I spoke to my mother yesterday afternoon, and as part of the conversation she asked me
what I had decided to give up for Lent. As the father of an eleven-week-old daughter, I responded without hesitation,
"Sleep." Thinking about that reminded me of a friend from college who gave up swearing every year for
Lent. Admirable, except that she didn't swear during the rest of the year either. It occurs to me that if one
is going to give up something for Lent, it should at the very least be something that they enjoy doing during the
rest of the year. But these two examples have led me to do a little more thinking about Lent and the discipline
that we are called to undertake during these forty days. For so many of us, Lent is a rote series of activities
that don't have any real relevance in our lives. Think about it-we come get ashes on Ash Wednesday, give up red
meat or alcohol or desserts for seven weeks, perhaps make it to one of the church's Holy Week services, and then
pass on through Easter and put Lent and its disciplines behind us for another year to be pulled out and dusted
off again the following year when Ash Wednesday rolls around. Lent becomes for us all action with no reflection;
piety that makes no real substantive change in our lives.
Perhaps this is the kind of thing that Jesus is talking about when he warns us against public piety that is hollow
and empty. In the Gospel for this evening, Jesus tells his followers not to give money to the poor in big, showy
ways that everyone can see. He tells them to pray in secret, away from public scrutiny. He tells them to make
themselves up when fasting so that they don't look hungry. As Barbara pointed out so aptly this afternoon at our
noontime service at Red Bank, Jesus doesn't call into question the validity of these disciplines. In fact, his
words assume that anyone who follows him is engaging in giving, prayer, and fasting. However, he warns against
allowing them just to become shallow rituals that have no meaning. If that happens, then we are doing them for
the wrong reasons. The assumption is not that if the disciplines have no meaning we should give them up; the assumption
is that we will continue to practice piety through these disciplines, and if they lose their meaning to us it's
because we need to be changed.
So we approach these forty days of Lent once again, but does it really matter? Do these days of preparation,
introspection, and confession really make a difference in our lives or are they just another set of hoops that
we jump through because we always have and probably always will? Do we expect God to change our lives because
of our Lenten disciplines? Do we even want God to do so? Do we approach Lent with any sense of urgency, any sense
that our own sinfulness may be preventing us from serving God? Do we have any expectation of finding dark places
in our lives that are in need of the light of God's love? If not, then Lent is for us a futile exercise, and the
Easter for which we wait is irrelevant, because if we've got it that together then we have no need of a risen Christ.
It seems to me that this season is all about urgency. Do we recognize any sense in which we urgently need to
be saved? Do we feel any urgency about the condition of our relationship with God? Is there any urgency in the
way in which we share the Gospel? Do we recognize the urgency of working for peace, justice, equality, and dignity
for all people? If not, then we are perhaps the people who most need to learn to take Lent seriously, because
we perhaps have the greatest need of God's intervention in our lives.
The prophet Joel speaks to his people with a real sense of urgency in this evening's Old Testament lesson. Listen
again to the prophet's words:
Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for
the day of the LORD is coming, it is near-a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Yet
even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend
your hearts and not your clothing. Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the
people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast. Let the
bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy. Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the
ministers of the LORD, weep.
These words show a sense of urgency about one's standing before God that most of us have never felt. Joel calls
the people to abandon everything so that they can turn from their sins. A sacred assembly of all the people is
to be called-the old, the young, women, men, even newborn babies are to gather together to engage in acts of contrition,
to cry before God because of their sinfulness.
Joel speaks to the people in the midst of a national crisis. A swarm of locusts has overtaken the land and has
decimated its crops. Economic disaster and famine are immanent. Joel sees this natural disaster as a sign of
God's judgment upon God's people. I think we have to be careful about how we use this logic. Many of us remember
a few years ago when, in the midst of a particularly bad Atlantic hurricane season, Jerry Falwell proclaimed that
the unusually severe storms were a sign of God's judgment for the sinfulness of Florida. I for one have a hard
time believing that God operates that way. However, Joel does help us to recognize that we can find the voice
of God in any circumstance, even in the very worst of times, if we have ears to listen. In the midst of the devastation
surrounding Israel, Joel calls the people to repentance. However, Joel also gives the people hope. Even now,
Joel says, you are not abandoned. Even now, you are not alone. If you just turn, if you mend your ways and strive
for righteousness, won't God leave for you blessings rather than curses?
In our Epistle lesson this evening, Paul echoes the urgency that Joel conveys. Now, Paul writes, is the day of
salvation. Now is the time for repentance. The Greek uses the word Kairos for time, a word that implies that
God has ordered the whole course of human events to lead up to that moment. Kairos is never used in a circumstance
that is coincidental; Kairos implies purpose.
Isn't that what Lent is all about? Isn't it God's time for us to disengage ourselves from the encumbrances of
everyday life and to approach our relationship with God with a renewed sense of urgency? Isn't it about intentionally
listening for God's voice in the midst of the hustle and bustle of everyday lives? Isn't it an opportunity to
start anew with the promise that if we seek righteousness, God will most certainly bless us rather than curse us?
This evening, we begin to journey together toward the cross of Christ. We indicate our desire to undertake this
journey by marking ourselves with an ashen cross. Think seriously before you take on that mark, because doing
it indicates your willingness to delve into the depths of your own soul in preparation for the good news of Easter.
If you journey with Christ through these forty days, the road may sometimes be rough, and you may sometimes grow
weary. But you will never journey alone. In addition to whatever disciplines you undertake or whatever things
you give up during this time, I would like to suggest that you add one thing: give up complacency in your life
of faith and take up urgency. Journey through these forty days as though they matter, as though you expect something
to come out of them. The going may get tough, but never fear-there is a resurrection waiting on the other side.
Amen.
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