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| Rabbi Cantor Alison Wissot |
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| Cantorial Soloist Mark Britowich |
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God & Faith
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Faith and God
Erev Rosh Hashanah 2009
Temple Judea West Campus
Rabbi Karen Bender
A Catholic missionary, well-versed in the art of proselytization, approaches a Jewish man with the hope of converting him. The Catholic explains his Church’s theology to the Jew: We call it the Trinity: There is the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit… The Jewish man responds and says, “Look fella, I don’t even believe in One. What makes you think I am going to believe in three?”
Tonight I want to speak with you about faith and doubt, belief and disbelief. I want to invite you into a discussion about God, because in these times of unparalleled crisis, of war and danger, of poverty and job loss, of insecurity and family strife and pressures, the question posed in my office the most is, “Where is God.”
Let me begin by telling you that I have no idea. I wouldn’t want you to sit through this three hour sermon thinking that I have an answer to the question, only to be disappointed. No, I come to you tonight less with answers and more with questions. Less with questions and more with lenses, frames, hypotheticals and whatifs. And of course, with stories.
In tomorrow’s Torah portion, we will read about Abraham’s tested faith when God asks him to sacrifice his one and only son Isaac. Abraham believes that he knows what God wants of him and eagerly pursues the fulfillment of God’s wishes as he understands it, even though the request involves slaughtering his own son. Let this story be the backdrop of our discussion this evening, as we explore what it means to believe.
YOU WILL BE SURPRISED TO LEARN MY VIEW THAT BELIEF IN GOD IS OPTIONAL WHEN IT COMES TO BEING A GOOD JEW, AND THAT YOU CAN ACTUALLY HOLD FAITH AND DOUBT AND EVEN DISBELIEF INSIDE OF YOUR HEART ALL AT ONCE.
Let us begin with the intellectual approach which is that it would be irrational and absurd to believe in God. In the last few weeks alone, I have been told by a mother whose daughter is sick, by a middle-aged person whose friend was just killed, by a man who lost his second job in 6 months, by a woman whose husband is asking for a divorce, the very same words: “It’s become too hard to believe in God.”
Informing each of my encounters with you, members of our community that have come to me to question, are the great Jewish thinkers who have made room for a rejection of God or at least a struggling with the idea of an omnipotent God. Whether we cite the 12th Century scientist, physician and rabbi Maimonides, who said that you really can’t speak of an anthropomorphic God with human like attributes. Rather, you can only describe God in “negative” characteristics such as that God is not a person, God is not a table, God is not a tree.” Or whether we quote the 19th century philosopher Richard Rubinstein who quite simply declared that God is dead.
Jacob our ancestor who struggled with the God idea so deeply that he was renamed Yisrael, which means “One who wrestles with God.” It’s true, our name, Israel, means God-wrestler. What other religion has in its name, “God wrestlers?” There is a righteousness and valiancy in doubt. A humility that should be honored. A Jewishness that is as true as our name. Certainty and zealousness are much more disconcerting to the rabbinic tradition than doubt and wonder.
What happens if you don’t believe in God? I am tempted to say, “Tell me about the God you don’t believe in – I doubt I believe in that God either.” But what if you are even cynical about it, if you feel that religion is the opiate of the people. It’s fine. We should never assume that believers are better people than non-believers and we should never assume that believers are better Jews than non-believers.
When I look into the tearing eyes of those who are rejecting God, I do not only reference Jewish books and texts. I also think each time of a formative childhood conversation with my grandfather Shmuel, a very smart, devoted and knowledgeable Jew, who made clear to me that he did not believe in God. I was a young teenager, deeply in love with Judaism, considering my grandfather to be my role model and teacher and discovering that he was an atheist. “Saba,” I said, knowing he had grown up in Poland in a Chasidic, religious household, “when did you stop believing?” He said that he stopped believing after the Holocaust, when he learned that his parents and brothers and sisters had all been killed.
Let’s be honest, faith in God is irrational and nonsensical; faith in the supernatural is unnatural. As in the story of the two old ladies who are best friends. One is Jewish and the other is Christian. Every Wednesday, for the last 55 years, they have sat on the same park bench, watching ducks and geese and have spoken about almost everything.
Finally one day the Jewish old woman says to her life long friend: “I have been meaning to ask you something. Do you really believe in all those things they say about your Jesus? That he died and was resurrected? That he could walk on water, that he could feed thousands with one little loaf of bread?” The Christian friend felt rather perturbed and insulted. “Well how about if I ask you something! Do you really believe that your Moses lifted up his rod before the Red Sea and that God miraculously parted the waters!?” The Jewish woman nodded, “I know, wasn’t that something!”
Truth be told, many modern Reform and Conservative Jews are uncomfortable with prayer and have difficulty talking about God. When rabbinic students train in hospital chaplaincy, we typically comfort people of all religious faiths. Ask any Rabbi that has visited Jews and non-Jews in the hospital and you will hear the same story. When I call on non-Jews and ask people if they would like me to pray with them, they say, “Oh yes, Rabbi, please, that would mean so much.” You go into the hospital room of a Jew and you get any variety of responses. “Would you like to pray?” “Tell me, Rabbi, will it work?” “Would you like to pray?” “Rabbi, will it really make a difference?” “Would you like to pray?” “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” One granddaughter even made me wager with her, as she was certain that her elderly grandmother would refuse to allow me to pray with her. I won the bet, but the old woman found out and wasn’t happy.
As impossible as it is for some people to embrace a faith in God, there are others who feel that it would be impossible to live without God. People who can say, as the very same Maimonides did centuries ago, “Ani ma’amin b’emunah shleimah, I believe in perfect faith.” The 12-step approach of faith in a Higher Power has literally saved the lives and families of many in our own community. Faith is as true for them as was Moses’s faith when he prayed to for his sister Miriam to overcome her illness. “El na refa na la, “Please God, please heal her.” Spontaneous, unscripted, prayer has kept many of us from the brink of despair.
Many think of God as El Malei Rachamim, the womb-like God of compassion. For some, God is like an old woman, as depicted in a sermon by Maggie Wenig years ago. And you can rest your head on the lap of that grandmotherly God, as you cry and She comforts you. For others, God is “Avinu Malkeynu,” a royal, warm and loving parent, like a father that coaches your soccor team or takes you to baseball games.
Some people feel they have a direct relationship with God. Some believe in the God of a story in which a woman dies and has the opportunity to review her life. God asks her if she has any questions. “I do,” she says. “I saw that usually there are two sets of foot prints, one for you and one for me. But during my hardest times there was only one set of footprints. Why did you leave me alone when I needed you most?” “You misunderstand,” God replies, “There is one set of prints because during those times I lovingly carried you.”
Because of the genius of Jewish theology, it’s okay to struggle, it’s okay to disbelieve, it’s okay to be inconsistent. You can be a believing atheist, a praying non-believer, a meditative rejecter, an agnostic seeker. You can in your heart of hearts believe that organized religion is the weapon of man and yet beat the swords into plowshares. You can believe that Judaism’s stories are myths and yet teach them to your children and grandchildren because of the wisdom of their lessons.
That is to say that the same person can be a rationalist, an intellectual, allowing no superstitious, threatening set of ancient text and ancient writers to pull the wool over your eyes. And yet when you feel alone and like there is no one who can help. When the friend who usually has the good advice has nothing to say. The therapist who usually offers the perspective is at a loss. The family member who usually provides sufficient comfort just can’t seem to offer it enough, just can’t find the right words to help you. Even the tears you shed in the shower, the office or the bedroom do not grant the release you need. In those moments you can turn to God and I promise you that the metaphors and promises of the tradition will unfold as “true.” True not in the sense that gravity is true nor in the truth that e=mc squared. Rather, true in the way that love is true. God will be your Rock, God will be your womb-like haven, God will be like a sukkah of peace.
When I was an older teenager I again asked my grandfather about his beliefs. “I am so angry with God,” he said. I remember asking, “Well then is it that you are angry with God or that you don’t believe?” “I am so angry with God that I no longer believe in him.” I have come to realize that even if you reject God you are still having a relationship with God. Shmuel’s relationship with God was that God was being punished. But didn’t God deserve it in this instance!
Look: I struggle. Maybe it runs in the family. My daughter started Middle School a couple of weeks ago. A new school with 2000 kids—I was terrified. So I got down on my hands and knees as if I am about to pray the Great Aleinu prayer. I face East. I say, “Dear God, please watch over my girl. Please protect her and guide her to make good choices. Guard her God, please.” Then, as I resume activity, I continue the conversation. “Now God, don’t make fun of me for being inconsistent. I know that I don’t believe in an anthropomorphic God that intervenes in history. I know you are not a magician who just listens to petitions and provides. But still, it couldn’t hurt!
Many non-believers respect Judaism's insistence on God's invisibility. Even the agnostic can appreciate a theology that forbids "carving a graven image," not depicting God visually. Why is this so important? Because Jewish thinking ensures that none of us will look more like God than anyone else. Thus Judaism's theology is egalitarian and even anti-racist.
Meanwhile, Judaism has no problem validating the God-struggler, which is tremendous when you compare Judaism to Islam, for example, which in Arabic means "submission." Isn't it fascinating that Judaism’s two sister religions can be so different from ours. Our God is absolutely invisible; Christianity's is depicted as a bearded man with long hair. Our name, Israel means "wrestle with God," implying choice; whereas Islam means, "submit(to God)", implying no choice.
You want to tell me you don’t believe in God? That is absolutely fine with me. But then I will come back to you with a question: What do you believe in? And then if you come back and say: I believe in my children, in love, in myself, in humanity, then you are going to be alright. I don’t worry about your soul if you don’t believe in God. I worry about your soul if you don’t believe in anything. If you lose hope. Because despite all of the pain that you have endured in your life, past and present, you have imagination and vision. And you can decide to be optimistic and hopeful despite the pain of your experience, despite how beaten down you might feel at times, this year or right now. Faith in yourself and humanity is more important than faith in God.
The only atheism that troubles me is one that leaves a person in a state of existential angst—someone who believes in nothing and therefore does not recognize his responsibility to others. But overzealous faith can lead to an even worse result. Abraham has an unshakable faith in the story of the binding of Isaac. And yet how do we respond to this man’s willingness to kill his own son for his faith in God: with revulsion. Worse than the absence of hope, is overzealous faith. Faith can be a lot more dangerous than disbelief. We have seen how overzealousness can lead the believer to be impervious toward human suffering—or even cause it! Not only 9/11. But a Hindu who can walk by starving children yet be comforted by his certainty that this is one of many resurrected lives, a nanosecond in that child’s ultimate lifespan.
No, our faith is based in a belief that what God wants most of us is to care for others and to be discomforted by human suffering. Our tradition asserts that because we have no way of knowing what comes later, we must offer help now. In that sense, though God is deep and real in our tradition, the emphasis has always been on this world: this place and this time. In the end, if faith isn’t tied to healing, to caring, to loving, then it’s worth nothing. If faith in God comforts us but does not inspire us to be comforting. If our prayers cry out for God’s help, but we are deaf to the cry of others for our help, then it’s worthless at best.
We are here for healing, for righteousness, for action, for goodness, for peace, for love, for joy, for compassion, for empathy, to embrace acts of Godliness for good. We can struggle in our faith but we must be unwavering in our commitment to one another.
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The following comments are owned by whoever posted them.
TempleJudea.com is not responsible for them in any way. |
#1 - Posted By: Robbi W | September 29, 2009 @ 7:49pm
Thank you Rabbi Bender. Your timing for this sermon was perfect for my family.
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God & Faith - Bender Erev RH Sermon 2009.pdf
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