Lent I, February 17, 2013
First UMC Elkin, NC
Romans 10:8b-15
Luke 4:1-13
The story
goes that a priest was working in a slum section of a European city and was
asked why he was doing what he did with the impoverished people of the town. He
simply replied, “So that the rumor of God may not completely disappear.” Will
you pray with me?
God of the wilderness,
Remind us always that
your love is no rumor; your peace is no legend, for in fact these are real
entities of your grace. And now, O God, may the words of my mouth and the
meditations of all our hearts be pleasing in your sight, O Lord our strength
and our redeemer. Amen.
I can very
vividly remember the first time I was lost. I was in Mouth of Wilson, Virginia
at Mt. Rogers State Park. A young, green Boy Scout at the time anxious to make
it to Eagle Scout I knew that I could handle any trail, climb any mountain,
cross any sea. I was sorely wrong. Our first hike out I was separated from the
older scouts and was genuinely, completely, lost. Suddenly my wilderness
survival training that I had received kicked in. As young as I was I still knew
that I shouldn’t freak out, I should stay put, even in those moments lessons
from the television show,
Barney reminded
me I should hug a tree and wait for help.
I hugged
that tree for dear life until my dad rounded the corner, with a smile on his
face. We both knew that I was safe, it didn’t mean that I would never lose my
way ever again, whether that be on the trail or on the road of life, but in
that instance, we both knew that I was safe.
Jesus’
descent into the wilderness is one that not even I as a seasoned Eagle Scout
could deal with. Not only did Jesus probably have no idea which way was north
or south, he had to contend with pure, unbridled evil, what we know as Satan. I
think we’ve watered down what happened here by giving up chocolate and Facebook
for Lent, not to say that our Lenten disciplines are bad, but we must never
forget that Jesus gave up something life-giving and nourishing: food. Jesus
fasted in the wilderness, not for the sake of spiritual delight, but out of
spiritual necessity.
How
many of us have gotten to the point where we give up our cell phones for Lent,
or Duke basketball, or alcohol in an effort to gain some sort of spiritual
delight? Barbara Brown Taylor, a wonderful theologian had a friend who gave up
that cell phone for Lent and she puts it this way, “The problem for
most of us is that we cannot go straight from setting down the cell phone to
hearing the still, small voice of God in the wilderness. If it worked
like that, churches would be full and Verizon would be out of business.
If it worked like that, Lent would only be about twenty minutes long.”
Friends we come to this place, this
holy, sacred, hall to remind ourselves that we are called to discipleship not
for spiritual delight, but because of spiritual necessity. We enter this
journey of Lent, not because we want to shine bright for our God, no we enter
this time and season to remind us of our brokenness, collectively and
individually.
Then we look at Paul’s words to the
Romans that we heard proclaimed today, this is just a lectionary week full of
fun Scripture. Have we not dumbed that passage down and looked at it
anthropologically? Have we not taken this passage and made terrible excuses as
to the persecution of the ‘other’? Let me put this in a little context for you,
that would have been like Paul saying to the 1960’s South that there is no
distinction between black or white, that would be like Paul telling some people
here in the great state of North Carolina that there is no distinction between
gay or straight. As some of us might say, ‘those are fighting words.’
So what do these two, seemingly
not-related Scriptures have to do with us, 21st Century Lenten
sojourners trying to make it through these forty days? We come to this place
with preconceived notions of what the Spirit of God and the spirit of this
congregation look like, we come to this place with distinctions of who in this
church has power, and who doesn’t, who will be going to a nice lunch after
church, and who won’t. That’s the danger of our time, that’s the temptation.
The Spirit of the Divine is moving in this place and most of us are making our
grocery lists, some more extravagant than others, some trying to make ends meet
and we are all painfully aware of who those people are.
The one who was tempted in the
wilderness loves you; the rumor of this life-changing, life-giving God isn’t a
rumor to us. We have seen the resurrection in our own lives, and we know deep
down that the resurrection is happening now amidst the doom and gloom of Lent.
But the thing about the resurrection is that it makes us profoundly different
than we once were. I think many of us, instead of giving up something for Lent
have just given up. That’s a sad reality we as Christians face, our faith
wasn’t what it used to be, maybe a parent died or a marriage ended and we just
aren’t the same. But in my experience I’ve seen resurrection do its best work
in those situations.
There’s a wonderful song that goes
like this, “Surely all people were made for each other, joining together when
the days turn to dust. So let the prison walls crumble and the borders all
tumble, there’s a place here for us all and ain’t it enough?” Friends this
wonderful joy of resurrection that we are all looking forward to on this First
Sunday of Lent is something that is available to all of us. Let’s get rid of
those notions that Christianity is a Country Club of Saints, and get back to
the reality that Christianity is a Food Bank for Sinners. We all came to this
faith with nothing, and between you and me we will all leave this life as dust,
we were reminded of that on Wednesday. Lent doesn’t come naturally for us
Christians, and that’s why we need it. Lent is a call to radical obedience,
obedience even to a cross.
That cross, the one that is looming
over our heads this Lent, is that is the great equalizer. I’m reminded of that
hymn, “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea.” When I
was little I always heard that hymn sung and thought it said there was a
‘wilderness in God’s mercy.’ I tend to like both versions, because both paint a
profoundly correct picture of the cross.
I can remember when I was little
we’d often vacation in Boone, we’d take our RV up there to the Flintlock
Campground and if you wanted to find us, your best bet would be to look at
Tweetsie Railroad there on Highway 321. If you’ve never been to Tweetsie
Railroad, it is a Wild West them park that culminates in a 3-mile train ride around
a mountain. One thing that is engrained in my memory of those many times at
Tweetsie was when you boarded the train and sat down, the conductor of the old
steam locomotive would warn everyone on the train about the dangers of cinders and ash coming
from the locomotive that could get in your eyes. They cautioned against
sticking your head too far out of the train’s open face car so that that
wouldn’t happen.
I however, knew better. I knew that
if I put my parent’s sunglasses on I could stick my head outside the train car
at will, and see all the scenery, maybe even a cowboy or Indian. That worked
well, but I wanted more, I wanted to be free from my parent’s sunglasses and
often I would take them off. This would end in disaster. The ash and cinder would,
as the conductor warned get in my eyes. I had forgotten his words of caution
until yet again, I had ash on my face.
Isn’t that a lot like us? We forget
our Creator’s warning every year, until yet again, we have ash on our face. We will
journey through this Lent with fresh ash; we will remember we are dust. Then
Easter comes, and we find ourselves celebrating, and forgetting the ash. That’s
why we need conductors and Lent to remind us that things aren’t always what we
want them to be, there is pain in getting to Easter, there is pain when you get
ash on your face.
So for now, we forget the
distinctions of Jew and Greek, because we all look the same with ash on our
face. We forget the realities of gay or straight, black or white because we all
look the same with ash on our foreheads We remember that this is a time for
wilderness survival, a time when getting lost isn’t a bad thing because when we
are lost that gives us opportunity to be found. The beauty of grace is that it
is a lot like my parents after I got that dreadful ash in my eye, they’d help
dry the tears and then they’d put their sunglasses back on my face and remind
me that it was best to keep them on.
As I was writing this sermon, I
couldn’t help think but another example of the Lenten season. I went home this
weekend to visit my parents, and saw their dog, Holly. I grew up with Holly,
and she is starting to show the signs of aging. Her back legs just aren’t
moving the way they used to, her hips are falling to arthritis and it was, at
least for me, a reminder that things we love age, get older, and will as much
as we hate it, eventually die. We are reminded; every day that resurrection
takes death. You know John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement had
this to say about the resurrection of our furry friends, and I believe it rings
true for us as well, “Thus, in that day, all the vanity to which [animals] are now
helplessly subject will be abolished; they will suffer no more, either from
within or without; the days of their groaning are ended. At the same time,
there can be no reasonable doubt, but all the horridness of their appearance,
and all the deformity of their aspect, will vanish away, and be exchanged for
their primeval beauty. And with their beauty their happiness will return; to
which there can then be no obstruction. As there will be nothing within, so
there will be nothing without, to give them any uneasiness: No heat or cold, no
storm or tempest, but one perennial spring. In the new earth, as well as in the
new heavens, there will be nothing to give pain, but everything that the wisdom
and goodness of God can create to give happiness. As a recompense for what they
once suffered, while under the "bondage of corruption," when God has
"renewed the face of the earth," and their corruptible body has put
on incorruption, they shall enjoy happiness suited to their state, without
alloy, without interruption, and without end."
Wesley’s words
about animals, penned years ago ring true for us today. The beauty of Holly, my
dog, and the beauty of myself are that we are all broken and beautiful. We will
all, the entirety of God’s creation need resurrection. To some that might sound
unrealistic or even downright wrong to others, but the God I know accomplished
everything on the cross of Christ, no exceptions!
Holy friends, I
tell you stories of wilderness survival, of Tweetsie Railroad, and the story of
my dog Holly, who is getting older, not to paint a bleak picture of temptation,
of divisiveness, and of death. No, I feel that all
these situations, whether I was in Scouting in the wilderness, or laying on the
floor of my parent’s house with my dog Holly reminded me that I am incredibly
and irrevocably lost. You might wonder where the joy in that is. But I started
to realize that by the end of Jesus’ temptation, Jesus was a different type of
lost, another Gospel text talks about the angels feeding him and even the next
verse in Luke beyond what we read said he was, “filled with the power of the Holy
Spirit.” This type of lost is best described as Charles Wesley once wrote in a
now-iconic hymn; we all are lost in wonder, love and praise. Let that be for us
a reality this Lent, we may be lost, but the rumor of God isn’t gone yet,
because we have ash on our face and a song in our hearts. Let’s search for the
resurrection.
Amen.
