we see Abram asking God some overdue questions. All this time, God has been telling Abram that he will be the father, the patriarch of a great nation. Abram, at this time, is very old, he is tired, and he knows that he likely doesn’t have a huge amount of time left. I can imagine Abram would begin to be concerned, after all, he didn’t have any children. So if he didn’t have any children, and he was going to the father of a great nation, it obviously couldn’t be his children, but it must be a servant in his house. I mean, it surely wouldn’t have added up to Abram.

“Uh…God?” Abram responded, “You keep telling me about all of these descendants that I’m going to have, but I don’t have any children…so how, exactly, is this going to work?” To answer, God points up to the sky and tells him, “Look up and count the stars. This is how many your descendants will be.”

And Abram believed. This is what is interesting, is that Abram believed. Abram “believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness.”

God then told Abram, “I am the God who brought you from your home, and gave you this land for your descendents.” God reminded Abram that he has followed God so much already, reminding Abram of what God has done, and what God has promised.

Now, we are told that Abram believed, but he is not yet done asking questions.

“But how do I know this?” Abram asked.

Suddenly this Abram that I had mentioned in the beginning of this message, this Abram who is the perfect example of faith because he never asked questions, this Abram is gone. We’re left with another Abram. We are left with an Abram that believes, but yet has questions. Abram doesn’t really do anything that exciting or earth shattering himself, Abram is just another guy who sometimes does great things, who other times makes great mistakes and has been given an inkling of faith, who has simply been shown the immense grace of God. Abram is replaced with, well, a human being who is not that different from you or I.

We are left with this Abram who wonders how all of this is going to be accomplished because things just aren’t making sense.

You see, Abram believes, but he also seems to be wondering, can I trust God? Can God really do this? Is God telling the truth?  Abram believes, but this doesn’t mean that all of his questions or uncertainties vanish. Abram has questions for God, and God gives him some answers, but not quite the answers, or in the form, that he was expecting.

Does this sound familiar? God says, “Go!” and we go. At some point, though, we begin to ask, “Wait…where are we going and how are we getting there?”

So Abram asked this question, and how does God respond?

God tells Abram to get a cow. Rather than telling Abram, God decides to show him something.

Now in the ancient world, a covenant — which is like a contract — was made in several different ways, one of them was to take an animal, cut it into pieces, and each of the parties would walk between the animal pieces. The unspoken message, then, is that if one of the parties breaks the covenant, they will end up like these animal pieces. Pretty gruesome, I know, but also very powerful. We’d probably take our commitments a little more seriously if we had to walk through animal pieces.

So Abram gets a cow, as well as several other livestock, and goes beyond what was told of him and he cuts them in two. Abram knows what’s going on here.

Abram them falls into a deep sleep and he has a vision and a torch and a smoldering pot pass through the animal pieces. It’s a common covenant ceremony, except Abram didn’t pass through the pieces, this covenant was one-sided, that is God promised these things to Abram, and God takes on the responsibility to fulfil them.

I think that this part of the story is quite telling. Abram, the person on whom God chooses to lay all of the promise for the world. The person that God chooses to carry on that promise. God chooses to put all of God’s chips into one person, and that person is Abram.  This person suddenly begins asking questions about what is going on. “How is this going to work?” Abram asks. “How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” Abram asks.

This isn’t surprising, after all, Abram is human, human like you and I.  This is not really that insightful at all. What is insightful about this is how God responds. God not only tolerates his questions, God is open to his questions, God responds to his questions, God seems to welcome his questions. God could have become frustrated with Abram, and decided to start over with someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask questions. But God doesn’t do this, not in the slightest.


And it is in this story that we are able to see the developing relationship between God and God’s people. God is not just a deity who commands, but does not otherwise involve Godself, no, God is deeply connected with God’s people, relationally so.

And while it would have been much easier for Abram if God would have just given him a vision that would clearly show how things would have played out, that’s not what happened. God gives him a little bit, and a little bit. Look at the stars, see me make a promise to you in a way that you understand. This does not take the place of faith, but it confirms faith.

As the writer of Hebrews tells us,

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, ‘as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.’

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. (Heb 11:8-16, NRSV.)

So when the promises are hard to believe, when they seem distant and unfounded, when you look around and you don’t see a path forward, remember Abram. Remember his questions, his conversations, and remember our gracious God who welcomed his questions and interacted with him.

So take heart, brothers and sisters, for you are in good company. And keep watch for those glimpses of the promise. Perhaps they won’t be obvious as a smoking pot and a flaming torch passing through split animals, but God continues to give glimpses of God’s promises to be viewed and accepted in faith.

Take heart, brothers and sisters, and let us remember the story of Abram, and let us gaze upon the steadfast promises of the Divine in faith.

Knocking in the Night

A sermon originally delivered at Calvary Community Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin

Text: John 3:1-17

Jesus and Nicodemus by Crijn Hendricksz, 1616–1645

I’m not much of a night person, but I wish that I were. Night time is enchanting. While the day-dwellers go to sleep, another world awakes, both people and animals. While we often think that it is only malice that is active at night — after all, I was always told that “nothing good happens after midnight” — this is not necessarily the case.

After seminary and before I came to Wisconsin, I worked third shift at a grocery/general merchandise store, comparable to Walmart. It was an interesting collection of people who come in the middle of the night.

Those who work second shift would run some errands before going home.

Weary parents come for cough and cold medicine for sick children who struggle through the night.

Those who could not sleep, those who are lonely, those who worry.

Regularly through the weeks, the common prayer was continually in my mind,

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep…

Not just for me, but for all those who passed through the doors.

Night is a time of secrets, of concealment. Night is when crimes are oft committed, but so much more. Night shrouded the underground railroad so that they could continue to move escaped slaves from places of bondage to places of freedom.

Nighttime provides a degree of strength and safety for those escaping abusive relationships. Night provided an opportunity for the ancient people of God to escape from slavery in Egypt.

Night is the place where the waking world and the dream world meet, and it is at this time that a man, a teacher of the law, a religious scholar, a rabbi comes to Jesus. We don’t know why exactly he comes at night. Maybe he is afraid of repercussions if people see him, maybe he was afraid of judgement, perhaps he finally was able to work up courage or strength to do something like this after the sun faded and the shadows grew. When we read about the Jews in the New Testament, particularly the gospels, so often we assume bad things. We assume that there is always malintent, and perhaps we can even have this tendency with Nicodemus.

However, nothing at all suggests that he had any malintent at all. In fact, I think that Nicodemus was quite genuine.


In this space, surrounded by darkness, a single lamp casting a dim light throughout the house, the two men leaning toward one another, not quite whispering, but keeping their voices down as so often happens at night even when there are no prying ears.

Nicodemus looks intently at Jesus, this teacher who has already caused so much upheaval, at least in John’s account of the good news of Jesus, the flame flickering, and not quite knowing how to put his questions into words, takes a deep breath and the words come out,

“We know that you are teacher who has come from God, we can see it from the things that you do, no one can do them without the presence of God.”

But before he could get his whole thought out, before he could get to what he was truly getting at, before he could reveal the reason for his visit, Jesus responds somewhat enigmatically.

“…no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

Interestingly, in the still darkness of night, Nicodemus did not ask about entering the kingdom of God, in fact, he didn’t ask anything at all. So why would Jesus respond in this way?

Perhaps Nicodemus came to Jesus seeking after that which Jesus had, that which he exhibited. Perhaps Jesus could see in his eyes that which he truly desired, the reason that he came knocking in the dark.

This statement appears to perplex Nicodemus. After all, who, after being born and old, can go back into their mother’s womb to be reborn again? In this late-night discussion, they appear to be missing one another in the conversation, speaking past one another.

Jesus then goes on and speaks of nature, and how the whole person, not just a part of a person, how the whole person, body and mind needs renewal and restoration. And if this isn’t confusing enough, Jesus continues,

‘The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.’

Jesus, of course, is not trying to argue for the existence of God, which we so often misuse this scripture for, but he is speaking too about the fact that the movements of the Spirit can be seen in the renewal and transformation, not of souls, but of lives. Rather than trying to argue Nicodemus into believing something, he is trying to help Nicodemus to understand what he is saying. But rather than bringing clarity, it simply brings more confusion.

The old man nicodemus, still not quite understanding, furrows his eyebrows,  and rubs his forehead as he tries to understand the dialogue that is in progress. Until finally, he looks up and responds, with, essentially, “Wait…what?”


I love to picture Nicodemus, someone was pretty sure that he had things figured out, this well known and well respected person, who went to visit Jesus at night, and was left scratching his head.

It is wonderful because, even though we like to think of ourselves as more enlightened than Nicodemus (after all, we throw around the phrase “born again” so often with so little explanation that it means almost nothing by this point), but I think that his response wonderful because it is the response that we, so often, find on our lips.

Today is is the day known by the church in the West as Trinity Sunday. So often on Trinity Sunday, ministers attempt at explaining away the mystery of the Trinity, that we worship one God in three distinct but unified co-eternal persons. So often we resort to common but grossly inadequate analogies, which often teach the old misunderstandings that the church declared to be not okay.

You know what I’m talking about. Water is liquid, solid, and gas. An egg is made up of a shell, an egg, and a yolk. I’m, at the same time, a husband, a son, and a pastor. And the analogies to on. So often, however, these serve to further confuse the issue rather than bring clarity, and no real understanding of the Triune God is gained.

But here, here we do not have neat and tidy explanations. Here we do not have an egg or the three states of water. Here we are surrounded with the mystery of the divine, with that which is beyond our abilities to comprehend. And here is the irony. Learning is important, we are to love God with our hearts and our minds. We cannot be satisfied with an uninformed piety. However, we cannot become so confident in our learning that we think that we have figured things out, that we have figured God out. The moment that we find ourselves in this place, we become like Nicodemus, shifting in our seats, scratching our heads, and trying to understand what is going on.

This is the freeing, and at times frustrating, thing about faith, that we are to learn, we are to study, and to grow in our knowledge of God and the things of God. But we are also to always be ready to sit in awe and wonder before the mystery of God, always being willing to be challenged in our understandings.

And so we are called by the triune God, we are called to a renewal, a restoration. We are not called to “accept Christ as our personal Lord and savior” whatever that means, we are invited to a complete and total renewal, inside and out. Water and Spirit, Jesus says. Outside and in, visible and invisible.

But how does this happen, we ask? It is a mystery, Jesus says to us, with one of those reassuring and comforting smiles.

But the beauty is that we don’t have to ultimately figure out the entirety of this mystery with our minds, we don’t have to be able to wrap our minds around it. Nicodemus came to Jesus in the night, in the space between days. And it is in this dark that he has a close encounter of the divine kind. And perhaps we find ourselves in a similar space. A place that seems dark, a place where we cannot see. A place where we may feel alone, and we too can be confident of the presence of God in that space.