St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

April 26, 2009

The movie “Doubt” starts off with a sermon – how perfect is that?! For a preacher, it doesn’t get any better. Father Flynn faces the congregation, and starts off, “Today I want to talk about what you do when you’re not sure.” He talks about the pain that men and women endure when they experience personal and private calamities: “No one knows I’m sick; no one knows I’ve just lost my last real friend; no one knows I’ve done something wrong.” “Imagine the isolation,” he says; “It is as if you were looking through a glass window – on the one side are all the happy, untroubled people; and on the other side – you.”

Father Flynn offers a story that embodies this oh so human dilemma of doubt, of not knowing for sure…. Imagine a sailor, he says, whose ship went down in the middle of the night, and he was the only survivor. He scrambled into a lifeboat, with some basic supplies, and, determining his location and direction by the stars, he set a course that would take him to safety; and then, exhausted, he fell asleep. When he awoke, clouds had rolled in, and he could no longer see into the distance; nor could he see the stars to check out where he was headed. The clouds remained for twenty days, and he no longer knew where he was. Was he headed home? Or was he totally lost and drifting towards a dreadful death? He wasn’t sure… when he had seen the stars, and set the directions, had he made the right decision, or had he been swayed by his desperate need? Or had he in fact seen clearly, and that glimpse of truth would needs be sufficient to sustain him on his way?

Father Flynn finishes by looking at the faces in the congregation, all hanging on his words. “Many of you are like that sailor, struggling with your own crises, your own questions, your doubts. But I am here today to tell you that doubt can be life-giving; doubt can be the bond that holds us together even in our uncertainty. Even when you are in doubt, even when you feel lost, you are not alone.”

Second scene… the sisters who teach at the Catholic school which is part of this parish, are being interrogated by their principal, Sister Aloysius, as they share a meal together. “What did you think about today’s sermon, Sister James? What was it about?” “Well,”said the young, earnest and timid Sr. James, after some hesitation, “Doubt… yes, it was about doubt.” “Why?” continued the principal. A pause… “Excuse me, sister?” “Well,” said Sr. Aloysius, “sermons have to come from somewhere.” (I’ll bet you have often thought that… where did that sermon come from? What was that Paterson thinking about? I’m not always sure I’d want to hear your response!) Sr. Aloysius continues, “Well, is Father Flynn experiencing doubt? Or is he concerned that someone else is experiencing doubt?” Another long pause, until Sr. James summons up her courage, “You’ll have to ask him.”

Thus is the stage set for an exploration of what you do when you’re not sure, when you have doubts. Because the film quickly moves from this introduction into the central narrative arc – Sr. Aloysius is convinced that Father Flynn has seduced and molested a young altar boy, Donald by name; and she is determined to expose and expel this priest from their midst. But it’s not clear that the priest has in fact abused young Donald. You just don’t know. This is not a theoretical, theological discussion… lives are at stake; and you don’t know!

There is much confrontation among the major characters. “How can you be so certain?” Sr. Aloysius is asked, and she replies, “I know people!” And it’s true; she may be old, conservative and crotchety, but she is experienced and has seen many troubles; indeed, she has encountered abusive priests in the past, and knows the terrible damage that results. But, says Father Flynn,” What makes you so sure? Have you seen anything?” “No, but I have my certainties…!” And he replies, “Certainty is a feeling; it’s not a fact! Can you not recognize that there are things beyond your imagining, things you don’t know; you do not have the truth.” “A dog that bites is a dog that bites,” is her response.

Sr. Aloysius is successful in forcing Father Flynn to leave… and you, the audience, still do not know for sure… that’s the beauty of the film… did he? … or didn’t he? How do you know for sure? In the final scene of the movie, in the garden, snow all around, Sr. Aloysius sits alone on a bench, wrapped up in her black habit, looking like a gaunt raven. She is joined by Sister James, who believes that Father Flynn was innocent, and she asks, “Did you ever prove it?” “For whom?” “For anyone other than yourself?” “No!” “But you were sure?” “Yes.” “I wish I could be more like you? “Why?” “Because I can’t sleep anymore.” “Maybe we’re not supposed to sleep so well.”

And then the camera moves closer, and we watch Sister Aloysius’ face, tightly framed by her severe, black bonnet; we watch this tough old broad, the epitome of every Catholic school child’s nightmare; we watch as her face crumples into tears; we watch as she sobs, “I have doubts….. I have such doubts.” And the camera slowly withdraws, and the film ends.

Was Sr. Aloysius speaking of her doubts about the particulars concerning Father Flynn? Probably. Was she talking about her beloved church? … most likely. For when she had shared her concerns with the Monsignor, she was not believed, and Father Flynn’s departure was ultimately a promotion, and he had been transferred to a larger parish, which also had a school. And was it possible that Sr. Aloysius was crying out from an even deeper centre… surrounded by existential doubts, feeling like a lost sailor who had once glimpsed the stars but then spent her last twenty years without vision, with no certainty, as the world changed around her?... yes.

Segue…. to the first Easter, some two thousand years ago when surely similar questions of doubt abounded. Resurrection…how do you know for sure? “Christ is risen from the dead, glory, hallelujah…” – really? What makes you so certain? Have you seen anything that would convince you? Any proof? Is it just a feeling? Perhaps conviction arises from a desperate need to believe, to be saved, to have the story turn out right? Jesus raised from the dead – did he?... or didn’t he?

The gospel stories recognize that doubt circles round their account of the resurrection. I am always astonished at Matthew’s descripton of Jesus appearing to the eleven disciples in Galilee; there he is, on the mountain, commissioning his followers to go forward into the world, to proclaim the good news …”And when the disciples saw [Jesus],” says Matthew, “they worshiped him; but some doubted.” A throw-away line; you almost don’t hear it unless you are listening carefully. Some doubted??? The disciples? If they doubted, what hope do we have?

The classic story of gospel doubt, of course, is that of Thomas, who missed Jesus’ appearance to the other ten on Easter evening. “Ah,” they all said to their good friend, “too bad you weren’t here. Jesus appeared; he is alive.” And surely Thomas must have asked, “What makes you so certain? Do you have any proof? How do you know?” Until finally we hear his cry of anguish, “Unless I see… I will not believe?”

Now, as John presents the story, Thomas does indeed see; Jesus does come again to that upper room, slipping through locked doors, the walls, suddenly appearing, saying to Thomas, “Feel away.” And yet the story ends strangely, almost downplaying the miracle. For Jesus declares to Thomas… and to all of us, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now that’s clearly a line aimed at two thousand years worth of Christians, the ones who weren’t there, who haven’t seen… the likes of you and me; the ones who are wrestling with belief in 2009.

You’re left wondering what actually happened in this story of Thomas. Is it to be understood literally? If you’d had a camera, could you have taken a picture of the risen Jesus? Or are we talking about a different understanding of reality, one that is not reduced to a straightforward materialism, where what you see is what you get? Or perhaps Thomas was experiencing an inner vision, real but personal – the story doesn’t mention how any of the other disciples reacted to this second appearance; maybe they didn’t see anything? Or does John want us to understand Thomas’ experience as parable? And does it really matter, because in any case, we’re still left with our own questions and doubts, our own wonderings about to how to live in faith when we don’t know for sure. Whatever it is that happened for Thomas, it has happened for us, at least, not in exactly the same way.

Perhaps we must learn to recognize that doubt will always be with us. It is an inevitable part of our human existence, a recognition of our space-time limitations in an infinite universe. Perhaps with the theologian Paul Tillich we can come to a place of accepting that doubt is not the opposite of faith, but an integral part of it. Or, in Frederick Buechner’s memorable phrase, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith; they keep it alive and moving.”

Well, we all know that. But oft times we want more; we crave certainty… even as we know that it is not ours to have. But perhaps there are ways of coming a bit closer, not to absolute certainty, but to place where we can stand with integrity, where we can trust, even though we don’t know for sure; where we can take action, and not be frozen by our questions. Some interesting research was done a few decades ago, exploring the different ways in which people come to faith; and the researchers came to the conclusion that there were four classic paths that led people into the community of faith; and most of us had a preferred or initial way in, but then discovered the value and need for other pathways. Take a listen, and see where you resonate.

The first pathway is that of the intellect – working from the head. These are the folk who need to think their way through the questions, doing the Biblical, historical and theological work necessary to understand how faith makes sense. They work with their heads; they shake the questions like terriers; they appreciate not having to park their minds at the door when they walk into the church.

An aside… a couple of weeks ago I read a fascinating article about the work of the French physicist, Bernard D’Espagnat, who has just won the Templeton award, which is given to those who have made a significant contribution to the dialogue between science and spirituality. (It’s worth 1.4 million bucks – no small change!) D’Espagnat’s specialty is quantum physics, with its sub-discipline, quantum mechanics, the study of systems at or below the atomic level: atoms, electrons, protons and subatomic articles. He has much time developed a concept that he labels “veiled reality” – the realm beyond the ken of the visible and detectable. He argues that we humans are incapable of fully understanding the deepest nature of reality, because it goes far beyond the dimensions in which we live and move and have our being. Science is crucial and necessary, but it describes reality as we experience it, not as it necessarily is in an ultimate way. In an interview with the Christian Science Monitor d’Espagnat says:

Quantum mechanics introduced another point of view, which consists essentially that the aim of science is not to describe ultimate reality as it really is. Rather, it is to make account of reality as it appears to us, accounting for the limitations of our own mind and our own sensibilities. It’s not that science will explain the ultimate reality of certain objects or events,… Rather, it is that the concepts we use, such as space, time, causality, and so on… are not applicable to ultimate reality.

D”Espagnat believes that art, music and spirituality are all ways, along with science, that enable us to catch glimpses of that underlying reality, that great mystery. Veiled reality… but not completely invisible. Which makes me wonder if there might be a different way of talking about the resurrection, and what was happening there… Enough… you can tell that I am a bit of head guy… but this is not the sermon to keep travelling down this side path.. Another time….

Back to the research about how we “know”… the second path is the way of feeling, working with the heart. Intuition … “I just know it; I have my certainties…” It is a John Wesley, who would describe his moment of conversion by saying “I felt my heart strangely warmed….” It is an evangelical crying out, “I have been born again.” It is the mystic who has experienced the sheer holiness of God.

The third way involves the hands and the feet… the do-ers in our midst; the ones who say, I don’t care how you feel; and I’m not that fussed about the theory of it all – it’s how you act that counts. They are the ones who roll up their sleeves and get involved, and suddenly discover that they have acted their way into new ways of thinking… rather than the reverse. They carry an ethical imperative, that grounds them in the work of peace, justice and compassion. The Christian faith is shaped by practice rather than theology or feeling. I wonder if Mother Theresa might walked this path on occasion – remember the publication of her letters a couple of years ago, where it was revealed that she had lived for many years with the reality of doubt, feeling that God was silent, even absent… a sailor, perhaps, lost upon the ocean. But she trusted that her initial visions of the stars were true, and she kept doing the work… and that’s what sustained her faith.

The fourth way is described as the path of nurture. You grow up in the faith; it feels almost like a second skin. Oh sure, there comes a time of rejection, a time when what you have been given needs to be personally appropriated… but it forms a certain bedrock, a foundation. I was one of those whose mother raised me in the church, in the faith, who made sure I was baptized as a babe… Anglican, because there were no available United Churches in Whitehorse in 1949; who enrolled me in Sunday School, despite times of protest. I still remember an Awards day at the end of a Sunday School year. We had all been asked what kind of a book we wanted to received, and all the guys asked for a Robin Hood book; but on the big day, I discovered that my mother had intervened, and alone amongst my friends, I received a Bible. Sometimes nurture can feel like tough love!! But it is nurture that feeds us, an experience of being accepted and loved; stories are told that make their way into our hearts; the witness of friends and family, the evidence of their changed lives – this is what touches and shapes us. It is so clear that something real is happening in the people around you… and you choose to belong; and as you enter into the patterns of daily Christian life, you find yourself being changed… and convinced. It’s not “group think,” though I suppose that could happen in extreme situations – but it is witness, it is community.

Head, heart, hands and feet, entire body; intellect, feeling, action, nurture. None of these paths will bring us to absolute conviction; doubt still is present. But these pathways do offer ways of knowing… maybe not for “certain”… but certainly more clearly and deeply. Perhaps they can bring us to a place, each of us in his or her own unique journey, to a point where we can say, “Although I have not seen like Thomas, yet still, I believe.” Maybe.

I want to tell you a story. Well, it’s not really a story – it’s what actually happened last Wednesday, the day Max Warne died. And yes, Berna and I talked about my sharing this with you. You see, last Tuesday, Max had taken a turn for the worse, and had finally been convinced that he needed to go to hospital. When the medical staff checked him over, they discovered that somewhere in the last few days he had had a major heart attack. At noon on Wednesday, his son Doug phoned me with the news that Max was close to his end, and if I could get out to Surrey Memorial Hospital that would be a fine thing. Some quick phone calls cleared my afternoon appointments, and I headed out… only to be caught up in endless traffic on the Freeway. Debra Osmar called just as I was crawling towards the Port Mann Bridge – “Things are not going well; he may be gone by the time you get here; I’ll call and let you know… we may have returned home by the time you arrive.” Eventually, however, by three o’clock I arrived at the hospital and walked into Emergency, and joined the family who were surrounding Max’s bed. Max hadn’t yet died; in fact, when I arrived, he rallied, and reached out his hand, “Gary… good to see you; thank you so much for coming out to visit; it’s such a long way, and you’re so busy.” I tell you, gracious right to the end – that was Max.

We had opportunity to share Scripture…the 23rd Psalm, some verses from Romans 8 – “I am sure that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” There was time to affirm this special man… offering witness to his work for the church, his years of ministry, his commitment to family – he knew it, of course, but it’s so important to say, out loud, to the one who is dying, to those who love him… Max had lived a fine life!

When these words were shared, when affirmations and testimony had been offered, it appeared that Max was drifting away… but no; he continued breathing. At 3:30 his son Doug spoke up, “Dad, it’s exactly three-thirty; which means it’s six-thirty right now in Ontario; which means that at this very minute you are turning 95; Happy Birthday Dad!” Max spoke up -- “I’m ninety-five,” he said, and you could hear the sense of accomplishment in his voice, weak as it was.

Then Max turned his face to Berna, his beloved wife for over sixty-three years; she was sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. “Come closer,” Max whispered, and then reached out his left arm and wrapped it around her, and pulled her close to his cheek. They kissed; they shared final words of love; and the rest of us wept quietly. Surely, we thought, this was his last moment… and we sat quietly for a few minutes, waiting, wondering. But Max continued to breathe.

Then Debra said, “I think we need to pray together.” Which we did; holding hands, touching Max, a final circle where we spoke words of thanksgiving for Max, where we commended him into God’s love, and said, “Not our will, O God, but yours.” As we finished, it seemed as if Max had passed. But there was one final breath, and so into that gentle space I spoke words of benediction:

The hand of God to hold you,

the grace of God enfold you;

the love that dreamed and formed you,

still surrounds you here today.

The light of God be with you,

beside, beneath, within you;

the love that shines to guide you home

to the loving heart of God.

Amen.

And with that final Amen, Max breathed his last.

How do you know for sure? You don’t ever – but there are moments when you come close, when the stars shine, when you see through the veil, and catch a glimpse of what’s really real. This was one of those moments… our hearts were strangely warmed; you could feel the presence of Spirit in that curtained off room, all around Max’s bed. We honoured a man who was a thinker and a doer… who even in his nineties kept pushing books into my hands… books by contemporary theologians like Marcus Borg, books on astronomy and faith, on medicine, healing and spirit; a man who worked indefatigably for his beloved United Church, planting and building up one congregation after another; a man who had put hands and feet at the service of Christ. And there we were, even in our tears, sharing Scripture, praying, touching… practicing our faith, even with all the inevitable questions. We were together; and we could take turns crying, or speaking, or remembering, or holding. Not proof… but presence; not knowledge that we had grasped, but a wisdom and a mystery that grasped us. And we were able to say… and to believe… “I am sure that neither death nor life… nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” What do you do when you’re not sure? You hold hands; you trust; and you walk into the light. Amen