Believing and perceiving
This morning I was reading in Matthew and I was struck,again, by how often Jesus points out how little faith the Disciples had. It’s hard for me to understand – they were with Jesus. They saw the miracles. They were participants in the miracles. Peter walked on water! They saw Jesus calm a storm. They were there when Jesus multiplied the fish and loaves to feed thousands of people. They heard Jesus speak. How is it possible they didn’t have that strong of faith?
I think we often expect more faith of ourselves and of other Christians. We expect that, if someone is a Christian, this means that their lives should be faith-filled. That there should be no doubting, as few faltering steps as possible, and an unwavering commitment to imitating Christ in every way. And, this isn’t wrong…it’s just not necessarily completely right. If we take this stance, we can end up looking more like the Pharisees than Jesus.
In Matthew 9:12-13, the Pharisees question why Jesus is sitting with the tax collectors and other “sinners,” those who were frowned upon by the religious sects. Jesus replies, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick…” He goes on to say, “But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Jesus’s response is demonstrated so fully in the disciples –he came to call the sinners. The sinners– James, John, Peter, Andrew! They are the sinners! They are symbolic of the rest of us whom Christ has called to Himself. He did not call the righteous ones, the Pharisees or the Sadducees. He did not call those who were following the law “perfectly,” who knew the Old Testament scriptures, who had devoted their lives to their faith.
And, even more amazing, is Jesus’ grace, His mercy when it comes to the disciples. If I’m frustrated and confused by the disciples’ lack of faith, how much more so must Jesus have been! Of course, the God side of Him knew and understood, but the human side of Him – as revealed by some of His rhetorical questions – shows his confusion. “Do you still not yet understand? Do you not perceive it?” “O you of little faith!” “How is it that you still do not know?”
And then, there are those who don’t know Jesus except by reputation, those who have only seen or heard Him from afar, those who listen to Him speak and whose hearts begin to pound faster and, somehow, somehow, they are able to see what the disciples still cannot. They bring their sick and diseased to Jesus, their demon-possessed… they fight to just touch the fringes of Jesus’s robe. They tell Jesus just say the word and my servant will be healed. They believe.
How is it that these people can have greater faith than that of the disciples?
As we have all experienced, sometimes the closer you are to a person, the harder it is to appreciate them, to really see them. It’s one reason we have the expression “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Similarly, when you sit in the front row of a ballet performance, it’s hard to see the graceful beauty in the dance when all you can hear is the thumping and thudding of toe shoes across the stage.
I wonder, as I grow closer to Jesus, do I, at the same time, lose sight of Him? Is it easier for me to see His glory, His goodness, His power, from a distance?
I remember when we lived in San Francisco, there was a vibrancy to the city, a life; the hills breathing with the constant ebb and flow of people and energy. To be in the city was an experience, caught up in the sights and sounds and sense of possibility that surrounded you. When we moved to the East Bay, directly across from the Embarcadero, I would see the city, glorious and brilliant, rising out of the bay. From afar, it was quiet and still, but even more spectacular. Observing from a distance, I felt a different kind of awe – not the same as being enveloped in its life, but I felt a wonder at the majesty and barely-contained power of its towering skyscrapers and undulating hills. At night, San Francisco glows. That is one thing about being in the city – you don’t get to really see it. Viewing the lights of the city reflected in the Bay, it’s beautiful. Inspiring. It makes you want to scoop up the city and hold it in your hands, to be part of it, but not.
With Jesus, the closer I get, the harder it is for me to see His beauty. The closer I get, the more I see my own imperfections and my own failures, and instead of being focused on Him and His grace and mercy, I feel unworthy and incapable. As I read and study and pick apart each of Jesus’ words, and search out to know Him more, I struggle to balance my sense of wonder that He calls me His own with my deep sense of failure and sadness that I do not reflect Him the way I should or could or want to.
I feel my disciple-ness. My following of Him, seeking to be with Him in everything I do, not wanting to do anything apart from Him,desperate to learn from Him and be changed, but completely missing the whole point and failing embarrassingly. I imagine Jesus turning to me and saying, “Do you not perceive it?” You have seen Me perform miracles. You have heard Me speak. You know Me. “Do you not yet understand?”
O you of little faith…
I am in desperate need of compassion, of grace, of mercy. I call myself a Christian, a follower of Christ, and the world expects us to be “little Christs” – which is what I want! I want to be merciful and gracious and compassionate and loving to others; I want to show others love and forgiveness and acceptance. But in being a follower of Christ, I feel more like the original followers of Christ– confused, indignant, impatient, afraid, doubting, hypocritical, stupidly surprised by the power of God …
In the world’s eyes, I am bad at following. I look nothing like a “little Christ.” I yell at my kids, and curse under my breath; I harbor anger and resentment in my heart and take longer to forgive than I should. I make promises that I don’t want to keep and rail against the life He has ordained for me. I fight constantly with my faith – my own selfishness and lack of self-control pushing back against the Spirit’s urgings to be selfless and giving and restrained. I fear that my children, my family, will not see the spiritual war, will not know how I wrestle for obedience and sacrifice, but will only see the times I lose the battles and give in to my self. Everyday, I fail at following.
But, I keep going. Just like the disciples, I keep plodding along after Jesus, trying to learn from Him, listening and seeking to understand; trying my best to apply what I see and know and hear to the mundane tasks of my life. I try to keep my eyes ahead and not worry about what others see. I try not to care about what they think about how well I am following. I imagine that those people who brought their sick and demon-possessed to Jesus were shocked at the disciples’ lack of faith. Here Jesus is, making the blind see and the sick well; multiplying fish and turning water into wine… what is wrong with the disciples that they can’t see what kind of man this is?!?! Why do they not have more faith?
Jesus told the disciples, “Abide in me and I will abide in you.” When I think of abiding in Jesus, I want to imagine living on the East Bay, taking in His glory and majesty and knowing it’s mine to behold. When I think of Him abiding in me, I want to imagine living in the city, the pulse of its life beating through me, surging joy and strength and energy into my spirit. I want to feel the tension of being in yet perceiving from afar. I want to follow in His footsteps, walk with Him everyday, yet maintain that sense of awe and wonder that keeps me desperately hoping and believing that my life will be changed immeasurably if I can only touch the fringes of His robe.
