“...and teaches the
humble his way”
Dr. Matthew S. Brown
I truly cannot pinpoint
exactly when it happened. Did it happen
suddenly while I was asleep? Has my mind
lost the memory of a blow to the head which triggered the change? Is it something that came about gradually,
quietly and insidiously going about its work of messing with my feeble mind
while my attention was focused on hair loss and the effects of gravity on an
aging body? Come to think of it, it must
have happened around the time I realized I had come to an age when my first
morning utterance upon stepping out of bed was not a prayer of praise but an
unintelligible groan of pain.
I’m not sure when it happened
but the evidence strongly suggests that it did happen. At some point along life’s journey, all my “I
knows” seemed to be replaced by “I don’t knows.”
There was a time back in the
days of my youth when all conversation directed to me elicited without any
deviation the exact same response: “I
know.”
“Matt, it’s time to get out
of bed.” “I know.”
“Matt, you left the cap off
the toothpaste. “I know.”
“Matt, if you don’t hurry, we
are going to be late.” “I know.”
“Matt, that term paper is due
in two days.” “I know.”
“Matt, when you hold the
refrigerator door open for extended periods, seeking to sate your addiction to
junk food, all the cold air escapes and electricity ain’t cheap!” “I know.”
“That’s not how you spell
“metamorphosis.” “I know.”
“You’re holding on to the
steering wheel too tight!” “I
know.”
“The clutch! The clutch!” “I
know.”
It didn’t matter who said
it. It didn’t matter what they
said. It didn’t matter if I possessed no
knowledge whatsoever. The initial all-purpose
response remained the same. The claim of
enlightenment was absolute. “I
know.” “I know.” “I know.”
Even if someone
surreptitiously sought to trip you up with an insult, you were so quick with
your amended retort:
“Matt, you’re an idiot.” “I know...you are, but what am I?”
I know. I know.
I know.
Yet, somewhere along the way
that sneaky little negative contraction wedged it’s way into my riposte. My “I knows” suddenly and mysteriously
morphed into “I don’t knows.”
“Matt, where’s the receipt
for that debit at Harris Teeter?” “I
don’t know.”
“Matt, where in the OT do I
find the verse about the sins of the fathers?” “I
don’t know.”
“Dad, how do I solve this
geometry problem?” “I don’t know.”
“Matt, who is the chair of
the task force of the subcommittee appointed by the committee reporting to the
Session?” “I don’t know.”
Now, I’ve discovered that
there is an important distinction between “I don’t know” and “I don’t have any
idea.” “I don’t know” indicates lack of
knowledge, whereas “I don’t have any idea,” is the standard response of store
clerks, customer service reps, moody children, and preoccupied parents which
actually means, “I’m not willing to risk burning a brain cell to think about
it.”
“I don’t have any idea” is an
evasive excuse.” “I don’t know” is a
statement of fact, an admission of ignorance, a self disclosure of
vulnerability.
“Matt, where are the
permission forms for the middle school trip?”
“I don’t know.”
“Matt, why is this happening
to me?” “I don’t know.”
“When will God answer my
prayer?” “I don’t know.”
“Was God in the lab when they
came up with the idea of the cockroach?” “I
don’t know.”
And, my O my, isn’t it so
nice that every day more and more people are discovering my... shall we call it
vulnerability or ignorance?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t know. I don’t know.
And yet, have you come to
know the grace of acknowledging that which we do not know?
To claim knowledge where
there is none is to claim control over that which you have none. Is that not one of the fundamental
predicaments of life? We overstate our knowledge
in the vain effort to assert control over life.
But the world will not offer up all knowledge and the world will not be
controlled, and so this futile quest for that mirage called control ushers in
such wonderful life experiences as stress, conflict, war, depression, broken
relationships, bitterness, and strife.
It is the posture that separates us from the one who created us. For we are forever trying to operate the machine
without ever looking at the instructions.
What fool would ever sit for the
CPA exam without ever having opened an accounting book? What person would jump in the cockpit without
ever having taken any flight instruction?
And yet, we persistently attack life without ever seeking the wisdom of
the One who designed us with a purpose in mind.
We gather in this room with
graduate degrees and a preschooler’s knowledge of Bible and Theology. The biblical illiteracy of our culture has
been well documented. I remember reading
about the time Jay Leno showed a video of some extemporaneous interviews with
people he met on the streets of
We know so much and yet we
know so little. We assume the pretense
of faith because we believe we should but we refuse to acknowledge the
illiteracy of our faith because we’re afraid we’ll appear vulnerable, ignorant,
foolish.
Well, allow me to let you in
on a little secret. It is okay that we
don’t know everything or anything. In
fact, that is the best place to start, acknowledging our ignorance before God.
Let us borrow this prayer of
William Barclay and make it our own.
Save us, O God,
From the blindness, which is not even aware that it is
sinning;
From the pride, which cannot admit that it is wrong;
From the self-will, which can see nothing but its own
way;
From the self-righteousness, which can see no flaw within
itself;
From the evasion, which always puts the blame on some one
or on some thing else. (A Barclay Prayer Book)
You see, when humility
arrives, faith begins.
“Good and upright is the
Lord... He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way.”
“...And teaches the humble
his way.”
It is when we set aside the
illusion of knowledge and control that we begin to trust the wisdom of the one
who set the stars in the sky, who gave you the smile that warms the heart of
your mother, who loves you so much that he did not answer that prayer the way
you wanted, they way you now know would have been a disaster. This, this is a teacher worth listening to.
“Make me to know your ways, O
Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in
your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait
all day long.”
Where do you live? In the fantasy land of “I know. I know.
I know?” Or in that space of
grace - “I don’t know, O Lord, so teach me.
Show me your way.”
A class like Beginnings that
will be offered here in a few weeks, a study like Disciple that is offered each
year; Sunday morning Sunday School, Bible studies, Discussion groups. You are not expected to come to these classes
with attendance badges from your childhood church school classes. You are to come with your questions, the
teachers come with their questions, I come with my questions and together we
explore, acknowledging our “I don’t knows” and looking to the Teacher who made
us and keeps us and redeems us.
“I don’t know” is not such a
bad place to be. “Make me to know your
ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.”
When humility arrives, faith
begins.
William Sloane Coffin
suggests that faith is what “makes good thinking possible. It has what we might call a limbering effect
on the mind; by taking us beyond familiar ground, faith ends up giving us that
much more to think about. Certainly
Peter and Andrew and James and John, in deciding to follow Jesus, received more
to think about than had they stayed at home.
And so it is with all of us: if we give our live to Christ, if we leave
familiar territory and take the leap of faith, what we receive in return fills
our minds altogether as much as it fills our hearts.”
And it all begins with the
stress banishing acknowledgment that we just may not know as much as we have
advertised, and Lord, we could use a little help. Teach us your paths.
When humility arrives, faith
begins. Amen.
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