The Starting Point of Faith

Have you ever wondered what is the most important aspect of Christian faith and practice? What is the beginning point? Is it the Bible? Is it God? Do we start with Jesus Chris, with the Holy Spirit? Where do we start? Maybe some of you are thinking we should start with the stark reality of human sin? Maybe we should?Or maybe repentance, clearing the slate before God. Or maybe trust in God? There are a lot of possibilities. What do you think? What’s first, the very first thing?

Like if you were making a cake, what’s the first thing? If you’re building a house, what’s the first thing? Raising a child, what’s the first thing? But what we’re talking about here is the Christian faith, what is the first thing? I’ve been thinking about that as I prepared this sermon. I wanted to come up with an answer. Here’s what I’m wondering: is it possible the answer to this question is embedded in the Old Testament scripture passage we read today?

It’s the 8th century BC. The king of Israel, King Uzziah, has died. A young relative of the king by the name of Isaiah – later to become a prophet – is very distraught over the death of his relative and what it will mean - not only for his family, but also for the nation. What is he going to do? Well, there’s nothing really you can do when there’s a death in the family, except wander around, talk with friends, spend some time with family, be alone, sit quietly by the ocean, and remember. So Isaiah stumbles around the streets of Jerusalem and finally finds himself in front of the temple. He goes into the temple.

I don’t know, he probably doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He’s not expecting anything to happen, but there he is – in the Temple - open to whatever the temple and the sanctuary of God will give him. And out of that comes this most extraordinary experience – an experience of what’s sacred; a respect for the things of God; a sense of reverence for that place opening him up to the activity and the voice of God. This then is my starting point – a sense of respect for the things of God – a sense of reverence among the places and the events that belong to God – a sense of knowing that something IS present here - more important than all that I can see. I think this is the place for us to begin.

Now I know, and you probably know yourself, some people who seem to have no respect for the places and the moments carrying the presence of God. I think of examples that may make this clear to you, and I do so with some reluctance, let me give you some examples.

Experience one:

I’m travelling in the lead car of a funeral procession from the church to the cemetery. I’m in this car with the funeral director. Next in line is the funeral coach carrying the body of the deceased, followed by two limousines carrying members of the family. Then strung out behind, a long line of cars – other family members and friends. I notice the funeral director looking in his side mirror and then shaking his head. At that same moment, I begin to hear the distant sound of a car horn.

It’s then that I hear the funeral director muttering under his breath, “I don’t believe this … I just do not believe it!”

A few seconds later, a car full of young people shoots past our car – the horn still blaring. As it passes, the driver of the speeding car, flips the finger to the funeral director and to me. I guess he’s angry at the slowness of the funeral procession. He’s grown impatient, and with a great show of his frustration disrupts this sacred moment of sorrow and respect.It broke my heart, blaring on a loud horn and passing a funeral procession.

Now logically, you can say, “Well, the person is dead, what difference does it make?” The point is, where’s the respect? Where is the sense of the sacred.

Experience two:

I wasn’t present for this. Some friends told me about it. In Salzburg, Austria, there is preserved the home of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, one of the greatest composers and musicians of all time. In that home, for visitors and tourists to see, but roped off with a velvet rope, is the piano of Mozart – beautiful instrument behind a velvet rope – “please do not touch.” Some tourists are there. They’re looking at the home and they’re looking at the piano. And then one of the tourists steps over the rope – there’s no guard in sight – and this person sits down at the piano and begins to play some “boogy-woogy” music. Should we say, “Well, a piano is a piano, is a piano?” No … no … no … This is Mozart’s piano, protected from a bustling public by a velvet rope and a sign that says, “Please do not touch.” But here’s someone over the rope and on the stool and playing the piano. Something is missing … it’s a sense of reverence ... for something important and approaching the sacred.

Experience three:

It happened at a church camp. It was the last day of camp, and we had a special worship service in the camp chapel out in the woods. The young people have created a sacred place – there’s a table, there’s a Bible, there are two candles. And as a part of the service, two of the young people came forward, opened the Bible, and lit the candles. When the service is over and parents come to pick up the young people to take them home from the camp, the candles are still burning, and a man who has come, apparently to pick up a son or daughter, is standing near the table – the altar. He pulls out a package of cigarettes, puts one of them in his mouth, and then picks up one of the candles from the altar, and lights his cigarette. Now, a candle is a candle is a candle – and a fire is a fire is a fire, and the service is over and all of that, but still, don’t you feel something fundamental is violated. That the man has somehow stepped over the velvet rope in what he does?

What I’m talking about is this, that the beginning point of all conversation about religion – especially the Christian faith, is a sense of reverence – to be open to the possibility of the presence of God in this place. And if that reverence isn’t there, what good are we going to do with all the talking and the quoting of scripture and the actions of worship - if that is missing, then it’s like trying to build a house on the sand. I’m pleased to report that, of course, I have had, and you have had, I’m sure, many experiences that are just the opposite. Experiences when the people present – vague as it might have been – exhibit a real sense of the sacred.

A few years ago, my wife Judy and I were at Ground Zero of the 9/11 attack in New York City. It was fenced off and we were among hundreds of people milling around the fence looking at what was left. Even though there were hundreds, maybe thousands of us in the vicinity, some with cameras, I did not hear any conversation. Around the fence there were flowers and teddy bears, and then around that this whole gang of us standing around, hushed and quiet. You see, we knew, we knew, you don’t behave here like you would at a baseball game.

And one of the clearest ways we can express a sense of reverence, is just to be quiet – “The Lord is in the Holy Temple, let all the earth keep silent before God.”

I’ve had the same experience watching children when they’re in the presence of an older person who has suffered a great deal. Have you ever noticed some elderly person who’s been through such terrible pain and such terrible loss, it shows in the body, it shows in the face, it shows in the eyes. And children come around, and they grow quiet. They may not know why, but there’s a sense of respect – a sense of reverence which I believe is the fundamental raw material, out of which a spiritual life can grow.

Now, one last experience I want to tell you about- it made such a profound impact on me. I can’t forget it. I never will. Many years ago, while I attended university, I lived in the basement apartment of my grandmother’s house. She was left alone when my grandfather died, and it seemed like an ideal arrangement for me to move into this apartment. For me, it was closer to downtown Toronto and U. of T., for my grandmother it gave someone else in the house – to shovel the snow and cut the grass, and simply to be present. One night I wanted to ask her a question. It was a little bit late, but I didn’t think she would be in bed. I went upstairs to look for her, and as I did, I passed by her open bedroom door. She had not heard me coming, but in the dim light I could see her kneeling by her bed – I could hear her whispering.

She’s praying to God, and I feel a chill run up and down my back, and I say to myself, “I have no right to be here.” I back away and go down to my apartment. Do you know what I felt, to be in the presence of someone immersed in prayer, “I have no right to see this.” Reverence. My grandmother was in prayer.

You probably know some people who carry reverence with them wherever they go. You get the impression there’s an altar in their soul, in their heart, or their heart is a place of worship. The way they speak. The way they relate to others. The way they go about their work. There is a reverence. There is respect. It’s as though, at any time, we could all experience the presence of God.

Now, please understand me. I don’t mean religious in a way that turns us off – always talking religion, always acting religious – going around with hands held in a pious pose and eyes always upturned to Heaven and saying little verses. I don’t mean that. I mean a life – a normal life – that is lived with respect, with reverence, and with a sense of the sacred.

This, in my judgement, is where it all begins, the sense of life as sacred, the sense in our lives of the presence of God …