17th Sunday after Pentecost

The first bicycle I rode was the one that had been my mom’s when she was a little girl. Pale blue with white accents and a red seat, it felt as though it was made of cast iron. I was sure it weighed at least 100 pounds. It was the same bike upon which my two older sisters had also learned to ride, using the patented Deibler method. But I had to wait. I had to wait until I was big enough to reach the pedals from a sitting position.

I pestered and pestered that whole summer long. “What if we put the seat down?” I asked. But it was already in its lowest position. Every so often I would test things out. I’d go up to the barn where the bike was. I’d make sure that one pedal was in its lowest position. And then, while propping myself up with the wall beside me, I would check, stretching out my ankle, my toes, willing the bones, the tendons, and the muscles of my foot to contact the pedal. It always seemed sooo close, but never quite there…

By fall I was finally able to reach the pedals. And my father agreed to teach me how to ride a bike that coming weekend. Yes! Finally! And then, using the most casual voice I could muster, I ventured the question, “What about training wheels?” “Nah. You’re not gonna need ‘em.”

I knew that. I had watched my dad teach my sisters how to ride a bike, after all. I knew what was in store. And so, my excitement was quickly tempered by anxiety. Late Saturday morning, my dad asked me if I was ready. I bundled up in the dark brown corduroy coat with the bright yellow lining, that all three of us kids had worn. We pushed the bike to the top of the small hill in our back yard. I climbed aboard and rom my wobbly perch, it felt I was staring down from the heights of Everest.  My dad asked if I was ready. I nodded silently. This was serious business. We started rolling down the hill. He reminded me to keep pedaling.  He ran beside me, balancing the bike with me upon it, his keys and change making a familiar jingling as they bounced around in his front pocket.

And… he let go. This was it! My dad shouted to me to keep pedaling. I went straight for a few feet, but then started moving in a long lazy arc to the left. And then gravity took over, and the laws of physics asserted themselves. Trying to wrestle my way out from under the weight of the bike, I asked about training wheels again as my dad approached. “Nah. You’re not gonna need ‘em.” And we pushed the bike back up to the top of the hill. “You just need to keep trying. You’ll get it.”

Of course, he was right. Although I was sure I was going to come away with a multitude of broken bones, I ended the session relatively intact. I even stayed outside after my dad went in. It was all about getting up and trying again. It would have been easy to quit, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to get better. And I didn’t want to disappoint my dad, who obviously felt I could do it, too.

The disciples plead with Jesus, “Increase our faith!” Our understanding of what’s happening here is best served by going back to the opening verses of Chapter 17. In verses 1-4, Jesus issues some heavy requirements for discipleship: he warns against causing the “little ones” (in other words, the most marginalized members of society, new disciples, children) to stumble, and emphasizes the need to both rebuke fellow followers that falter while also offering radical forgiveness to each other.

And let’s not forget that Jesus has already dealt more thoroughly with the difficult and life-altering demands of discipleship earlier in Luke 14:25-33. In that snippet he challenges family norms, he talks about carrying the cross, and giving up all your possessions. So, these verses from Luke 17 serve as a not-so-subtle reminder of what has already been covered.

Jesus’ loaded response to the disciple’s request for more faith—telling them that all they required was the faith of a tiny mustard seed to do the impossible—tells us that they are asking for the wrong thing. But what’s wrong with wanting just a little more faith to meet the urgent call of their fearless leader? Jesus stretches to show the disciples that it’s not the volume of faith that one possesses so much as it is the quality of faith that makes a difference. Faith can’t be quantified on a line graph, as if saying “I have 25% more faith this year than last year!” Faith does not increase like magic. It is cultivated and grown through lived experience. It can only come through practice, in those challenging moments when faith is put to the test. I don’t mean “test” in the sense that you pass or fail, but that you move forward with a concrete step in the justice-seeking and peacemaking way of Jesus, with a discerning heart, regardless of uncertainty, worry, or fear.

My Dad didn’t just teach me how to ride a bike. He taught me how to persevere. He taught me how to continue on the path to achieving something I wanted. He also taught me how to look beyond myself and the immediacy of the bumps and bruises, towards the future goal of something better; something more than just me.

Faith is not something that’s innate. It’s learned. And the same is true for something which is closely related to faith: namely resilience. They’re really two sides of the same coin: People who know how to persevere in faith tend to be resilient and those who are resilient know how to persevere in pursuit of that which Paul calls “that which we cannot see”.

But how? Well, it’s like the old joke: How do I get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. All the lessons that we have for today are reflections of that.

The anguish experienced by Habakkuk is palpable: “2O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save? 3Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. 4So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous – therefore judgment comes forth perverted.”

It’s as visceral and impassioned as it is universal. Could not any one of us cry out the same thing, if we take a good hard look at what’s happening in the world around us? But then what does he do? He gets back up on the bike! He continues the practice of faith. “I will stand at my watchpost, and station myself on the rampart; I will keep watch to see what he will say to me, and what he will answer concerning my complaint.” He goes back to doing what a prophet does. He’s lodged his complaint with God, and now he waits, and he listens.

Likewise, the Psalm for today reminds us that, when the world appears to threaten or undermine us, we must remember to practice. We return to the basics. “1Do not be provoked by evildoers; do not be jealous of those who do wrong. 2For they shall soon wither like the grass, and like the green grass fade away. 3Put your trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and find safe pasture. 4Take delight in the Lord, who shall give you your heart’s desire. 5Commit your way to the Lord; put your trust in the Lord, and see what God will do. 6The Lord will make your vindication as clear as the light and the justice of your case like the noonday sun. 7Be still before the Lord and wait patiently. Do not be provoked by the one who prospers, the one who succeeds in evil schemes. 8Refrain from anger, leave rage alone; do not be provoked; it leads only to evil. 9For evildoers shall be cut off, but those who hope in the Lord shall possess the land.”

And when I realized that I suddenly saw the text from 2 Timothy in a new light. I realize now that Paul is addressing a young man who has experienced some faltering of his faith and ministry. What jumped out at me was what’s in the middle of our reading where Paul writes, “5I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. 6For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God [the spiritual gift] that is within you through the laying on of my hands; 7for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline. 8Do not be ashamed, then, of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God, 9who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.”

Don’t be ashamed about the Gospel. Don’t allow the challenges of this world to undermine your faith. Instead use your gift, use your faith to challenge the world! God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline. Return to your roots: Return to the faith that is not only yours, but your mother’s and your grandmother’s. Rekindle the Spiritual Gift that God has given you. Rely on the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.

Because when the time comes, you will need it.  And the time will come.  And in all likelihood, that time will come multiple times during the course of your life. Those moments of crisis, moments of struggle, moments of anxiety. Those moments when the powers of sin and death seem so close that you can feel their collective breath at the back of your neck. Those moments when you want to scream “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save?” Those moments when you’re bound to a cross helplessly, and someone is readying the spikes to drive into your wrists and ankles. It’s for those times, that we need to practice.

What do resilience and perseverance look like? It’s all the women who were followers of Jesus who, unlike the men, refused to run away, but remained and watched as their beloved teacher died. It’s the same women who anointed Jesus’ body. It’s Joseph of Arimathea who, in spite of any personal risk, went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus so that he could be properly buried. It’s Jesus himself, who even while hanging agonizingly upon the cross continues still to embody the love and mercy of God: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” It’s Jesus who at his moment of death, in spite of his torture and suffering, is still able to acknowledge God’s sovereign power and undying love: ““Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

Let’s face it: none of us is any more in control of our lives than I was in control of things as I rattled down the hill of our backyard on my mom’s old bicycle. And you don’t always have your dad’s hand, steadying your efforts and making sure you don’t fall. You may feel like you’ve got it all together: You’ve got your feet churning, you see the ground flying past your tire. You’re taken with your own sense of speed and your growing mastery, and you don’t even realize that you’ve already begun that slow, steady arc that drains you of your speed, your energy.

We’re going to fall. There’s no question of that. That’s why we need to practice. That’s why we need resilience. That’s why we need perseverance. That’s why we need faith. AMEN