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The Power of Uncertainty                        Luke 18: 9-14                   October 28, 2007

Who would have thought? Mother Theresa, a woman who, in just about everyone's mind, is on a fast track toward sainthood, evidently experienced long periods when her faith was anything but sure. This woman, whose entire life was dedicated to serving, in the name of Christ, the poorest segment of the population in Calcutta, one of the poorest cities on the planet, experienced, in the words of a recent Time magazine article, a "Crisis of Faith" lasting more than 50 years.

"I am told God loves me--and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul," Mother Theresa writes in one of a series of letters and memoirs, compiled, recently, into a book entitled Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light.

Many of the letters contained in what turns out to be a very inspirational book, reveal not the serene meditations of a Catholic sister confident in her belief, but rather the agonized words of a person confronting a terrifying period of darkness that lasted, unbelievably, for upwards of five decades.

For example, she wrote, in 1959, that "In my soul I feel just that terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me - of God not being God - of God not existing."

Let's put this into perspective. My guess is that everyone here this morning wants to know what God desires of us. For most of us, however, if we are honest with ourselves, we want the answer to that question only if that calling from God does not interfere with the plans we have already made for our life, or draw us into a place where we would feel uncomfortable, or where we would have to give up things or freedoms we are unwilling to surrender.

Contrast that with Mother Teresa, who voluntarily spent decades of her life in utter poverty, and then think about the fact that she did that without even the comfort of the knowledge of God's presence with her. She did not leave her mission field to seek the limited pleasures and comforts the world could offer, because she knew, despite her "crisis of faith," that she was doing what Christ (or "the Absent One," as she came to call Him) had called her to do.

Mother Theresa's total dedication would be inspiring if it grew out of a sense of assurance and daily communion with God. Without such an infrastructure of faith, it is nothing short of remarkable.

When I first heard this revelation about Mother Theresa, not only did I run out and buy her book, I suddenly became a huge fan. Mother Theresa, in these dark, soulful, gut-wrenchingly honest writings, has suddenly aligned herself with people who have experienced some doubt, some absence of God in their lives. And you know who that is?

Doubters, seekers, believers, you and me. Just about everybody.

You see, I have never really understood people who are completely certain about their views. Most of the time, I find their total confidence to be off-putting.

Whether it's a fundamentalist preacher or author shaking his fist and predicting the rapture, a talk-show host raving over how we need to "protect our borders," a politician on the right questioning the patriotism of anyone who opposes our current involvement in Iraq, or one on the left ranting about how President Bush should be impeached, it just seems to me that nothing - particularly with respect to these complex issues of faith, morals and politics - is all that black and white. It's just not that easy.

On the other hand, however, it is certainly wrong to throw up our hands and conclude that since no one has all of the answers, it is not important to believe anything. This path leads to what students of philosophy call "relativism" - to the notion that all points of view are equally valid, that there are no absolutes, and that the will of God, therefore, is irrelevant.

The path for us to take, I think, is in between these two extremes. In between the notion that we have a monopoly on the truth, on the one hand, and that there is no truth, on the other.

Our text for this morning is helpful.

It's about two men who went to the Temple to pray. One of them, a Pharisee, an officer of the Temple, declared his confidence in his own righteousness, and his contempt for those who were not as good as he. After all, he had exceeded the law's demands. He fasted twice a week, he even gave a tithe of everything he earned.

The second man, a tax collector, one of the objects of the Pharisee's ridicule, was anything but good, and he knew it. He was a despised member of Jewish society. A descriptive phrase we might use today to describe him would be "corrupt politician."

On this particular day, however, unlike the Pharisee, this particular corrupt tax collector proclaimed his sinfulness and asked that God spare him from the righteous judgment that was coming his way

The contrast between these two men is striking. The Pharisee justified himself, proclaiming his own righteousness. The tax collector did just the opposite. He proclaimed his sinfulness and, relying on God's mercy, asked God to spare him from His righteous anger.

And when he did that, says Jesus, the sinner was justified by the grace of God. The sinner was declared righteous as a free gift of God's kindness. And this sinner, possessing this righteousness from God, is included with God's "chosen ones" and saved from judgment.

"Remember," Jesus concludes, "all who exalt themselves will be humbled and all who humble themselves will be exalted."

The Pharisee, in this passage, reminds me of all of the people who we encounter every day who, it seems, anyway, think they know all there is to know about God, and how God wants us to behave, and vote and otherwise live our lives.

I looked at a website this week, for example, where you can actually click on any one of a host of what the author of the website calls "moral issues," including abortion, same-sex marriage, stem-cell research and, interestingly, the government's role in fighting hunger and poverty, and read - quote, "the Christian response" - unquote, to these subjects. As if there were only one Christian response to such incredibly complicated issues.

Contrast that, once again, with Mother Theresa, who, despite her uncertainty, despite her anguish over her inability to sense the presence of God, still, as one reviewer of her writings points out, "lived her life in a condition of pure faith and hope, trusting that God's reality was greater than her sensation of God's absence, that the hope of resurrection was a concrete certainty, and that 'the Absent One' would indeed someday return, as is promised in the scriptures."

Jesus, in our text, holds up the humble, self-effacing, repentant tax collector as an example for us, not the oh-so-sure-of-himself Pharisee.

This is very good news for those of us who don't have all of the answers. In Jesus' words, we are already justified. Already forgiven.

Now, the fact we are forgiven and reconciled with God and that this forgiveness is a free gift, not based on any action on our part, does not relieve us, as those who know we are forgiven, from seeking to enrich and deepen our relationship with God.

In fact, I believe that we human beings do have the capacity to hear, see, touch and feel God. And it is precisely because we don't have all the answers but rather are willing to open ourselves to God's answers that we have this capacity. This is the power of uncertainty. This is the power of intentionally listening for the presence of God.

This process of listening for God each day is called discernment. It is the process of asking, again and again, questions like "Where is God in my life?" "What would God have me do?" and "What path would God have me take?

My friends, let me ask you a slightly different question. Why are you here this morning? You could be at a mall, you could be at home reading the Sunday paper, you could be stocking up on the munchies you will need before you sit, later this afternoon, and watch the Eagles play the Vikings. Yet, instead, you are here. In church.

My guess is that for most of us, if we think about it, the reason we are here is that we want to connect with God's spirit. Despite our doubts and questions and uncertainty - indeed, more likely because of our doubts and questions and uncertainty - we want to listen for evidence of God's moving in the world, and know, somehow, that we are a part of that holy process. We are hungry for spiritual nourishment.

My constant prayer is that this congregation might become a vehicle for satisfying that hunger in every person who walks through our doors. That we might be continually calling one other to ask the question "who am I and what does God want me to do with my life?" and that we might learn, together, to listen carefully for God's wisdom for our community of seekers.

That, brothers and sisters, is a ministry of discernment. There is no greater gift we can give to one another than to minister to one another in that way.

And, thank God, it is in that act of humble discernment; in the very act of asking those questions, that Jesus tells us we will be blessed, and blessed again.

                                                                             AMEN