Now, we’re a church, this is the God place, so maybe it seems strange to be asking if it’s OK to talk about God here, since we do it all the time. And we certainly do in worship; and we pray and do devotionals before our meetings; and in our Bible study groups there is conversation about faith and God. But I had two experiences this past week that lead me to wonder if we’re talking about God enough, or, more accurately, if we’re talking about God among ourselves in the ways that really welcome conversation and encourage the exchange of ideas. Beneath appearances, there are thirsting souls among us, and probably we’re all thirsting for a cup of cold water, at least a little. And, don’t worry; what I’m describing is happening everywhere, in most every church. It’s more about human nature than it is about anything that we’re doing wrong.

In one conversation this week, a church member was talking with me about challenges in his life. He was raised believing that God was essentially a stern judge, doling out reward and punishment. And because there have been some tough moments lately, he believes that God is angry with him, and, as you can imagine, that is frustrating, because he really hasn’t done anything wrong, anything that seems to come close to deserving the trials he’s facing. And yet he hears Donna and me, and others in the congregation, talk all the time about how loving and forgiving God is, and that is in absolute contradiction to his understanding and his experience of God. What’s worse, he believes to feel such frustration at God, let alone express it out loud, is the kind of behavior that only irritates God more. So it’s a vicious cycle, and Sunday worship not only doesn’t provide comfort, it ends up making him feel like he just doesn’t fit.

And also this week I got a call from a woman wanting to have her child baptized. She isn’t a member of a church, which for me is the natural starting place for a conversation about infant baptism, but as she began to tell her story, my heart went out to her. She grew up being told that church was important, but her parents never took her. Over the years she has made the effort to visit churches, but always got the feeling that it wasn’t OK to be unsure about the distinctions between churches. And now she feels very strongly that it’s important for her daughter to be baptized, but because she could never resolve her confusion about different churches, and in fact has to work many Sundays to make ends meet, she, too, is caught in a vicious circle—needing to understand, but not having the connections to do so.

Now, as communities of faith, churches need to confidently articulate their beliefs, as we do each Sunday. And those two people I was talking with this week bring their own histories and perspectives to their encounter with the church. But there is a real dilemma here: if all that churches do is present a faith position and run with it, there will always be those who reject that position altogether and leave; those who have their doubts but remain silent; and those who don’t really don’t understand the position but can’t get answers. For me, a welcoming church is friendly and accepting of all kinds of people, but is also a place where the people are invited and are given the tools and the language to talk about their faith, and feel safe to say when they don’t understand and when they have their doubts.

Even for those of you who are clear what it is you believe, it’s not always easy to talk about faith or God or doubt. I think there are a few very good reasons for that, and I first have to acknowledge, again, the New England culture in which we live, and in which many of us were raised, one in which faith is perceived as a highly personal matter that we hold close to the vest, as we do finances, and political opinions, and family histories, and just about everything else. Paul Robbins wrote about President Calvin Coolidge, the perfect illustration of this character. He said, “Called, ‘Silent Cal’ because he often spoke as if he were being charged for each word, Coolidge gained a reputation as a typically taciturn New Englander. In one oft-told tale, a woman approached the president and said she had made a bet she could get more than two words out of him. ‘You lose,’ said Coolidge.” New Englanders don’t talk much in the first place, and even less, it seems, about God.

Secondly, we might not talk as much about our personal faith as we could or should because, honestly, no one wants to look the fool. It’s easy to assume everyone has more basic knowledge than I do, and I don’t want to let on that I’m not sure about, say, where to find the gospels in the Bible or what communion means; and it’s just as easy to assume that others are more confident in their faith than I am, so the last thing I want to do is stand up and say, “I have some serious doubts about the virgin birth or the resurrection or whether prayer works,” lest we deeply offend someone for whom those beliefs are solid and airtight.

Also, it is just the nature of group dynamics—church or any other—that when there is silence in response to a statement, it is interpreted as assent, as if everyone agrees—and we know that’s not the case. Not talking nurtures more not talking, and begins to isolate those who have strong beliefs or feelings to the contrary. And there’s one more reason behind why lots of church folks aren’t always talking about faith, and that is that it is just hard work: it is human beings using minds and hearts to describe mystery and experience that can be hard to put into words. Donna and I had to go to specialized school to learn how to do it ourselves, so why should we assume that God conversation should flow effortlessly in congregations?

In the Church Mouse which will shortly be arriving at your homes, our Moderator, Ruth Fitzgerald, describes an exercise the Church Council did in June which you will be invited to join in. As we move back into Chapin Hall this summer, it’s time to assess what goes back into that space, and what should get tossed. And so the Council members were asked three questions: what do we do at church that works well, and should continue? What do we do less well that perhaps should be left behind? And the third and final question is the one most relevant to this sermon. It’s a fill in the blank: “I want to be part of a church that ______,” or “I want to be part of a church where________.” Today, I fill in that blank by saying, “I want to be part of a church where the people have the opportunity, the tools, and the safety to talk openly about their faith and their doubt.” That is a form of welcome that is so basic and yet is so easily overlooked—exactly what Jesus was urging his disciples to watch out for: offer welcome in the simplest, helpful ways—as easy as offering a cup of cold water—so that the kingdom of God is built up.

I’m not suggesting we test each other’s faith, or become hair-splitters on particular doctrinal issues, or should have as our aim that everyone believe in God and Christ and the Holy Spirit in the same way. What I am suggesting is that for us to continue to thrive, for us to be relevant to those seeking the face of God in their lives, we have to take time and make the effort to learn the language of our faith, to develop the skills to listen to others who believe differently without shutting down, to risk expressing ideas and asking questions about faith, to uncover our assumptions not to undermine our belief, but just the opposite: to keep it on as firm a ground as possible.

So this summer, and next year as we settle back into Chapin Hall, let’s resolve to speak up about our faith in God in the diverse ways we understand it and live it. Let’s have gatherings where we share—as best we can express—how we have come to the faith, or what seems to be keeping us from it. Let’s make the effort to think about the basics so we can communicate about the ties that already bind us. Let’s say out loud that one faith question that you’ve always wanted to ask, but always have hesitated to utter.

An environment in which God’s people explore and discuss and debate and wrestle and affirm the Christian faith is a precious welcome—not only to those who might come to us looking for a church home, but to those of us who live here already who have been waiting for the chance to step outside faith-talk as usual and talk openly and honestly about God and the life of faith. Let us welcome one another in that precious way.