A Season of Wholeness

Lent 1; Yr. A, March 9, 2014

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11

Sermon preached at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

                  Here we are in Lent again and I find that I haven’t decided what I will “do” for Lent.  I don’t have anything in mind to give up, and even though I have lots of resources available to me, I don’t seem inclined to want to “take on” anything new.  A few years ago, I gave up ice cream because I have ice cream almost every night before I go to bed.  I started to feel like I didn’t have much control over that habit.  Hannah would go to bed.  The “time for ice cream” timer would go off in my head, and even if I didn’t really want it, I’d find myself heading toward the freezer, calling out to Nancy on the way, asking if she wanted some too.  I’d be scooping it out, realizing that I wasn’t even really going to enjoy it, but that didn’t stop me.  The dish was there, and I was scattering the roasted almonds on top.  There.  It’s ready.  Might as well eat it.

            Well that certainly seemed like a habit that had gotten the best of me.  It felt like I should take back control.  So I went the whole season with no ice cream, and when Lent was over my relationship with ice cream had changed.  Some nights, when Nancy asked me if I wanted ice cream I’d actually say “no”.  I found myself starting to ask myself if I was hungry for it, before answering.  No longer did I have that habitual “yes” on the tip of my tongue.  During Lent I discovered that I could make a choice about it.  At the end of that Lent, I felt like I had actually made a good choice about what to “give up”.  But that has not always the case.

            Sometimes I gave things up because I felt like Christians were supposed to give something up for Lent.  I grew up in a household where the question was always asked.  I can still see my mother in the kitchen, asking in a not unfriendly way, “What are you giving up for Lent?”  I took that question seriously.  My faith was important to me, and I believed that God expected me to make sacrifices for my faith.  Didn’t God sacrifice Jesus for us?  Certainly I could sacrifice something as small as a candy bar now and again.  So for most of my early years candy went into hiding, especially chocolate, during Lent.  I gave it up, because it was good to sacrifice for God and sacrificing taught me self-control.

            As I grew, my theology began to change a little.  The whole idea that God would send Jesus to die, just didn’t sit well with me.  If God could send God’s own Son to die, what might God do to me?  That question started me thinking about a whole lot of things.  Not least of which, was the question … what kind of God do I believe in?  A God who seeks restitution through execution, or a God who seeks reconciliation through authenticity?  Did Jesus HAVE to die the way he did?  Was that God’s plan, or Jesus’ choice … the way Jesus could be true to himself and true to the faith he proclaimed?  Jesus modeled all he believed when he walked willingly to Golgotha … love for his friends, forgiveness toward his captors, compassion for those strung up beside him, transparency before his God.  He gave himself away to the end.  Only someone filled with God’s Spirit could have accomplished that.  That’s what I wanted to be like, a person filled with God’s Holy Spirit.

            As a young adult, giving up chocolate during Lent just seemed trite compared to the example Jesus had set for me.  Instead of giving something up, I started gravitating toward  taking on a new practice for Lent, something I should be doing anyway perhaps … like praying more regularly, or doing some devotional reading.  Then I might be able to experience that Holy Spirit working in me.  Those things did help me to grow toward God, to think about what I believed and to change some of my thinking.  I think I became a better Christian too. 

            That deepened sense of Christ in me led me to think about giving more of myself, or giving money to extra causes I cared about during Lent, a little concern for justice, for the poor, for the welfare of children, for those living in circumstances of disadvantage.  Jesus gave himself away, couldn’t I give something of myself for what I believed?  So one year, I organized an offering of letters through Bread for the World, and I encouraged people in the congregation to write letters to our Congress advocating for Jubilee Debt Relief with hundreds of other churches and faith organizations around the country.  I learned how hard it is to stand in public for what you believe and ask others to join you … some won’t.  Some will even be mad that you did.  When that Lent ended, I had a new appreciation for the long hard work that justice making is.  Societal change does not happen overnight, or even years.  Sometimes it takes generations to make difficult changes. 

            But then I became a parent, and having a child seemed to change everything.  Adding one more thing to my plate just felt like another obligation I didn’t have time for, and something that I didn’t really care about.  I needed to get my daughter into bed at night, and up and dressed in the morning.  Everything seemed to take more time and nothing was simple.  It was like my life had been taken over by that little girl.  I’d try to take something on for Lent and find myself desperately behind after only a few days.  I’d beat myself back into the new routine, only to fail again.  I usually limped that way through Lent, feeling like a failed saint in the communion.  Is that what religion is supposed to do to us?

            I did finally realize that the annual try and fail pattern wasn’t helping to make me either a better person to be around, or a better Christian.  When I found myself in parish ministry, life got even more hectic.  Even though I often didn’t feel like doing anything for Lent except helping others get through it, I felt like I should be doing something, right?  I’m the priest, and shouldn’t I be modeling what I’m telling everyone else to do?  At that time in my life, giving something up was definitely easier than doing something more.  By then I could live with the guilt of taking the easy way out.  Hence … I had the ice cream year … but it turned out … okay.  Even better than okay, because I learned something about myself, and about my faith.  Praying helped me through it, and I don’t have to let habits run my life … good ones or bad ones.

            This year, I’m not reading more … even though there’s lots of stuff available here and on my bookshelves.  This year, I’m focusing on wholeness, and you’ll all probably be on this journey with me.  I want to take this time to look at my life and ask questions.  Why.  I’m going to ask “why” a lot.  When I feel myself doing something and I feel good about it.  I’m going to ask why.  What about it makes me feel good?  Then, I want to give thanks.  When I feel myself doing something that makes me feel resentful or obstinate, I want to ask why.  What’s making me feel that way?  Then I want to take just a moment to prayer about it. 

            I think that small practice might actually help me live into my faith a little better.  It will help me to become more aware of myself and all I do.  Sometimes, I do things that I don’t need to … because I just do.  It’s hard for me to let something go undone.  Sometimes I don’t do things I really want to do, because life gets the best of me.  I’m hoping that this practice will help me live into wholeness, into that authenticity that Jesus embodied, looking honestly at myself, at what I do, and inviting God into all of it. 

            Some of my clergy friends think doing anything for Lent is counterproductive.  Aren’t we supposed to try to be good Christians all year round?  We don’t want to give people the impression that doing something right during Lent makes up for less effort during the rest of the year, do we?  Why would we take on something when we know that we can’t or aren’t going to be able to do it?  We’re human and temptation waits to capitalize on our every weakness.  Shouldn’t we avoid putting ourselves in a position that guarantees temptation and failure?  One person said, even if I make it through the whole season doing just what I decided to do, at the end don’t most people heave a sigh of relief and go right back to doing just what they were doing before?   It doesn’t have to be that way.  Lent can be life changing, or life rearranging.

            We are a people in process, and at different times in our lives different options appeal to us.  There is no failing as long as we’re learning and growing.  Giving something up makes sense if what you’re giving up has taken hold of you in a way that disturbs you.  It’s become a sort of idol, and nothing should take the place of God in our lives.  At other times, taking something on is a great idea, because you might feel a desire for God that isn’t being filled by what you’re already doing.  God is here waiting on us, always sending out that divine energy to inspire and motivate us for love … but sometimes we just aren’t opening ourselves to it in a way that allows us to receive it.  Volunteering for something, or organizing an event, or coordinating a discussion about something could be a great Lenten offering, if it’s something that’s been brewing in you.  We need justice makers in our world, and there are many organizations right now that could use your time and money to meet the needs of the world.  

            Bottom line, don’t do anything because you think you should be doing it.  You are free!  Do it out of a desire for God.  Do it out of love.  The whole point is to deepen our lives in God, and that means grabbing onto the freedom that Jesus died to give us.  It’s up to you.  The sky’s the limit.  Maybe it’ll be ice cream, and maybe it won’t … but expect to be changed.

           

Amen.