I remember learning to ride my bike.  I had a great bike.  It was this little pink Barbie bike with a cute little basket and sparkly tinsel coming off the handle bars.  I remember when my brother, Matt, took off the training wheels.  I remember how scary it was to get on that bike with no training wheels.  Suddenly this really cool bike, totally the coolest in the neighborhood, was a big, scary, strange thing that I had no idea how to ride, and wasn’t really interested in learning. 

Matt took me to the dead end on our street and taught me how to ride.  At first he held on the handlebars with one hand and the back of the seat with the other.  I could see he was there, holding me up, so I was okay.  Then he started just holding the back of the seat, so I couldn’t see him.  At first I wasn’t sure he was there, but every time I looked back (an action that each time caused the bike to swerve) he was still right there, holding the back of my seat.  He assured me that I could stop looking back.  He was there.  I would be okay.  I was riding along one day, though, and suddenly realized Matt’s hand wasn’t there anymore.  I looked back and saw him standing several feet back with a big smile on his face.  Then of course I got really scared and fell off my bike, at which point Matt came running up to make sure I was okay.  I remember that day like it was yesterday.  I remember each time I got on that bike after learning to ride without training wheels, riding by myself, that if I fell, Matt would be there.  Even though I couldn’t see him while I was riding, he was there.  And I did fall several times.  And each time I ran to Matt, and he was there.

I’ve felt this way about a lot of things in my life.  Particularly when I’ve started a new job.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m sure I’m going to mess up.  But when I do, when I fall off the bike, someone is going to be there to help me figure out what to do.  I’m sure many of us have felt this way at some point in our life.  Being scared at starting something new, but knowing in the back of our mind that if we do mess up, or if we aren’t sure what we’re doing, there’s someone we can go to.  We’ve had faith, however little or much, that someone will be there to help us in times of need.

The writer of Hebrews, the second passage we read today, begins by defining faith: Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.  By faith we understand that what we see was created by what we cannot see, this world in which we live, all the creation surrounding us, is created by God.  The writer then goes on to name several characters from the Old Testament who had faith, and because of their faith, pleased God: we’re told stories of the faith of Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah.  I find Abraham and Sarah the most interesting. 

Abraham: a man living a wonderfully settled life, having grown up in one of the two great centers of civilization in the world.  God called him to leave, faith called him to go out from this land of culture and good living and into a place not yet known.  To leave a place where he is known and go to a place where he is a stranger.  He has faith in God, and leaves for this supposed land that God has promised him, though there is no prospect of this land having beauty, culture, rich soil, good opportunities.  When he reached this land, he had no permanent house.  He lived in a tent.  A tent.  That’s supposed to be the promised land?  But still he didn’t lose faith.  He couldn’t see the fruits of this labor, but still he kept faith.  Abraham endured nonetheless.  He endured because he knew that God had promised him more than he could possibly imagine, and he trusted that promise, even though he had no reasonable motive for trusting it.

Abraham is such a great example to us.  I’ve tried to live my life in such faithful, obedient ways as Abraham. 

But, alas, I’m not Abraham.  I’m certainly not as obedient.  At least not at first.  When I first received a call to the ordained ministry, I ignored it.  To be honest, when Greg and I were called to serve churches in this area, I was really, really scared.  Greg and I had a nice apartment in a nice neighborhood in Chicago.  We knew our dry cleaner, the people who worked in our meat market, coffee shop, video rental store, laundry mat.  These people knew us.  Called us by name when we walked in.  Many of our friends are in Chicago.  Greg’s parents and siblings are there.  The city’s on a grid pattern.  No fear of getting lost on some back road, particularly a street that suddenly, without warning, changes names.  It’s been a struggle to decide to leave most of what we knew and come here.  But God called us here, and we know that this is where we are supposed to be.  This is where we belong.  This is the promised land God is calling us to on this earth. 

This story of Abraham’s faith reminds me of a run-in I had with someone about a week and a half ago. I had just left lunch with Sam Graves, and was driving back home to Valley Lee.  I still had my collar on and stopped in Belk to get something.  The woman at the register, a former Roman Catholic who has lost faith in God and the church, asked me how I knew there was a God.  I thought for a moment, afraid to give the wrong answer, afraid to give an inadequate answer.  I said that I, like so many people in this world, have suffered through many difficult times in my life.  There was one evening when my despair was so great.  It was that gut-wrenching, debilitating, cannot put one foot in front of the other, despair.  And that evening I felt the arms of god holding me.  She asked, “Literally?  God’s arms literally holding you?”  Yes, literally.  I literally felt enfolded in the arms of God, protected, comforted.  A comfort like no other.  She said, “So, it’s a feeling.”  No, it’s a reality.  It’s not an imagined feeling of God’s arms.  It’s not as though God was present.  God was actually there.  God was actually present.  She said, “So, I have to wait for a feeling, though.”  I thought for a moment, and responded that in church there’s everything from people who have at this particular time in their lives, unwavering faith, to people who are struggling to believe that there is any God, that there is any point at all to this life we’re living. That’s why we go to church.  We don’t have to wait for a feeling faith to come to us.  We are in the midst of people whose faith is stronger than ours.  And sometimes our faith is stronger than theirs.  We support one another.  We build up one another.  We, as a community, make faith a reality.  We make God a reality.  We help one another so that when the opportunity to see God, to hear God, to feel God, comes, we’re in a community that has built us up, that has prepared us for this.  And on the days, weeks, months, years, when we cannot see beyond what this world offers us, when we cannot see beyond our own despair, we are held by the arms of this community.  When we cannot feel the arms of God holding us, we can at least feel the arms of one another.

As most of you know, Vacation Bible School took place at Trinity Church this past week.  On the days I was there, Liz, who selflessly headed up this incredible ministry, began by asking the children who woke that morning and said, “Thank you Jesus.”  Some children raised their hands, excitedly proclaiming that they had in fact thanked Jesus as soon as they woke up.  But others didn’t.  Some had forgotten.  We all forget.  We all forget sometimes to get up in the morning and say, “Thank you Jesus.”  We all forget sometimes that there is a God who loves us more than we can possibly imagine.  Loves us with a strength that we cannot even wrap our minds around.  We forget, but we’re surrounded by others who remind us. 

I imagine Abraham and Sarah were comforted by one another.  But Abraham did not have the incredibly large and supportive community we have here at Trinity Parish.  He left that very large, very supportive community, but kept strong faith all the while.  But God knows that most of us are not Abraham.  We live in a world where we need a community to help build and sustain our faith.  It’s so much harder to do alone.  We need people to assure us that even if we can’t see someone holding the back of our seat while we’re learning to ride our bike, we’re not alone.

I look forward to seeing you here on Sundays.  In fact, I expect to see all of you here on Sundays.   I look forward to helping you build your faith.  I look forward to you helping me build mine.  This is an incredible parish, an incredible family, one that has built up one another.  I am so lucky to be here.  I expect to serve you, to do the best I can to lead you. But I am not Abraham.  You are not Abraham.  We are not here because we are Abraham and can do this whole life thing with God alone.  We cannot always on our own, without the support of this community, look forward to the kingdom of God prepared for us.  It’s so easy to get caught up in what we see around us, in that which passes away instead of that which is eternal.  We’re here because sometimes we need the assurance of a hand on the back of our bike.  Sometimes, we need someone to come running when we fall off.