Dear Jesus: Forty Days is Not Long Enough to Learn How to Start a Church.

According to Acts, Jesus was with the disciples for forty days after the resurrection. Forty days is not nearly long enough for the disciples to learn how to run the church. Sure, it says he told them about the kingdom of God, but they were still unsure about the kingdom of God, asking questions like, “Is it now, Lord? Are you going to restore the kingdom now?” And Jesus tells them it isn’t for them to know the times or the seasons. These, for whom Jesus had opened the scripture, who had hung out with Jesus during his ministry and after his resurrection, still didn’t get it.

“No, no.” Jesus said. “I’m not going to give you a map or a timepiece or even a compass.” You don’t get easy answers. You get faith. And faith is not an easy answer. It is the hardest answer Jesus could have given. He tells them they will receive power, that they will be witnesses to the end of the earth. What was he thinking, sending these people who were barely trained, barely ready, who still misunderstood, out into the world to be his witnesses? You’d think he would have found people a little more… well, perfect. Someone smarter, the top student who always made an A. Or better. Or faster. Or stronger. Or richer. People with flashy smiles and charismatic personalities, people who had never doubted him, who had never gotten scared, who always recognized Jesus when he was in front of them. But he called the doubters, the fearful, those whose eyes were prevented from seeing him, those who figured Jesus’ death was the end.

Forty days is not nearly enough to teach a rag-tag group of disciples everything they need to know about starting the church. But there they were, mouths gaping open, gawking into heaven, as Jesus was taken from them. What do you suppose their feelings were at that moment? What were they thinking? What would you have been thinking?

Before they had time to collect their thoughts, two men in white appeared, “What are you gawking at? Get up.” They go back to Jerusalem and they pray. They are all together: the disciples and Mary and Jesus’ brothers. They don’t sit around and draw up plans for how they are going to grow the church. They don’t come up with a scheme or a formula or have contests to see who is the best reader or the best preacher or the most charismatic. They pray.

Funny, isn’t it? It seems that when humans don’t know what to do, they take matters into their own hands: they make a plan of what they are going to do, demanding that God show up and make their plans happen. “God if you are real, you will…” And what happens? Things turn out differently than what we expect. The other person ends up getting noticed, getting promoted, getting credit for our hard work. The light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be another tunnel, leading to another tunnel and on and on. And we begin to think that we are all alone because all of our best-laid plans are laid waste, leaving us bereft.

Now, I’m not saying that we should never make plans or that we shouldn’t think about the future. What I am saying is that I think it is easy to see what our goals are and to think that we know the best way to get there. And we forget that faith is about relationship, and that a relationship with God is not demanding that God show up at our beck and call and do our bidding. Sometimes, we are so busy filling our prayers with sound and voice that we forget to listen, to watch and to wait. We tell God our plans and forget to listen for the voice of God, calling us forward.

Sometimes, I think it’s because we don’t really want to hear the answer. We want a calculated and reasonable plan, something safe. We want small measureable goals that we can achieve in a few weeks – maybe 40 days on the long end – with a little bit of patience and maybe a little bit of discipline. Oh friends, you are being called into something so much more beautiful and complicated than that. You are being called into relationship with Christ, a relationship that does not offer easy answers or platitudes when the way gets tough. Faith isn’t like a band-aid that we can put on to cover up all of our wounds and blemishes. It goes to the core of who we are, changing who we are and how we are in the world. It draws us in to the complexities, into the unknown, into acting before we have all the facts and trusting that we are not being led astray.

But faith isn’t blindly following our whims or a charismatic leader. I wish it were something that were easy to define. I wish Jesus had given the disciples something more than “When it happens, you will know.” I’m not sure I believe him. I haven’t had a Pentecost experience. I’ve never had a “conversion” experience. I remember wondering whether I was a real Christian because I have never had a falling-off-my-horse moment; I have never had a near-death experience and come back to tell of it. I want faith to be a little like a map on which Jesus highlights the whole path so I can see what lies around the corner, what to avoid, a list of rules so I know how to do things just right. And I want the list of rules to be easy enough to follow that it’s not inconvenient with what I am already doing. And I want Jesus to tell me what I am already doing is what he wants me to do.

What if faith is a little more like stepping forward even though we don’t really know the way? What if conversion – for some – is a little more like splashing water on my face every morning than it is like falling off a horse? What if repentance is realizing that we often don’t recognize Christ in front of us?

“Lord, is now the time?” A lot of times, we assume Jesus’ answer that they do not know the times or the seasons is long-hand for “no.” I can’t help but wonder if this is shorthand for “Yes; this is what I have been doing all along. I have been restoring the sons and daughters of Abraham, that is, the sons and daughters of faith, all along.” The kingdom of God is continually being restored, continually showing up, continually popping up where and when we least expecting it, drawing us into relationship with Christ, beckoning us to look at ourselves and our lives a little differently. It calls sinners saints and broken people holy and orphans children of God. The kingdom of God is present whenever and wherever the Spirit of Christ is present, unbinding people from hatred and sin, inspiring us to walk forward even though we don’t have a map, even though we don’t know the way, even though forty days is nearly enough for anyone to learn how to start a church.

Maybe this is why Jesus calls those who doubt, who are scared, who don’t recognize Christ when he is in front of us. Doubt helps teach us trust. Faith helps teach us courage. Realizing Christ is in the face of every person, every stranger, teaches us that we are all children of God. Jesus didn’t choose you because you were the smartest or strongest or richest or most charismatic. Jesus came to the world – as it is – and to humanity – as it is – and to you – as you are. You are a child of God, not because of anything you have done or anything you have earned. You are a child of God: freely loved and freely forgiven. Lord, when will you restore the kingdom? God is restoring it right now, by drawing you forward into faith, into the unknown, into relationship. In Christ, death is not the end, and resurrection is only the beginning of being drawn into God’s future, loved and forgiven because God refuses to imagine a future without you in it.