What are your hopes? We all have hopes, right? One hope I've become very familiar with in my time here in Boise City is the hope for rain. But there are other types of hopes, too. I've been having a lot of fun watching the Olympics this year. With each race or game or match I watch, I have hopes...usually that the American will win. And can you imagine the hopes of the athletes? How hope must have raced through the young gymnasts' minds as they flipped and spun through the air. Or the hope that Michael Phelps must have held in his heart at the beginning of the Men's 4x100m relay, in which he had to rely not only on his own spectacular abilities, but on those of his teammates as well. These hopes, these desires pent up behind years of training, and millions of fans cheering for their respective nations—these are what make the Olympics so much fun.

And yet, it's a funny thing. Even thinking about the immensity of these Olympic hopes, as C.S. Lewis once observed, “if we consider the unblushing promise of reward and the staggering nature of rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. [...] We are far too easily pleased (Lewis, The Weight of Glory).” God promises us a hope that is even greater than Olympic victories, or millions of dollars, or even a mortal life of absolute happiness. But how often do we think about that hope—the hope of eternal glory with our heavenly Father?

To be honest, though, I think the reason why we only pay lipservice to the everlasting hope offered to us in Jesus Christ is that it is simply so far beyond our understanding. Though I've never been to the Olympics, I can still imagine the hammering heart of the athlete kneeling at the starting blocks, hoping beyond all hope to be recognized as the greatest in the world. But ask me to try to comprehend the hope of standing before God—the one who showed only His back even to Moses —ask me to hope to stand before this God and be accepted as a son?...I believe it, but I cannot understand it. It is a victory that is far beyond me.

And yet, that is exactly what the writer of Hebrews calls faith. Faith is the “assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” To utterly trust and know without doubt that I should share in such glory, a glory I cannot even comprehend, much less see—that is faith!

It was in thinking along this vein, as I began to prepare the sermon for today, I initially planned on asking the question, “What is faith?” After all, it's such a commonly used word in scripture—and a very important word at that, if you consider that faith seems to be the primary qualifier for salvation. However, the common use of the word “faith” has also tended to make it difficult to understand. Or, at least, that was what I thought. I mean, what does “having faith” really mean? Right?

But then I realized, faith is not really all that difficult to understand, after all. In fact, faith is something I think we all have a good grasp of. I mean, really, anything we do, we do on the basis of faith. Think about it. In essence, having faith means to believe in the truth of something even without definite knowledge of it, or more precisely—to trust absolutely in that which is [emperically] uncertain. Really, if we're honest with ourselves, pretty much everything we do would fit this definition. Consider getting in your car and driving down the road to church. You do this on the basis of faith that your car will run...faith that the road will be in good enough shape and guide you to church...faith that other drivers will obey the rules of the road...faith that the church has not been relocated over the past week...faith that Pastor Jim did not suddenly become a Baptist and defect to the other side of the square. Now, I grant you, you trust in all these things because they have given you very little reason to doubt them. Yet, at the end of the day, you cannot say to me absolutely that you know these things will be true. You simply cannot...because you do not know what the future will hold.

So, as you can see, faith as both a concept and a practice is something that we all take for granted. Faith makes life possible—we could not do anything without it. Our lives would be spent in constant fear and doubt about the future. Can you imagine if every time you started to sit down in a chair, you had to worry if the wood and screws would hold you. If every time you walked into a room, you had to worry if all the air would suddenly rush to one corner and we all die of suffocation. If every time the sun set, we huddled in fear that the daylight would never return. Faith makes life possible. We know what faith is.

So, the real question, then, is not “What is faith?” but rather, “What is the substance of your faith—what do you dare to hope for?” (Hebrews 11:1-3)

As I've already said, the act of faith itself is not difficult. We do it all the time. No, the difficult task is daring to hope the unimaginable—the absurd. To hope the absurd—you heard me right. Let's face it, the hope of Christianity, the hope that we all gather together in this church to celebrate, is absolutely, logically absurd.

I always have felt somewhat embarrassed when I read about those “Christian” studies that are setting out on a quest to “prove” the truth of Christianity. And, I always laugh to myself, in a sad, cynical way, when I see on TV those shows, like you often find on the History Channel, where a group of scientists are trying to prove that some aspect of the Bible is untrue—you know the type—trying to prove that there is no way Noah could have fit all those animals in the ark, or that Jesus didn't really look the way we imagined him to look. The only thing I can really say to both of these groups is...so what?! We know that what we proclaim as Christians is utterly ridiculous! In fact, we proclaim this fact proudly! What does Paul write in 1 Corinthians, chapter 1?: “20Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the foolishness of what we preach to save those who believe...”

The fact of the matter is that while reason and logic are amazing gifts from God, they are like the tower of Babel—we are destined to fail if we seek to “prove” or “disprove” God in this way. That is why, as Christians, we have to realize that at the end of the day, there is no amount of arguing, no amount of persuading, no amount of debating that will lead someone to God.

Now, don't get me wrong—there are certainly times when such debates are necessary. But, ultimately, faith in this absurd truth—the truth of God's love for us—this faith is a gift that can only be given by God. It is a gift we must receive, and not something we can earn by our own knowledge and wisdom. The reason why this is so...is precisely because the hope that this faith points to, this absolutely ridiculous hope...is something that even the proudest narcissist could never have come up with on his own: the hope, the idea that I am the reason why God died.

Now, at this point in the sermon, I need to admit to you my dirty, little secret. The truth is, the type of faith I'm talking about here, this hope in the absurd truth of the Gospel...well...it's really hard for me to believe sometimes. I admit this now only because I suspect that many, if not all of you are like me in that respect. It's not that we don't believe. We do. But I think we're all a bit like the father who cried to Jesus, “I believe! Only help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24). You see, God gives us all this amazing gift of faith, this assurance that the greatest hope is true, but there are times when the world pressures in upon us, when you, ...when I seek to stand firmly upon God's promise, but I find that my soul quivers, I shrink back in fear of what that promise could really mean (Heb 10:38). And I find myself filled with doubt. How can it be true? I have never seen this everlasting love. All I have seen is sickness and pain, drought and famine.

And it is at that point—when our hearts are beginning to fail—that is where the Church comes in—that is where you come in. You see, we all need encouragement as we walk our journeys of faith. And I do not mean the petty, self-serving, back-patting type of encouragement that I know we all have experienced. ...The type of encouragement that seems to only be able to muster up ill-timed platitudes, repeating a mantra of “It's God's will” or “Jesus loves you.” While true statements, our obligation to each other as brothers and sisters in Christ goes far deeper—when a new member stands before this congregation, she takes an oath to the Church, but the Church also takes an oath to her.

And let me be the first to say that this church has done a wonderful job, at the very least, of encouraging me. From the time that I lost my grandfather, a year ago last May, all the way to now, as I prepare to head back to seminary, I have felt completely covered in love by everyone here.

As I lived out here with you, seeking God's vision for my life, I always felt this congregation pushing me farther, saying to me, “Dream big, for we have seen God's hand upon your life.” And that type of encouragement is an amazing gift. And I hope that I have done my own part in encouraging you, and convicting you of the certainty that God is at work among you in marvelous and empowering ways.

And now, having said that, comes the time to challenge you. It is not enough to sit idle, content with the laurels you have earned. Just as the Olympics continues to come every four years, so too Faith is constantly at odds with the world.

And so, I challenge you, first of all, to continue to encourage each other in the faith, as you have encouraged me. Be sensitive to the ways in which God is using those in the pews to your right and your left—because they may not be aware of it themselves.

And, when one among you descends into a valley of doubt, a dark night of the soul, do not fear to hold up to your obligation as their Christian sibling. Do not fear to descend into that chasm with them, for God has promised to accompany you, even to the depths of hell.

And, finally, I challenge you to dare to hope...not just for great things, but for the greatest of things. For though along the faith journey of your life, you may have to trek up the slope of Mount Moria, experiencing the difficulties and hardships and the absolute agony of the ascent...unlike Abraham, we already know that when we reach the top, we will not find a ram caught in the thicket, but rather the cross of Christ, and our crucified Lord, the Lamb of God, waiting in our place.

This work is licensed by the author, Brian D. White, under a Creative Commons A-NC-NDW License.