Lent 2 2013

Lent 2, 2013
A couple of years ago while I was working at St. Alban’s, we had a day long retreat with a man by the name of Peter Rollins. Not to be confused with Henry Rollins, the one time lead singer of the punk band Black Flag—however, in a way, Peter Rollins has become something of a ‘rock star’ in the emergent church world.
He’s known for a number of books and articles, not to mention his speaking engagements—and he’s even been called the “darling” of the emergent church movement.
And while I’d say that I agree with a lot of what Peter Rollins says, there are some things that I have a hard time accepting. Nothing opposed to orthodox faith, necessarily—but stuff, which betrays a lack of understanding about the Church in a more universal sense.
Now, just to give you some idea of who Peter Rollins is; he’s from Northern Ireland and spent a lot of time in academe studying philosophy and theology and has made a name for himself writing on both of these subjects as they relate to the modern Church.
Where he has become particularly well known is in the emergent church movement—this group of people who are trying to postulate how the Church can remain relevant in our culture today…
 Anyway, like a lot of emergent church writers, Peter Rollins spends a lot of time dazzling hip, young Evangelical pastors by talking about lofty and inspired ideas. He asks pertinent questions about how and why the Church acts and reacts in certain ways—and he even rightly challenges some of the conventions of the modern Church.
Like I said, it sounds inspired—and in reality it is—because none of it is new.
 In fact, much of what Peter Rollins talks about in his work is exactly what many of the writers and thinkers of the Early and Medieval Church were writing in their time.
So, inspired? Yes—but not new.
After reading some of Peter Rollins’ stuff, I would say that he would be the first to agree. In fact, much of the thesis of his book “How (not) to speak of God” references Christian Mystics and Early Church Fathers to make his arguments.
The problem that I find, however, as I mentioned earlier, is that writer’s like Peter Rollins portray a very limited vision of the Church. Understandably, like other emergent Church writers, he’s coming from an Evangelical perspective. So, there isn’t this present sense of tradition and connection to the historic Church—and outside of academic institutions, theological resources are somewhat limited. So, we have to keep all of these things in mind when we talk about his work and popularity.
 And while I’m picking on Peter Rollins specifically(who is still one of the more promising emergent church writers), he’s only representative of a wider conversation which seems to continue to get stuck in the trap of trying to make the Church ‘relevant.’
It’s this particular idea of relevance that I find most interesting—mostly because it seems to be the rallying cry of so many Church institutions these days. This idea that we need to make ourselves more relevant to the culture so that we can reclaim some glory that we had in the past…
For many groups this often means changing the physical space in which people meet, and even re-imagining how a church service is done.
Others still—many in mainline and more traditional denominations have decided that the best course of action is to start doing what many Evangelical churches did in the 1970s and 80s with the inclusion of “Contemporary Christian Music” in worship services—as well as more informal, conversational sermons.
 Unfortunately, as I said, these were innovations in the 1970s and 80’s. And seeing as membership decline isn’t just the problem of the traditional churches, anymore; it questions just how inspired such a plan of action really is…
All the same, a couple of issues begin to emerge out of this. One issue is that, as the Church, it seems we’re really not very clear about our own identity. So either we’ve done a terrible job of keeping that discussion of identity constantly in front of us as a reminder; or we’ve confused our true identity with who we think we ought to be.
The second issue is related to the first, and that is this problem of confusing relevance with faddism. 
In other words, there is this sense that our culture needs Jesus Christ to show up with a 5 o’clock shadow and skinny jeans before we’ll listen to him. The problem here, of course (beyond the satire) is that if we begin to constantly try to institutionalize things that are passing like fads, we’re doomed to perpetual irrelevance.
However, the staying power of the work of people like Peter Rollins, is that the message of God’s salvation is far more relevant in its simplicity than we could ever try to make it. It turns out, when people experience that truth, imbedded in the work of the emergent church, or anywhere for that matter, they are naturally attracted to it.
 Because no matter how our culture and society changes—what never changes is the need for hope and love. More importantly, we will always need to have meaning for our lives, as well as the hope that we somehow matter in the grander scheme of things.
This is why we’re called, as the Church, to be a structure that rests on a solid foundation, so that we can offer stability in a constantly shifting world.
This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t be self-aware, and prepared to grow beyond unnecessary things to stay true to the Gospel. The world shouldn’t starve spiritually because we’re afraid to kill sacred cows. Sometimes we need to make holy hamburgers…

But as long as we can focus on being faithful to live into the basic call of loving God with all of our hearts, souls and minds; and loving our neighbor as ourselves—I believe the extraneous, gimmicky trappings of church will not matter anymore. Because the issue of relevance will always be answered in our constant longing to fulfill the command to love, and to point beyond ourselves to the Living God in our worship and in our lives…something that will always speak to our culture and to our world.

Palm Sunday 2012

Palm Sunday 2012
The crowds gathered at the gate, awaiting the arrival of a king. It may seem odd that a king would ride on a donkey’s colt however, it was the way of kings to ride to battle on horses, but when they returned to Jerusalem in peace, they rode upon a donkey. And this is where we find Jesus, being welcomed as a king and riding upon a donkey’s colt. But it isn’t just kings who are carried upon donkeys, but sacrifices, as well. 
Jesus comes to the city in peaceful mien, his whole purpose to herald an age of peace. All the while, the powerful machine of the Roman Empire maintains Pax Romana, the peace of Rome, with military force. The irony is all too clear for the pilgrims who had gathered to greet this humble king.
His entrance into the city is overwhelmingly significant, both in its signs, and its meanings. Jesus is greeted as the very line of David, the Tribe of Judah, reclaiming the throne of Israel. For the people who believe, the coming of Jesus is the promise of liberation; the coming of a new era. 
I’m not certain that the crowd of pilgrims who stand waiting for Jesus are the same people who shout “crucify him.” But if they are, they represent for us the weakness of spiritual vision; a kind of short-sightedness that eventually blinds hearts.  
Certainly there is a period of time between his entrance and trial (which we do not read about today) in which their hearts may have been turned against Jesus. Whether through capriciousness, or short-sightedness, we cannot know for certain what caused such vehemence against Jesus. However, we can pretty easily guess at some of their reasoning.
After all, it isn’t hard to miss that a king and messiah would become a sacrifice for all of Creation. Likewise, most revolutions are defeated after the death of their leader. It also isn’t hard to miss the presence of a kingdom which “is and is not yet” at the same time. If anything, Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday makes our own short-sightedness so much more evident, especially since we move so quickly from a triumphal entry, to a brutal execution.
What remains, however, is the promise that this is only the beginning. Today is the beginning of Holy Week, the precursor to a new season of new life, and the memorial of our redemption. So how do keep from missing the significance of today? How do we train our spiritual eyes so that we will not miss the presence of the Kingdom of God in the midst of the Kingdom of Earth? It starts with our “Hosannas.” But more than that, it is our ability to see beyond every moment of everyday, and recognize that the foundations of God’s Kingdom are laid in our hearts. Because this is promise to those who Christ redeems. When we realize this, we need not look very far to see the triumph of Jesus’ humility and the Messiah in the King.

Maundy Thursday 2012

Maundy Thursday 2012 (Old Format)
Our Gospel Reading is part
          of what are known as the farewell discourses.
Jesus is basically preparing his disciples
          for his coming death as well as
                   what they need to do once he is gone.
After washing their feet,
          he teaches them to do the same
                    for one another.
Then, he presents them
          a new commandment
                   to love one another
                             as he has loved them.
What strikes me immediately
          is that this would be considered
                   a new commandment—
                             I mean it’s not as if
                                      this was a new idea.
 Certainly the radical way
          in which Jesus poses it is new.
This command to love is given even more authority,
          because Jesus has demonstrated it by washing his disciples’ feet.
                   We may not really understand it,
                             because it’s not part of our culture.
But it is easy to recognize
          that it is an act of great humility,
                   and of even greater love.
We know that as the Teacher,
          Jesus has no business washing his disciples’ dirty feet.
Of course that’s half the point,
          that he makes himself an example
                   of how they should serve one another.
Jesus is also showing them
          that he is prepared to give himself
                   fully for all of them.
 There should be no question
          that Jesus does this as an act of love.
If there are any doubts,
          we should remember that Jesus
                   even washed the feet of Judas Iscariot.
The Gospel of John makes it clear
          that Jesus knows his betrayer—
                   all the same, Jesus is a servant even to him.
What’s more,
is that immediately after
 sending Judas out to betray him—
Jesus gives this command to love.
 It’s as if the whole experience
would eventually become a kind of object lesson
about loving with ruthless abandon.
Obviously it is a command
          which can be  hard
                   to live into and comes at a great cost.
 Whenever we read this new command
          or hear it, we are challenged.
 One commentary writer,
          D.A. Carson,  puts it very well. He says:
"The new command is simple enough for a toddler to memorize and appreciate, [but] profound enough that the most mature believers are repeatedly embarrassed at how poorly they comprehend it and put it into practice" 

This shouldn’t be taken as a jab.
          Truly loving is not an easy thing.
Some people are easier to love than others.
          Some people try our patience.
                   There are even some others who,
                             because of certain circumstances,
                                      may not know how to love or accept it.
Still, the command doesn’t change
          because of circumstances.
We’re commanded to love—
          but loving is something that we learn how to do continually.
It’s not an automatic gift of the Spirit,
          but like riding a bicycle,
                   once we start, we don’t forget.
                             In fact, we get better at it.

It is true that none of us are Jesus. 
          That doesn’t change the fact
                    that Jesus commanded us to love
                             as he has loved us.
It’s not impossible,
          and it’s not something that only works
                   in a perfect world.
We have to grow into loving one another;
          and because we do not live in a perfect world,
                   there are plenty of learning opportunities.
More importantly, there is always a need for more self-giving love.



Lent 5 2012

Lent 5, 2012             

     “It’s not about the Greeks, it’s about the Kingdom the Jesus is advocating”

In seminary we were told when beginning to write a sermon, that we should pay attention to the parts of the scripture text that pinches our foot. The understanding here being that whatever bothers us about the text as preachers is likely to be a bother for others, as well. So, by digging into it, we end up cultivating a pretty useful and informative sermon (hopefully).
This approach has worked pretty well for me, honestly—especially right at the beginning of the sermon writing process. However, today’s Gospel reading did not have a particular pinch for me, so much as it had a few things that nag at me.
The main thing that gets to me is that the passage starts by telling us that among the people who went to Jerusalem for the festival were some Greeks. We’re then told that they approach Philip and say that they want to see Jesus…  A pretty good start, really.
But, what makes me a little crazy is that once Philip tells Andrew about these people, and Andrew tells Jesus—it’s the last we hear about them. There’s no indication who they are, why they as Greeks were interested in being in Jerusalem for Passover—just this moment that goes…well..nowhere.
Commentaries about this passage really aren’t too helpful. They seem to agree that these aren’t Jewish people who had become secularized—after all, they wouldn’t be referred to as “Greeks.” However, scholars do believe that these were either Gentiles known as ‘God-fearers’, or even a group of converts to Judaism—both of which really tell us nothing about them. Besides even I could have come up with that…
Also, there is some belief that they first approach Philip because he happens to be one of the disciples with a Greek name…
While this might be helpful for making the case that these are not Jewish people—I can’t imagine how they would have any idea who Philip was…unless he was the greeter and wearing his nametag.
But the issue for me is that there is enough set-up about these people that it just seems like a wasted opportunity for a great story. However, we hear nothing more of them.
I suppose there might be something in their reason for coming to find Jesus that might offer something. After all, Jesus’ reputation was such that all kinds of people came looking for him—people caught in adultery, Gentiles, tax-collectors. But when they show up, there is always some lesson accompanied with it. Jesus always seems to take those opportunities to teach about the inclusion of the least-likely, and rebukes hard heartedness.
With these mysterious Greeks, however, we don’t see this response, and I suppose it’s up to the reader to try to discern how they fit into the bigger picture.
Now the fact is that Jesus does ‘teach’ in this section—it’s just not necessarily in conjunction with these Greek people showing up. Or, at least it doesn’t seem like it. It’s also not exactly his normal teaching style. It’s less dialogical—not the usual posing questions and answering with more questions… This is more a formal farewell discourse from a teacher to his students.
In this discourse, then, Jesus begins by saying that “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” Of course the troubling thing about this is that the glorification he’s referring to is his crucifixion. And it is apparently by this act that he will draw all people to himself.
He openly admits his fear, but explains that it must be done. He even goes so far as to call people to a discipleship that demands giving-up one’s life. But in this promises honor from God for those who would give themselves so readily. Of course, what he asks seems impossible—but not something he himself would not undergo first…
Perhaps this is the reason for the Greeks showing up. To some Jesus appears by all intent a failed, Byronic hero. However as we’ve seen in other places in the Gospel narratives, he is one who teaches with authority—and even does miracles to prove his authority. The Kingdom that he advocates is not limited by boundaries, or ethnicity, or politics so that it might be caught up in wars, or the exclusion of people based solely on their background. In fact, when he enters Jerusalem, he enters as a king returning home in peacetime.
Likewise along with the ruler of this world (as Jesus says), the ushering in of God’s Kingdom marks the end for ambitious, power-hungry despotism. In Jesus is heralded something completely different—this, I believe, is what draws all people to him. This is what I believe still draws all people to him—and just like those people who knew him then, we’re all still trying to figure him out.
So, perhaps like those Greek pilgrims, Jesus has also drawn us. It just may be that in our own experience of being drawn to him, we can intuit what drew those people then.
Ironically, it’s most likely the impossible call to give our lives, and the constant challenge to be more loving, and more committed to God and others that draws us. However, these are things that test our sense of comfort, and impress upon us the necessity of finding our purpose and true selves. As hard as these things seem, though; in our sometimes chaotic world they’re exactly what gives us grounding, and help us to find our bearings again. Help us remember who we are…
This is because the Shepherd’s voice is a universal one—one which calls to all people to be known and redeemed by God’s love. And like these nameless, unknown Greeks, we can’t help but be drawn—like them, we wish to see Jesus.


Lent 3 2012

Lent 3 2012

The tough thing about following a lectionary of scripture readings is that we don’t always get the story in proper order. In fact, we don’t always get readings from the same Gospel that we’ve been reading from these past weeks… However, we do still get a continuous theme which moves us closer to the Passion narratives in Holy week.
Our reading today, for example, comes from the Gospel of John—fairly early in John’s Gospel for that matter. It’s an account that happens soon after Jesus called his disciples, and has just been to the wedding feast in Cana where he turned water to wine.
So, technically, today’s reading really marks the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry in John’s Gospel…
Perhaps it’s not a text book way of beginning a ministry (chasing out merchants from the Temple), but it did set a precedent (to say the least). Besides it’s kind of fun to see Jesus get everyone riled up, especially in matters of injustice.
But as it turns out, these merchants in the Temple courts were offering a valid service to pilgrims who would have found it difficult to bring their own sacrifices from long distances.
This area of the Temple was well known as a kind of market, in fact, for that very reason.
 Likewise, the money changers had the job of making certain that people coming to offer a monetary offering had the proper Temple currency to do so. (So, big deal.)
Now, admittedly, some of these people were probably not always completely honest in their dealings. This is made pretty explicit in the synoptic Gospels: Matthew, Mark and Luke where Jesus accuses them of making the place a den of robbers.
John’s Gospel, however throws us no such bone. In fact, there is very little to suggest any wrongdoing on the part of the merchants. Instead, it appears that Jesus is simply angry at their very presence, and runs them out to make a different point.
When Jesus is challenged by the Pharisees for his reason for doing this, the Gospel writer reveals to us this point in a very cryptic way. Specifically that Jesus is the replacement both for the sacrifices of the Temple, and even the Temple itself.
What John’s Gospel is saying is that by virtue of him being the Incarnation of God, and soon to be the perfect sacrifice for the whole world—the Temple is basically rendered obsolete…
All the same, Jesus is said to be cleansing the Temple. Why would he cleanse something that he believes to be obsolete?
 The synoptic Gospels, of course tell us what he is cleansing the Temple from: Namely greed and dishonest merchants. But John’s Gospel brings up a different issue, specifically what Jesus is cleansing the Temple for… And from his explanation to the Pharisees, I think it is safe to say that he is preparing the Temple, the people—even the world for his sacrifice.  
In the practice of sacrificial rites, it was required that not only the priest administering the sacrifice, but the place of the sacrifice should go through a process of ritual cleansing. The Temple, of course, would otherwise have already been considered clean—at least in terms of animal sacrifice. However, the kind of sacrifice that Jesus was to be was of far greater import. Because he would be giving himself for the whole world. Not to mention the fact that he is the Incarnation of the invisible God.
What’s more, there is this sense that John places this event at the beginning of the Gospel narrative because the sacrifice that Jesus will offer is more than a few hours on the cross. Instead, his sacrifice is all of his life and public witness to the love God. A thing that encompasses far more than those moments contained in the Passion narratives. So, that Jesus is not simply a sacrificial lamb, but is instead that Passover Lamb which has become part of the family, but must still be killed. In this way, the sacrifice of Jesus becomes about his entire life with and for us.
In following his example, then, we try to live sacrificially. We try to live lives which reflect our belonging to God. We seek continually to live as though we no longer belong to ourselves, but to God and to others.
But, inevitably, as all of us know, over time we become less focused. Our lives become cluttered, and before we know it our vision of Jesus is obscured.
If we continue in such a state, it becomes impossible for us to offer ourselves sacrificially.
Thankfully, in this Lenten Season we’re given time to “re-prepare” ourselves as God’s people. This is not only to prepare for the remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection. We’re also reminded of what it is to be made a sacrifice ourselves—a living sacrifice as St. Paul says.
And in this preparation, we’re made aware of those things which must be driven out of our lives. Those things which make our way less clear. Most importantly, we’re given time to prepare ourselves and our lives as a sacred place where the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ can be made real.

If we can do this, rather than simply going through the motions and emotions of Easter; we make space to be transformed again by the resurrection of Jesus Christ. With all of the obstacles pushed out of our way, then, the transformation of that sacrificial and redeeming gift will be allowed to shine through us—to shine through our lives. But only if we take the time to prepare and drive out those things which complicate us unnecessarily. 

Lent 2 2012

Lent 2, 2012
There is a whole lot going on in our Gospel Reading today. That said, I invite you to buckle up as I try to sort through some of it without preaching two or three separate sermons in one… Because if I’m to try and do any justice to this reading, I need to hit a few points—and hopefully draw them together nicely at the end. We’ll see what happens.
First off, a little context for the reading, just to give us some perspective on everything going on.
 Up to this point Jesus has been travelling around healing and teaching and doing all sorts of miraculous things. Most recently Jesus fed a whole multitude of people with seven loaves of bread and a few small fish. He healed a blind man with some spit, and put some Pharisees in their place when they demanded signs from heaven. All pretty common Jesus-type stuff, and certainly interesting enough to start to cultivate some faith from his disciples.
The culmination of this section comes right before today’s reading, when Jesus asks the disciples who people say that he is… After some discussion, it’s Peter who finally confesses that Jesus is the Messiah.
However, in a moment of terrific irony, everything gets turned upon its head in today’s Reading.
Jesus, the affirmed Messiah begins telling the crowd of people around him that the Messiah must undergo suffering and be killed. Admittedly, he does say that he will rise again in three days—but, that’s not something you usually bank on.
And honestly, if a religious leader ever told you he was planning on dying and coming back, I’d recommend rescinding your pledge and finding a another place of worship… Because, after all, no matter how much you might love and respect the leader, what Jesus is saying sounds like crazy talk.
So it’s fair to say that Peter’s response to Jesus is a completely rational one—if Jesus wants his reformation or realignment or revolution to happen, he can’t go around telling everyone he’s going to be killed. It’s just bad business.
But for those of us who know how the story ends, we know that there is much more happening. There is much more about the true Messiah than these people—even his disciples—could ever imagine. Namely, that Jesus had more than just the restoration of Israel in mind. His work was the redemption of Creation.
The problem with Peter’s response was not that he was wrong in a rational sense—the problem was that Peter forgot his role as disciple. It’s as if in the moment Peter went from being a student to a P.R. Specialist. It’s like he decided that Jesus needed a campaign manager because what Jesus was saying was bad publicity. In other words, Peter thought that he understood all that Jesus was doing better than Jesus himself, and had somehow worked out the bigger picture (which was a mistake). Worse still, Peter thought he had to save Jesus from himself.
I think when we consider these particular points, it’s no wonder Jesus put Peter in his place. In defense of Jesus’ response, I’d imagine having someone intercede to save his life could have been a temptation. Then again, from the rebuke he gives Peter, I’d say it reminded Jesus a lot of being in the desert after his baptism…  
What happens next, of course, only makes things more awkward. If it wasn’t enough that he says that he will suffer and be killed; Jesus explains that the requirement for discipleship is to take up one’s own cross and follow him.
Not only this, but he goes so far as to say that the secret of truly receiving life is to lose one’s life. Probably not a great pitch for Stewardship Sunday, but it does call the bluff of anyone who assumes that discipleship is an easy thing. And of course, it’s not only a matter of following Jesus’ teaching, but even giving our lives fully in witness to the redemption given in Jesus Christ.
What is interesting about this statement about taking up the cross is that Jesus doesn’t say to take ‘a’ cross and follow after him. He says to “take up your cross.” It’s as if there is this understanding that each of us already has a cross that we bear—perhaps crosses made from all that we’ve experienced in life: the pain, the trials, even the joys I suppose.
But unlike anything else in our relationship with Jesus, this is about us. Because this cross of ours is made from the stuff of our lives. Yet, no matter what it is that forms it—it’s still a cross, just like everyone else’s.
 And if the fact that all of us share in the experience of having crosses weren’t a powerful enough sign to us; Jesus goes so far as to ask us to take up our crosses. He bids us not dwell over our crosses, or be overwhelmed by them. Instead, he tells us to shoulder our pain, our sorrow, our joys—and carry them right behind him. He invites us to bear our crosses as a sign of victory. 
The thing about carrying a cross is the fact that in bearing it up—even if it is to one’s own crucifixion, it’s a sign of dignity, and victory. Because by lifting one’s cross, it shows that no matter how overwhelming the situation may appear, we won’t be crushed or defeated by it.
Jesus calls us, then, to not be crushed by the weight of our cross. He instead calls us to join him in making a sign of death into a sign of victorious life by showing the world that we will not be outdone by the pain of this life.
Taking up our own cross means that we refuse to be martyrs to ourselves for ourselves—but instead will bear it on as a standard. And even if that pain means our death—just like the one who leads us, we will one day lift up our cross as a reminder to ourselves and others the hope and victory that is promised us in Jesus Christ—the one who would never be defeated by his cross or death.
 I suppose the misleading part about bearing our crosses is that we might think it will be an easy task—especially since our own cross is so familiar to us. But the truth is that we need to practice. We need to daily take up our crosses (daily die to ourselves as St. Paul says), and always ask Christ to help us bear it. This dying thing actually takes practice, as it turns out…And what better time than the season of Lent to get that practice?
Because the mystery of the cross—even our own cross, is that when we are able to see beyond it; understand it as something victorious; we rob death of its victory, and claim it for our own.
That is our message to proclaim, and our promise to hope for…


Lent 1 2012

Lent 1, 2012
I said it on Ash Wednesday, and I’ll say it again, Lent is one of my favorite times of the Church Year. What an amazing time of intention and prayer. When else do we get to be called out of our normal lives to focus for a few weeks on our mortality—and all that it means?
In effect, we’ve been called out into a desert life. We’ve entered a barren time with very little ornamentation; fewer distractions and crutches for the imagination; no baptisms—not even holy water in the font to remind us of our baptism. Instead, like Jesus, we’ve been driven out into a deserted place. It’s a place where we’re not afforded all of the comforts of our usual faith experiences. In essence, we’ve been drawn by the Holy Spirit into a spiritual desert.
The desert is a dangerous place. In the desert there are species of poisonous snakes, scorpions, spiders, even giant wasps. This is to say nothing of an arid, and unforgiving landscape in which very little grows or thrives.
 Often in Scripture the desert is a place where strange and miraculous things happen. Only last week we read about the prophets Elijah and Elisha as they went out into the desert so that the mantle of prophetic office could be passed to Elisha. And it was there that Elijah was carried away in a fiery chariot.
We also remember that it was in the desert where God called Israel into covenant to be God’s people. It was there that God gave them the Law, and began forming what would become a nation of God’s chosen people.
Likewise, it was in an unnamed place in the desert in which Abram or Abraham (the forefather of three world religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam) offered hospitality to three angels—these angels who we understand as prefiguring the Holy Trinity…
But the desert is a dangerous place—even a spiritual desert can be dangerous if we allow it. This is especially true if we lose sight of our purpose in a spiritual desert; namely to put away distractions and allow God to transform our hearts. There is also danger if we allow our own false sense of piety to become an impediment to loving others. It might even be said that lack of intention, or empty practices can frustrate our hopes for survival and even make the space more uninhabitable for others as well.
However, what Lent and this spiritual desert asks of us is the work of looking more closely at ourselves—digging deeper into our spiritual resources to continually find God. In fact, it’s much like finding water in a desert. In a desert, we rarely find surface water—instead, we have to dig below the surface near the bedrock. We have to find the places where life is thriving, and dig until we find the places where the water has rested.
In the same way in our Lenten desert, we have the opportunity to experience God in a very different way. Without any of the symbols, or trappings that we’re given throughout the rest of the year, we’re left to search out and dig for the places where God can be found. We must cling to the past promises and faithfulness of God to get us through. Without distractions or too many images to help us, the experience is simply one that lays us bare. It makes us learn about ourselves, and our short-comings. And because there’s very little in the landscape, there’s really no place for us to hide, or obscure our failings. There is no cheap grace here…
But, like so many other things in our spiritual lives, there is more to it than just rigor. There are the moments of grace that sustain us. There is the hope that what has been revealed to us will stay with us long after the Lenten desert time. And more importantly, there is the promise of the Easter mystery, which is for us the promise that the mortality that we’ve spent all of this time meditating upon will one day be transformed, and made incorrupt. And then—then what we have experienced of God in this desert will no longer be veiled, but made complete when we are resurrected one day.
So for those who choose to hang on through this desert season, the result is that we just may see a little clearer God’s presence in the world. We may love a bit more, even those who are difficult. But we’ll also have learned to dig a little deeper to find the sustenance that we need in the desert. So that in our toughest times, we can remember that God can be found, even in the most unforgiving of places. And just as we’ve come to know of the Lenten journey; we know that the promise of resurrection is always at the end.

On Ash Wednesday, we were given the invitation to enter into a holy season of Lent. Like any invitation, it is up to us whether or not we accept. In the end, like everything else, it is really a matter of the heart as to whether or not we enter in. There is no guarantee that it will be an easy season—but if we’re willing to trust and be compelled by God’s Holy Spirit, we may find more than sand and danger. We may find the relationship with God in Christ that we seek.