But If Not...

I was invited to preach at a church a few weeks ago, but after some thought, I declined the invitation. This is unusual for me because I am so humbled when I am asked to preach, that I usually readily accept. It truly surprises me that anyone would want to hear what I have to say outside of the classroom. Preaching is a weighty responsibility that I don't take lightly, but I am usually more than happy to yield to God's word and bring a message to the people.

I declined because I've been meditating on some tough things lately and I didn't want to bring a "hard word" to the congregation. In the black church tradition, a "hard word" is usually a rebuke of the people, some calling of the people to repentance, or a public chastisement. I had none of those, but what I did have was not a cheery or joyful message. I had no words of uplift. I wasn't even sure that I would be able to employ the usual preaching strategy and make sure that by the end of my message, I would rhetorically turn to "the good news."

For weeks, I have been reading Daniel 3, and the story of the three Hebrew boys who stood in faith, even as they faced death in the fiery furnace. To their accusers, these young men affirm that the God they serve is able to deliver them, but if not, God is still God. So my message, had I delivered one, would be that true faith lies in the moment of "but if not." It is easy to have faith when our prayers are answered the way we want them answered. Likewise, it is easy to curse our faith, when our prayers go unanswered. But the work of belief is accepting that not all possibilities will be realized, not all prayers will be answered, not everyone will be healed, not every broken heart will be comforted. God is able to do all those things and more, but if not, God is still God.

In retrospect, I realized that I made a mistake. I should have accepted the invitation to preach and I should have delivered the word I was given. Maybe there was one person in that congregation that needed encouragement in his or her "but if not" place. But I was struggling and hurting and could not see how this message could help anyone. I rationalized that people didn't want to hear about unrealized possibilities; people wanted reassurance. But we all long for truth and I had a little piece of that truth that I was afraid to deliver because it would "muddy the waters." This truth was confirmed for me as I was reading some poetry in preparation for class.

One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson. The day after I declined giving this sermon, I came across my favorite Dickinson quote: "I dwell in Possibility/a Fairer house than Prose." All the pieces for my aborted sermon came together. I realized that faith is dwelling in possibilities, even when prayers are unanswered and desires are unmet. That house of faith and possibility is a much fairer one than the house of doubt. My assurance and hope cannot rest on a notion of God as a magic genie, who grants me unlimited wishes. Because if my wishes are not granted, the genie is broken and powerless, and I am left in the house of doubt. No, my hope comes from trusting that even if God does not give me everything for which I ask, God is still God. I know that there is probably someone else who feels like me; dwelling in possibility because it is all that you have. Please know that it is enough.