Welcome to the CommonsCast. We're glad to have you here. We hope you find something meaningful in our teaching this week. Head to commons.church for more information.

We are so grateful for the space to pause today, to focus our attention on the good that you bring, on the good that we share, to also shift our attention ever so slightly towards your imagination of the world. And we are also grateful for the space to be ourselves, to let pretense fade even just slightly and to be open to the change that you are working in us, which is why we ask now, gentle spirit, be the light that we need to see and be the strength and the peace that we are seeking even as we turn again to ancient words that hold meaning and have such profound capacity to spark newness in us that we need. Be our God, we ask in the name of Christ, our hope. Amen. Okay.

So full disclosure, our discussion today is meaningful for me because of some of my own spiritual journey, some of my experiences in Christian community and GASP Christian mysticism, especially in my youth, also my graduate training in the critical study of the scripture, and my doctoral work in the sociology of knowledge, which take me or took me on a search looking at how social environments determine how's how's how we think and how we live in the world, which just means that while having some pretty niche areas of interest that don't always translate well into dinner party settings, I have come to a place in my faith. And in my connection to Christian tradition, in my affection for the person and the story of Jesus, I've come to a place where I have or I see a lot of value in having some doubts. And I really do appreciate the spiritual gift I see in others who have lived a little and who have faced some adversity, who have reconciled themselves to how questions sometimes are more beautiful than answers. And so that's part of why I love getting to stand up here with you today, but it's also meaningful for me because I'm sharing this particular conversation with you and with this community.

In just a couple of weeks, our family is gonna mark five years of being here at Commons, which is kind of fun. And I have talked about this before, but for me, a big part of why or a big part of leaving my previous professional interests, part of moving across the country, part of becoming a pastor again, a big part of what drew me here was this sense that this was a place where my faith could flourish, a faith that also allowed for my biggest questions and curiosities. And five years into the journey, I realized that I can honestly say I get to do the most amazing work with the most amazing colleagues in the most amazing community, which isn't a humble brag, I don't think. I'm just humbled by this profound privilege, this significant responsibility that we share, because we aspire to be a kind of people that aim for intellectual honesty and rigor while we foster spiritual passion, and we try to do all of that with Jesus at the center. And this is work that regularly requires that we together pick up both faith and doubt, I think.

And that's why I'm gonna offer you a short checklist to take with you before you go. But first, let's jump into the text for a moment, shall we? Specifically, we're gonna head back to John's gospel chapter six two, the passage actually that immediately follows where we were last week. And here's a snapshot to get you up to speed. We are gonna drop into the story as things are going really well for Jesus.

He is trending on Twitter, and people are hovering and following in droves. And there's this buzz around him. So much so that earlier in the chapter, he's had to feed an entire crowd that just follows him into the countryside for some reason. And when that crowd shows up again the next day, Jesus decides to address something that he sees in their neediness. He tells them, look.

I know that you're following me just because there was free food after the talk. And then he goes on to clarify that his message and his claims that they are a kind of spiritual food and that they're divine, that he is divine, a revelation of the same God from their history and scripture that they know so well, and that he had come to feed and satisfy more than their stomachs. And we read that on hearing this, many of the disciples said, this is hard teaching. Who can accept it? And aware that his disciples were grumbling about this, Jesus said to them, does this offend you?

I love that. Do I offend you? The words I have spoken to you, they're full of the spirit and life, yet there are some of you who do not believe. For Jesus had known from the beginning which of them did not believe and who would betray him. Now there's a lot that we could say here about these few verses, but I wanna highlight just a couple of things.

And the first is this, that there's this instance here of something that we see Jesus doing over and over again in the gospels. Jesus is regularly compelling people to believe his message. He's compelling people to return to a better imagination of themselves and the world. He's regularly compelling people to put their faith in his face and his hands and his body as God's own. And to do this, he sparks some doubt in their minds.

Jesus does this by consistently engaging in a common Jewish practice of Midrash or interpretation and reinterpretation of Hebrew text where he regularly probes the religious assumptions of his own day. And then Jesus suggests new meaning for words that people think they know, all while using doubt as the key to open their hearts and minds. And listen. I think that this might help some of us as we reconcile ourselves to our own faith and doubts if we keep in mind this vision of Jesus and when we try to take his words seriously. Because it seems like Jesus is always trying to spark growth in the ways that people have been thinking.

He says things like, you have heard it said before, but let me suggest to you something different. Jesus is regularly using suspicion and reexamination to spark faith and fascination. And he does seem to understand that people might have trouble tracking with him. I mean, look. The disciples in this story, they say, these are hard things you're saying.

Are we just supposed to accept them? And I love it here. The Greek adjective, scleros, it's used by Jesus' followers to describe his teaching. It just means something hard or offensive. And it suggests that the issue here is not that they don't understand Jesus, though sometimes I wonder because Jesus gets super meta sometimes.

The the issue isn't comprehension so much as the force of Jesus' words, the kind of theological blunt force trauma that they carry, and the crowd is just reeling. They're struggling to accept the implications, and they have some nagging questions, which sounds about right if I put myself in their shoes. Jesus is claiming that his words are the same as god's in the ancient law. He claims that his words are meant to bring them life, words and analogies that they don't even know what to do with. And I think that a faithful reading of this story should lead us to identify closely with some of their hesitation, just like I think it should invite us into a new consideration of who Jesus was and who Jesus might be because he seems so unafraid of sparking some doubt in his followers, which means that by extension, Jesus isn't threatened by the questions that we can't shake.

He's not disturbed by how sometimes you struggle with religious words and ideas that feel forced. Jesus isn't unnerved by all of your searching and your probing and your fitful persistence. No. If anything, the gospels depict Jesus as inviting those challenges all while he embodies a selfless way of living in the world that the longer you look at it, it really does present itself as a solid alternative to the exhausted state we find ourselves in, gently teaching you to doubt the all too common assumptions that you have to be powerful to be significant, and that you have to go it alone to protect yourself, or maybe that you aren't worthy of grace. Because isn't it possible that in all of your quiet personal interrogations and in all your moments of wild exploratory thinking and all of your intense probing of what you believe, isn't it possible that Jesus is the source of those questions?

Helping you to see that as poet Christian Wiemann so beautifully states, sometimes god calls a person to unbelief in order that their faith can take new form. Now the story in John continues. We learn that after saying these difficult things to his followers making some significant claims, from this point on in Jesus' ministry, many of his disciples turned back and didn't follow him anymore. And in one of the most profound instances of Jesus' humanity shining through in the ancient text, we read that Jesus turns and asks the 12. These are his closest and his most loyal friends.

He asked them, you don't wanna leave me too, do you? And it's important to not gloss over the strong negative grammatical structure in the Greek here, which lends itself to a more emotional reading like, you're not going to leave me, are you? And this is a crucial piece, not just because it reminds us that Jesus' own faith and doubt weren't so different than our own, and that we are often concerned with whether or not we are going to be alone. Side note, this is more than a little comforting for me to realize that Jesus' self assurance wasn't bulletproof, and he too seems to have ridden the waves created by others' opinions of him, or at the very least, he was aware of them and tried to pay attention. But, also, this is an important piece because it allows for a somewhat creative interpretation, I'm gonna suggest to you, in which Jesus wasn't bothered by his followers' doubts so much as by the fact that they weren't willing to share those doubts with him.

Where what broke his heart wasn't the difficulty they had with his ideas, but that they felt that only blind unquestioned faith was the prerequisite for belonging in the kingdom. And I wanna talk a little bit more about this in a moment, but first, I wanna look at what happens after Jesus' emotional statement because the text says this, that Peter answers Jesus, and he says, Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have come to believe and know that you are the holy one of God. Now if you are familiar with the scriptures and the gospel specifically, you know that Peter, this guy, he's often pictured as a kind of spokesperson for the bumbling 12 disciples, for better or worse. And we see him, for example, in Mark eight, making a similar confession to this one.

In that passage, Jesus asks, he says, who who do you all think that I am? And Peter says, well, you're the Messiah. And in stories like this, Peter's words are held up as a representative of those who recognize who Jesus is. They are a representation of those who believe, those who have faith and commit to follow this way, which is what is happening here in John, of course. The writer of the gospel has Peter say what he should say here.

You are the holy one of God. You are the rescuer and the deliverer that we have been waiting for, and we have come to know and believe this, which is fine. Peter's allowed to say that. Except for me, there's a catch here, and it's actually in the Greek grammar. And don't worry.

Just a short nerd diversion here. I think you all appreciate it. At least my fingers are crossed that you will. In Peter's phrase, we have come to believe and to know. For the verbs believe and know, the ancient Christian author has used a tense that we don't really use in English.

The perfect tense is what it's called. And all you need to know about this perfect tense is general is that it's generally used to describe an action that was completed in the past with results that are continuing into the present and beyond. So quick example here. You might say something like, I have become a Calgary Flames fan, and I always will be against my better judgment, which which makes sense. Right?

It happened in the past, and its results are continuing into the future. So in effect, the ancient writer has Peter saying something like this. Jesus, we have been fully convinced by you. We have believed you, and we always will. And on one hand, he needs to say this to serve the author's theological point in the story, but there is an obvious discrepancy here.

The discrepancy between Peter's grand theological statement as a model and measure of authentic faith and what we see play out in the rest of the gospels and also what we see play out in our lives. Don't forget that the gospels record numerous references to the doubts that people have. We see people discrediting Jesus because he was born in the backwoods of Israel. We see Martha, his friend, question his motives when he doesn't show up to heal her brother fast enough. We're gonna watch the same guy Peter deny Jesus.

We're gonna see the other disciples desert him. We will see Thomas, one of his friends, question the reality of his resurrection. We have fully believed, and we always will? No, Peter. That's not how faith works.

Your story makes that much clear, and so does mine. And I'm so thankful that the scriptures include a more nuanced perspective where we see that vibrant trust and conviction do emerge, but then sometimes they waver. We see wholehearted commitments seem so firm and then disappear into thin air, And we should take comfort at this because just like Peter, we are a confluence of our most fervent beliefs and our most strident doubts. And maybe today, you just need to hear the calm reminder that your faith and your doubt are measured in moments. They're not defined by statements you've made or by the conclusions that you will come to someday, which just means that neither faith nor doubt is likely to last forever in the state they exist in right now for you, and there's no need then to be afraid of a faith that might change or shift or of strong doubts and questions that pop up so suddenly.

Because living a life centered on Jesus does not mean that you will stay the same. In fact, it implies just the opposite, and Peter teaches us this, which brings me back to something I mentioned earlier, my reflection on what it means to be part of this community for five years and my appreciation for how you have taught me how to believe and doubt more faithfully. This sense that I have that the world that we live in right now, the homes and the relationships, the communities that you're part in, all of them battered and pandemic worn, some of them tentatively hopeful, others are profoundly cynical. Really do think that this world that we live in right now needs a little bit more both and generosity in the days ahead. And this is maybe because your doubts and questions feel stronger now than ever before, Or maybe you aren't sure how to deal with the Christian tradition.

Even as you sit here, it has a lot of baggage, and it's sitting here with us today. Maybe you are figuring out what a place like Commons still holds for you, or perhaps you've been focusing on your spiritual life, and you think that you're actually just starting to hit your stride. You want an opportunity to really live this way. Maybe you're excited to learn and grow because you feel as though you've come through the past year with new focus, strength, and perspective. Whatever the case, this postscript sermon is for you.

And with it, a brief both and faith doubt checklist prepared to send you off. So here goes. First, please don't forget that both faith and doubt can be practices of belonging. So, sure, go on following Jesus' simple, nonviolent way. Just don't be surprised to find Jesus casting doubt on the systems that we create and the powers that we trust and on the abuses that we tend to tolerate.

My suspicion is that if you do this with Jesus at the center, your faith will flourish, but so too will your questions. And I think if we do this well together as a community, we will make space for those who've only ever known the church as a place where you have to believe a certain way. And we will make a home for those who have been disqualified for their beautiful wondering and curiosity. Second, pay attention close attention to where these practices of faith and doubt crossover in your life. And this one makes the list for me because I know that so many of you are already doing this work.

Your faith is what draws you into the questions being asked and raised and the doubts being stoked in the world around you. Questions of how to clearly address sexual violence and stigmas about mental illness, about the impact of ongoing racism. Some of you have doubts about the histories that we've constructed in this nation and others, and you have questions about the histories that we have tried to erase. Many of you have questions about our complicity in inequality and our the doubts that we should probably have about how power is distributed in our society. All of these are such great examples of what Sasha Sagan describes, how questioning something, exploring it, examining it, thinking of ways it might change for the better is a way of loving something where your faith and your doubts become a sign of your love for the world and all God's goodness in it.

And finally, I wanna encourage you to start to think of faith and doubt as languages you can be fluent in. And here's what I mean by this. Some of us have had experiences and connections that taught us a language of faith with buzzwords and certainty and this feeling of safety that came with us. Others of us might have had experiences and connections that taught us a language of doubt with this unbridled deconstruction and cynicism and a feeling of superiority that comes with it. And I think sometimes we tend to, as individuals, find one of these more comfortable than the other.

And the reality is that in an uncertain world like ours and your complex network of relationships and your evolving sense of who you are, each of these languages has its limits. Because no matter how committed you are, faith will never give expression to all of your longing, to all of your sorrow, to all of the profound injustice that you experience. Just like doubt will never be the source of your best imagination and your deepest compassion or your bravest efforts to do something selfless for someone, which is why you should practice speaking both. Your faith giving you language for your hope no matter how fragile it might be, and your doubt setting you free to speak honestly and truthfully no matter the cost. And if you ask me, if we do that together, we're gonna sound an awful lot like Jesus.

Let's pray. Gracious spirit of God, we are present to the work that you do in us each and every day. And for a moment, we offer our gratitude for the ways in which community and a few spoken words draw us towards what you are doing in us, the ways in which you call each of us to a kind of unbelief. You invite us to trust you and to follow you over and against all of the other powers that be. And the truth is that we need courage to hold on to faith in this world, and we need courage to doubt well, to follow you into the questions that you ask and demand.

We ask that you would teach us to trust that you meet us in those moments where our faith is strongest, but that you're also with us when we aren't so sure. When life with all of its pain and its complexity casts some shadow on our hearts, maybe some of us can feel that today. We're grateful for the gift of a community like this, the gift of sharing faith and doubt together in the small steps that we take to love you better, to love your world better, and we ask, be with us as we go in the both and that we face. In the name of Christ, we pray. Amen.