Some years ago, friends of mine were selling their condo. It was a beautiful home: nicely appointed, in great condition, and in a desirable geographical location. But my friends were surprised to learn from a realtor that to showcase the home on the market, the house had to be completely restaged. All the lovely furnishings in the home were removed, and new furniture was brought in, furniture that, in fact, was not nearly as nice as what my friends’ owned. As I recall, even the walls were repainted. The house became a movie set to appear most viable to eager house hunters.
Apparently, the problem was that a younger generation of potential home buyers had vastly different tastes than my friends. One might rightly allow for a tolerance of varying preferences in home décor. But the most surprising, and perhaps disconcerting, thing of all was that those shopping for new homes were incapable of imagining what my friends’ house could look like with their preferred aesthetic. The realtor couldn’t trust that home buyers would have the imagination or capacity to envision a new domestic aesthetic with their mind’s eye. They literally had to see it in the flesh.
Maybe a technological age had spoiled their mind’s eye. Maybe it spoils our mind’s eye. These days we can go onto the website of a paint store and any room can be instantly painted with a color of our choosing. But with a perceptive mind’s eye, we should be able to look at anything and imagine what it could be. My friends’ experience of trying to sell their home revealed that many people are incapable of imagining an ending that is not limited to the beginning.
I’m not sure if this is more of a problem in our own day than in ancient times, but if it is, maybe it’s because an overreliance on technology has caused our innate imaginative capacities to atrophy. If we can’t repaint a living room in our mind’s eye, then there are far more serious things that we’re unable to do. We can’t imagine the perspective of someone who has a different political view from us. We can’t see with our mind’s eye how to interpret a written document metaphorically or language figuratively. We can’t imagine that a criminal could ever lead a decent life again. We can’t conceive of how peace will come to the Middle East. We can’t imagine justice without violence. It often seems as if we’ve lost our imaginations.
And this might be why Abraham and Sarah seem like ridiculous fools to us. It’s tempting to write off ancestors in the faith, like Abraham and Sarah. It’s tempting to see them as “unsophisticated.” But maybe we’re really the unsophisticated ones because we’ve lost our mind’s eye. And seeing with the mind’s eye was precisely what Abraham and Sarah were able to do. In response to a sudden and momentous call from God, they could somehow envision a new future with their mind’s eye. They could trust that the ending of their story need not be limited by the confines of the beginning.
When God appeared to Abraham at age ninety-nine and promised that he would be the father of many nations and that his equally elderly wife Sarah would bear a son, it’s a preposterous scenario unless your mind’s eye is vital and active. No less, Abraham and Sarah had been waiting on God to fulfill his promise to them for twenty-four years. It’s a wonder that they had any mind’s eye left. They were what some would call foolish, too trusting, naïve, maybe even simple, or at least they were through the eyes of those who can’t paint a room a different color in their mind’s eye or to pessimists who can only see a future limited by the present.
But St. Paul sums it up best through the mind’s eye of faith. He tells us that in hope, Abraham believed against hope. Although Abraham and Sarah did indeed laugh at God’s promises, there was yet a piece of their souls that in hope, believed against hope. Their spiritual mind’s eye kept them from hastily judging the ending by the beginning. And this is what it means to have faith.
Abraham and Sarah are, in fact, the ancestors of many who would follow them in faith. Think of Moses, who would lead a recalcitrant people through many trials and still not see the Promised Land himself. Think of the prophets who preached with great threat to their lives because they, too, in hope, believed against hope. Think of a fledgling, young Church who in hope, believed against hope in the face of an empty tomb and yet spread the Gospel to the ends of the earth. Think of martyrs who saw in their own mind’s eye, a future prepared by God, even in the face of death.
And here we are today, the modern Church, and because we have shown up this morning, I suspect there’s an active mind’s eye nestled within us. There’s some hope still alive within our souls that enables us to believe against hope. Despite all that seems so misshapen around us, it allows us not to judge the ending by the beginning. To believe against hope is to know that we might not see the ending we desire but are yet called to be part of a movement towards that ending, which we trust will be far more glorious than we can imagine, even in our mind’s eye.
This, too, is the call of Lent. “Jesus calls us o’er the tumult of our life’s wild, restless sea”[1] to trust that the risen Christ will walk on the stormy waves towards us and calm them. Lent invites us to see with our mind’s eye that our worn, tired hearts can still have life within them by God’s grace. While the room of our present may be papered with the wallpaper of old, sinful habits, the room of our future prepared by God can be painted with a freshness of forgiveness and new life.
And maybe the prevalent lack of forgiveness in our culture and even within the Church is directly tied to a loss of spiritual imagination. We see only a future of decline. We see only Christ’s Body tarnished by human failure and imperfection. We see only an institution that appears anachronistic. And we look at Abraham and Sarah with condescending pity because in their mind’s eye they could believe against hope.
But we forget that they were right. They were vindicated. We forget so easily that generations did follow from their lineage of hope. And we forget that we, too, are part of that lineage. We act as if God is not ready, willing, and able to give us a mind’s eye to see a new and marvelous future. We forget that even in our old age of the Church, we can yet be empowered to bear fruit for generations yet to come.
If we look deep within ourselves this Lent, as individuals and as the Church, we might discover that pride lurks there, and it prevents us from seeing with our mind’s eye. Such pride prevents us from recognizing that God can take even our worn-out, sinful selves and make them new. And yet, if we look way down in the depths of our souls, we will find the image of the living God there, along with a mind’s eye that can see through any amount of darkness.
If you can, then, imagine with your mind’s eye this. Imagine that you or someone else’s worst deed is not who they really are. Imagine that the tired barrenness of your life can bear fruit yet again. Imagine that a Church that seems gasping for air at times will not only survive but also be a beacon of eternal light in the darkness. Imagine that what is moribund can be resurrected. Imagine that what is broken can be healed. See with your mind’s eye in hope, and believe against all hope that we are only living in the beginning of what God can do.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Second Sunday in Lent
February 25, 2024
[1] Hymn 549/550 in The Hymnal 1982, words by Cecil Frances Alexander