SPRING CLEANING

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday

March 9, 2011

Pastor Laura Gentry

Isaiah 58:1-12

Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

I admit it: my basement is a mess. In England, they have an expression for a messy place. They say: “It’s a bit of a bomb site.” Yep, that would be my basement. Now the upstairs, living spaces are quite neat and some have been completely reorganized. But since I don’t live in the basement, it has become a dumping ground for all kinds of old stuff. And with my dad is emptying his house for sale, I’ve acquired even more stuff than ever. I know that I have to clean it. Why? Because it’s holding me back. I can’t find anything down there anymore. It’s just a source of stress.

Tonight we begin the season of Lent. Here in the church, we try to describe this ancient liturgical season in all kinds of ways. Lent, we are told, is a time of sacrifice for Jesus—to give something up, like ice cream or donuts. Lent, we are also told, is time of preparation for Holy Week and Easter. It is a time of self-denial, repentance and prayer. It’s a somber time when we don’t even get to sing “hallelujah!” in worship. And while all of this true, I think it confuses the modern believer.

What I find to be the most helpful explanation of Lent is that it is a spiritual spring cleaning. Just like my basement needs a lot of sorting and emptying, so does my soul.

You see, Lent is not supposed to be a downer time. Maybe you were taught that as a kid. But believe me, it’s not. Really. The whole 40 day tradition came from the early converts who would prepare themselves for Baptism on the vigil of Easter. In order to get ready, they would engage in repentance practices, like dumping a bucket of ashes over their heads. And they’d just keep doing it until they’d look like a walking dust cloud. Think of Pigpen from Peanuts and you get the picture.

That’s why we’ll impose ashes on your forehead tonight—it’s in keeping with that early repentance ritual. Yes, the ashes represent our mortality. When you are imposed with the ashes you’ll hear the familiar words: “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.” And then you’ll get to spend the rest of the evening with a big messy cross on your head.

But what I think we often miss is that the ashes symbolized something else in the ancient church: cleansing. Before they had soap and body wash and fancy, good-smelling lotions like we have today, people used ash to wash themselves. Yes, ashes are about cleansing. They are about letting go of what keeps us from God—cleansing that away entirely so that we can turn around and run back into the loving arms of God.

No, this is not a sad season. In fact, I would argue it has the potential to be the most joyful time of all. We all need to clean our spiritual basements. All of those resentments and grudges and free floating anger hanging around inside us is no good. We know this. God knows this. But now’s our chance to really let it go—to draw nearer to God so that we can be cleansed and made new.

This Ash Wednesday, I’m letting go of everything that keeps me from rejoicing in this life. How about you? I mean, this life is such an incredible gift. When’s the last time you really rejoiced in it? Children get this. But sometimes we adults miss it.

I painted a mural on the retaining wall in my back yard a few years ago. When my sister came to see it with her children, we walked through the yard together. I explained all of the bright and colorful images and symbols. Kathy and I were engaged in the whole intellectual discussion of it. Then, I looked down and noticed her son—who was probably about 3 at the time—and he was taking in the beauty of this gigantic painting with his whole body. How could I tell? Because he had broken into dance, like they do in musicals. There he was, oblivious to our adult conversation, whirling and wiggling—entirely immersed in the wonder of it. Kathy and I laughed with joy to see his childish energy. I said, “Ah, if we all had the capacity to dance at the sight of beauty!”

Well, my friends, God is in this place and our whole world is beautiful and full of grace. Do we perceive it? Can we take it in—casting aside our worries and fears enough to rejoice?

In the reading we heard from Isaiah tonight, the prophet calls us to be in this place of rejoicing over the abundance of the Lord so that we can share our bread with the hungry, invite the homeless into our homes, and give the naked something to wear. Then, he says, our will your light break forth like the dawn and our healing shall spring up speedily. When we joyfully care for our brothers and sisters, our light will rise and God will satisfy the parched places of our lives.

I don’t know about you, but I get what he means by parched places. It’s painful to have parched places where hope feels dried up and situations seem impossible no matter how hard you try. Well, parched places: be gone! Isaiah says that God will change all of that. We will be like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail! Incredible.

Now who can't find time for that? Lent is not a demand to squeeze a little more time into an already overly busy life or give up some category of junk food. It’s much more important than that. This is an invitation to get our lives together, to do that spiritual spring cleaning we know we need. This is a chance for true healing. This is an opportunity to re-cultivate the childlike joy that is within us, so that we can feast upon the grace of God, share it generously and dance again at the sight of beauty.

So that’s exactly what I plan to do this year. That, and I might even get my basement cleaned as well.

REDOING OUR RELIGIOUS RESUMES

A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

Pastor Laura Gentry

Phillipians 3: 4b-14

Help! Our church is in trouble! That's what was written to Saint Paul by the leaders of the new Christian church in Philippi. And in we've heard some of Paul's response in our second lesson this morning. Things had been going well at this church. Their membership has been growing steadily, both men and women are involved in leadership, and even their stewardship is going well. The church has plenty of money. But all is not well. Believe it or not, this congregation has issues. Inside the congregation, there is petty fighting, jealousy, gossip and cliques forming. Outside the congregation, Jewish neighbors are looking down on this church, believing themselves superior because they continue to follow all the Jewish laws and rituals, whereas these Gentile converts do not. So everyone is upset.

Good old Paul to the rescue! He was kind of the "Dear Abby" of the ancient Christian world. If you needed sound advice, you'd write to him. So that's why the church in Philippi has solicited his help. He writes back to them with loads of advice. He looks at their issues and narrows it down to the central problem, which in his estimation is pride. They are getting all puffed up about themselves and therefore missing the point of Christ's message.

Paul uses himself as an object lesson to help them understand why religious pride is worthless. He recites his religious resume, yes all of of his pedigree. He was born a Jew and his family followed all the rules and had him circumcised on the 8th day, just as the law prescribes. Not only that, he is an elite purebred Hebrew. Not only that, his family comes from the Tribe of Benjamin! He’s virtually religious royalty. That ought to impress. But that’s just the start. He’s got the right education and model behavior as well. He recalls how zealous he was, how righteous and blameless under the law. In fact, all these things had Paul pretty puffed up.

But as we know, Paul had a dramatic religious experience in which he encountered Jesus Christ and all of that changed. His confidence in himself, his fabulous religious resume and pedigree now became unimportant. In fact, he says that he counts it all a loss because of Christ. He regards his accomplishments as nothing more than rubbish, compared to the surpassing value of knowing Christ. It is just not important in comparison to what Christ has done for us on the cross. It is trash now. What matters is his new life, his resurrected life, in Jesus.

And this relationship turns Paul completely around. In fact, he even gets a new name (remember, his former name was Saul). This radical encounter with the living Christ turns him from persecutor of Christians into a Christian—and not just a run-of-the-mill Christian, he becomes the first and perhaps boldest Christian missionary. Now, because Christ has taken hold of him, he has all new priorities.

Bulking up your religious resume has no benefit, he tells the Christians at Phillipi. Getting puffed up and thinking you are somehow better than this person or that only leads to conflict.

Now you and I could get pretty puffed up about our religious resumes, couldn’t we? There are all kinds of things we could say. For example: (puffs up a ballon larger after each statement)

• All my ancestors were Christians
• I’ve been a Christian all my life
• I was baptized as a baby
• I was the head of my confirmation class
• I raised my children as Christians
• They were all at the too of their confirmation classes too
• I have the books of the Bible memorized
• I have perfect attendance at church
• I lead Bible study for circle (and make great cookies to go serve the ladies as well)
• I serve on the church council
• I am Christian through and through
• Even my pets are Christian
• And most of all: I am a good person

Ah yes, you can think quite highly of yourselves with your puffed-up-ness. That's for sure. But you know what Paul would say about all those "brownie points" you thought you earned, that you’ve been getting puffed up about? It’s rubbish. (Let’s balloon go so it flies around the church)

These things are not what’s important. These things will never win our salvation. But if we can’t cling to our puffed-up-ness, what can we cling to? (Picks up a small cross) The cross. As the old hymn says, “I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it someday for a crown.”

What is most important is knowing Christ. Paul puts it in this way: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings.”

During Holy Week, which begins next Sunday we will be focusing on Jesus’ passion and death, and that is a necessary part of our journey to Easter. But even in the heart of Lent, we must not lose sight of the fact that we are Easter people. It has been said, truly, that you can’t have Easter without Good Friday. But Good Friday wouldn’t be “good” if it weren’t for Easter. If Jesus had simply suffered and died, and that was the end of the story, why would we want to share in his suffering? In fact, if we were putting our trust in a Christ who was not raised from the dead, we would be, as Paul tells us in another passage, “of all people most to be pitied.”

But just what does Paul mean to “share in his sufferings?” What does this mean for us? Suffering is not something we like to sign up for. Perhaps this Lent we have been practicing some kind of “fasting”: in the kinds or quantities of food we eat, or in our enjoyment of some other pleasures. Or perhaps we have chosen instead to take on some spiritual discipline for this holy season—like more time for prayer. This is a very small way to share in Christ’s suffering, to become like him in his death. Perhaps we need simply to “die” a little more to ourselves—to focus on others and not just on our own concerns and the concerns of those near and dear to us. Jesus said that whatever we do to the least of his brothers and sisters we do to, or for, him. How might we enter into the suffering of those brothers and sisters—the sick, the poor, the homeless or hungry, those who are alone, who are oppressed? It’s not too late to make that a part of our Lenten practice. In fact, we can and should do it anytime, no matter what the season.

Our reading concludes with one more passionate remark from Paul. He writes: “This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

I press on! What lies behind is unimportant. We can’t impress God with our fabulous religious resumes. They are trash. What we need is Christ’s resume. We need the one who paid the price for our sins to earn God’s favor for us. We have a friend in Jesus who has redeemed us, and who is calling us, who is calling us to enter into his suffering, death and resurrection. That is the ultimate prize! And it is ours for the taking. So we must press on!

Eugene Peterson has written a paraphrased bible, called The Message. In it, he paraphrases this verse by saying: “I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.”

No my friends, we’re not turning back. We know Christ and in our heart of hearts we want to know him more. We want to love him. We want to be entirely his own. We want to cling to the cross, not our own merit. We've got to redo our religious resumes and take off everything but the cross of Christ. That alone will get us to the prize of the heavenly call of God. Let us press on to follow this call wherever it lead us!

Now may the peace of God which passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

TOLERATING GOD'S TOLERANCE

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

by Pastor Laura Gentry

Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Jesus was famous for his teaching stories known as parables. In this morning’s passage, he relates the famous parable of the prodigal son. It’s so famous, in fact, that we might forget to take notice of it. Oh, we already know that story, we can just tune out, right? Well, no actually. Jesus told this parable to people not unlike us because he had a very urgent message. Just what was that message and why should we pay attention instead of catching a wee little nap in the pew right now?

Well let’s start at the very beginning. A man had two sons, according to Jesus. And one son asks his father for his inheritance so he can go make his way in the world. Now to our ears, this might sound fairly acceptable. After all, we want our kids to grow up and go lead their own lives. Hopefully, they’ll make a success out of themselves and perhaps bring some money back. What’s wrong with asking Dad for a little seed money for this endeavor?

Jesus’ ancient, rural audience in the Middle East would have heard it completely differently and if we want to get to the heart of Jesus’ teaching, we have to bear this in mind. In that particular context, a son should not get his inheritance unless his father was dead. So when this boy asks for his inheritance in advance, it is a slap in his dad’s face. It’s like saying: You are dead to me. I don’t care anything for you or your honor. And, of course, honor was extremely important. Furthermore, he’s the younger son and so he shouldn’t get his father’s inheritance anyway—that is for the older brother. But this kid doesn’t care about his big brother either, apparently. He’s dead to me too. I never liked him. That’s what his actions are emphatically saying.

Then, why doesn’t the father just say no to his arrogant, self-centered son? This is a terrible request and it doesn’t deserve to be granted. Yet, this good and loving father gives it to him. Perhaps you picture this story in your mind’s eye and you see the father reaching into his desk drawer or grabbing a shoebox out from under the bed and pulling out a sack of coins, which he hands to his son. Wait a minute. That’s not how it would have happened. The dad wouldn’t have had ready cash for his boy. No, the inheritance would have been the family farm, which had probably been in their family for generations. This piece of earth itself is the family treasure and the young man demands that at a major portion of it be put on the market so it will free up the money so he can get the hell out. This would have been heartbreaking for the father. I remember my grandfather talking about how he had to sell his farm and how it was a loss that he grieved as much as he did the death of his parents. In the ancient Middle East, land meant much more. So this is really a double-whammy for the dad. He’s losing his land, which is his life-force and on top of that he’s losing his own son who has declared him dead.

We don’t know if there’s a mom in this story. There certainly could be but because it’s a parable and her role isn’t important, she isn’t mentioned. If Mom is part of this conversation, you can be sure she’s weeping bitter tears. It’s even worse for her. Not only is she losing her land, and her son, she’s losing a piece of security as well. Women could not own land then. So when her husband dies, the land will go right to the sons and now that she’s only got one son left, she’s in a very vulnerable position. If something happens to that son, she’s going to end up homeless and destitute. The younger son is aware of this but he slaps her in the face too—completely unconcerned about her and her needs.

Finally, with his dad’s money in hand, the young son trots off into the wide world to make his fortune. But you know this parable, so you know it doesn’t work out for him. Jesus spares us the details but we do find out that he makes some poor decisions and thereby wastes his father’s precious money. Not only that, he loses it to Gentiles, which to Jews was a no no. He might has well have ripped up his birth certificate and flushed it down the toilet. This was a grave offense. In fact, there was a ceremony that Jewish villages would have for people foolish enough to lose their money to Gentiles. In that ceremony, they would declare the person “cut off” and unable to resume their place in the community. Ever. The person would be declared dead.

So here’s the younger son. He’s wasted the inheritance he never should have asked for in the first place and he winds up feeding pigs on a farm. Now to the Jewish audience to which Jesus told this parable, feeding pigs was the lowest a person could stoop. Pigs, of course, are considered unclean. And not only is the son feeding the pigs, but he’s jealous of them! He wishes he could dine on their slop because it’s better than what he’s eating. Even today, we cringe at such a thought.

Then, it says that he came to himself. Does this mean he recognized his sinfulness and repented in his heart? Oh, it’s possible, but it seems more likely that the kid was just plain hungry. He knows that back at the family farm, the hired hands are treated better than he’s being treated. Even that would be a step up from this! After how bad he’s been, he knows he shouldn’t set foot back in his hometown, but he’s desperate. So he heads back, rehearsing a very self-serving speech.

And here comes the shocking ending. Before the prodigal son even gets to the gate—while he is still far off—his father sees him and is filled with compassion. Now Aristotle once said that “great men never run in public.” Yet, the father is so overwhelmed with joy, that he runs. He runs, perhaps even sprints, to get to his boy. He throws his arms around his son— his rebellious son—who hasn’t so much as apologised. The father kisses him right there on the road in front of everybody. This sort of thing shouldn’t be done, but father throws propriety to the wind. All that matters to him his restoring his relationship with his beloved son. He doesn’t care how bad this boy has been or how very much it has grieved his heart. This is his son and his love for his son has not been diminished. He welcomes him wholeheartedly.

Now the parable could stop right here and we’d say, “Oh, what a happy ending.” But it goes on. The father, it seems to us, goes a little overboard.

“Get him my best robe and put it on!” He shouts. “Get him a ring for his finger, sandals for his feet! My son is home! Go and kill the fatted calf. We’re having a celebration for the whole town!”

Okay, okay, already, we get it. Dad’s excited about his kid coming home. But right about now, you and I start to get a little annoyed with the father. What’s his deal? Why’s he going so nuts for then ne’er-do-well son. Yeah, it’s his son but he’s messed up. He’s sinned about as much as a person can sin. How dare he even show his face in this town—this town that, by rights, should be organizing the cut-him-off ceremony? He’s got some nerve. And gullible ol’ dad has taken the bait and has not only welcomed him, but has gone completely over the top about it. If we think about it, we can get downright disgusted.

Ah, but that’s just what Jesus was trying to teach. Because he, then, launches into the part about the older brother who gets wind of this welcome home party. He grows so angry, he won’t even go in the house. So he’s standing outside in the yard, presumably with his arms folded in front of him and his lip stuck out. He reminds us of Jonah who was so angry at God for forgiving the Ninevites that he sat outside the city and declared he was angry enough to die. The older brother is just about that hot-buttered. And he has a right to be. He’s been there all along, working alongside his father. He never asked for his inheritance ahead of time. For the love of God, he’s the GOOD son. Dad never threw me a party like this, he mutters to himself. Yet my pig-loving sinner brother is getting the royal treatment! It’s outrageous.

And here’s the thing: most of us can relate more to the older brother than we can the younger brother. After all, we’re here in church this morning. We’re so responsible that we remembered to set our clocks ahead last night so we could be here at church like we’re supposed to be. What’s Jesus trying to say with this parable? Is he saying that God—represented by the father in the parable—loves the big-time sinners with the same passion God loves you and me? Oh come on! Even those people who have messed up and ruined lives and returned to their sins again and again? How could that be? It makes us want to fold our arms and go stand out in the yard with the elder brother. We don’t deserve to be treated this way.

The father hears about the elder son’s defiance. By rights, Dad should have ignored him and stayed at the party. He’s the host. He should not leave his guests. But in the same way he reached out to the younger son, he now reaches out to the elder son. He goes to him and he gently assures him that he has just as much love for his elder son as he does for the younger son. That’s where the story ends. There’s no conclusion. We don’t know if the elder son goes in or not! It’s a cliffhanger. We want to tune in next season and find out who shot JR!

But Jesus leaves it unfinished on purpose because that’s where you and I enter into the story. It’s a write your own ending kind of thing. Jesus has confronted us with the news that the grace of God is much bigger than we thought and that there is love enough for us all. Like the elder brother, it’s hard for us to tolerate God’s tolerance. We want God’s love all to ourselves. But that’s not how it works. God wants to spread the love and reconciliation far and wide and that’s just what God’s going to do.

So here we stand—outside in the yard, feeling pretty put out. But there’s a party going on inside. It’s the best party ever. We didn’t deserve an invitation any more than anyone else, and yet we got one. The question is, will stay out here with our self-righteousness or will we decide come in? Let’s write a good ending to this story for ourselves, huh?

GATHERED UNDER GOD'S WINGS

A Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent

by Pastor Laura Gentry

Luke 13: 31-35

In this morning’s gospel text, we have one of the strangest juxtapositions of animal imagery. That’s right: we have talk of a fox and a hen within two verses of one another. You remember the old children’s story of the crafty sly fox and the little red hen? These two opposites have often been put together in stories because they are natural foes in the animal kingdom, kind of like cats and dogs.

But why would Luke, our storyteller here, put these images together? What is he trying to teach us?

Well, it begins when the Pharisees come and offer a friendly word of warning that Herod is plotting to kill Jesus. He responds by saying: “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.’” Yes, Herod is a sly fox. He is the predator who sees Jesus as a threat and wants to get rid of him. He’s just as we would expect a fox to be. There’s nothing out of the ordinary with this image.

But then, Jesus bursts into a surprising public lament. He bemoans the state of the city, crying “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

This is rather shocking on a number of levels. First of all, Jesus is very demonstrative of his emotions. For those who are used to keeping a stiff upper lip, it is a bit disarming that Jesus, our role model, would let his feelings show with such abandon. Perhaps he is even weeping as he utters these words. He is clearly shaken by the disobedience to God and the cruelty of the people of Jerusalem.

To know Jesus is to know God. So this is telling us how much God hurts for the world, how much God’s heart aches when we turn away and follow other things, when we choose self-centeredness and injustice. It tells us how much God longs for us to return. It is shocking that God is so passionate about us.

The second thing that surprises that he likens himself to a mother hen. Did we hear that right? He compares himself to a female chicken? What in the world are we supposed to do with this bizarre image? Chickens, as you know, just aren’t that glamorous and for those who are fixed on the maleness of Jesus, this feminine metaphor can be a stumbling block. But for now, let’s try to look past these barriers to our understand and open our minds to what Jesus is saying to us.

First, let’s deal with the hen thing. When we know that Herod—the fox—is out to get Jesus, we would rather Jesus be a wolf or some other powerful predator who can take care of that nasty fox. Instead, he calls himself a hen. We all know what short work foxes make of hens. In so doing, he shows his vulnerability.

But it is this very vulnerability that makes Jesus so spectacular. He says, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” Have you ever seen a mother hen do this? Apparently, the mother has a wonderful ability to scoop up her little chicks and tuck them right under her wings where they will be safe. When the wee ones peep out and try to make a run for it, she simply scoops them back in where they can nestle securely, unaware of the dangers of the outside world.

What an amazing tenderness this show us! Jesus longs to gather us under the loving wings of the eternal God. Isn’t there something incredibly moving about this idea? Isn’t there something deep within us that yearns to be gathered in by the cosmic mother hen? Don’t we hunger for this kind of incorruptible love?

But Jesus goes on to say to the people of Jerusalem, “but you were not willing!” It reminds us that our hearts are divided. Even though a part of us may long to run to the wings of our Savior, another part of us is stubborn and completely unwilling. We’d rather go anywhere but God. Martin Luther described this as being saint and sinner at the same time.

We, like Jerusalem, are not willing. Yet, Jesus goes to the cross for us anyway. He becomes the vulnerable lamb of God for our sake. He subjects himself to the wicked fox. And in emptying himself in this way, he is glorified. Jesus triumphs over sin and death and with this victory in hand, he continues to long for us. He desperately wants to gather us under his wings, despite our unwillingness.

And so in this season of Lent when we are focused upon repentance, we have to look at this scripture and say: what is it asking me to change? Clearly it is telling us that we need to allow ourselves to be gathered up under God’s wings. So often, people find themselves hard to love, hard to forgive. They beat themselves up about every last thing and then wonder why they are unhappy. This scripture tells us that this kind of self-loathing is unnecessary and destructive. Godyearns to draw us under the wings of love no matter what we’ve done. There is always another opportunity to return home. First, we must allow ourselves to be loved.

Secondly, we are invited to let this all encompassing love spill out into the rest of our lives, so that we can give the kind of amazing love that God gives to us. This is such a simple message and you’ve heard this theme running through scripture again and again. Yet, we have a new opportunity to really do it. It makes all the difference in the world.

Let me give you an example. One of the families in my internship congregation experienced a life-changing event 104 days ago. Their young adult son, Grayson, had a heart “event” that may have starved his brain of oxygen for up to 11 minutes. Amazingly, he lived through it. At first, he was confined to a bed where he was on oxygen and a feeding tube doing nothing but thrash about, unable to comprehend a thing. Imagine the pain and suffering his parents went through to see their talented, young college graduate suddenly in this condition! Yet, with many prayers and much hard work, Grayson has made tremendous progress toward recovery and is now in a long-term rehabilitation facility where each he can do many things for himself and each day, he learns new skills.

Just yesterday his mother, Regina, wrote in their blog that she attended her 40th high school class reunion. She had tried to talk herself out of it, thinking that instead she should be driving the 2 hours north to see Grayson over the weekend. In the end, however, she went. And this is what she wrote.

“I admit I was looking forward to seeing these classmates after 40 years but I was unprepared for how much it affected me. I walked into a room of 59-year old women and immediately felt surrounded by love. Word of Grayson's situation had already spread among them (thanks to Facebook), the years disappeared and we shared that unique wrinkle in time that you only experience a few times in life. The outpouring of love and prayers made me feel part of something larger than high school, larger than the common experience of parenthood. By no means was I the only one in the room whose life has taken a huge left turn. The room was filled with the challenges of parents, children, health, employment and faith. For one afternoon we felt we were all in this together. For one afternoon these were not just classmates from 40 years ago but we were sisters in life loving each other and praying for each other."

I believe Regina was being held in the wings of God through the compassion and understanding of her classmates. That’s what we need to realize. Every time we care selflessly about someone, we are allowing God to speak to them through us! We can bless people more than we ever though possible if we just nestle into God’s wings and live from that place of security and love.

In this season of Lent, let us tune our hearts to that love, let us listen for the voice of God amid the babble of our daily lives. We are beckoned by God to live in those feathery wings, to be willing to receive the love which God offers us in Jesus and courageously share it. Amen.

Now may the peace of God which passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

THE WORD IS NEAR

A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent

Pastor Laura Gentry

Romans 10:8b-13

The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart" (that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The scripture says, "No one who believes in him will be put to shame." For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved."

Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

It’s Lent. That means it’s time to focus on repentance. Well, what are repenting from? Sin, of course. But what does that mean to us in our modern society. Sin is not a very vogue word anymore and so I think it is helpful for us to talk about sin this morning so we can make sure we are all on the same page. What do we mean when we say “sin”?

In early Christian times, the church sought to define sin and found that they could classify all sin into seven categories, which came to be known as the seven deadly sins. The final list included: wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony.

Donald Capps, professor of pastoral care at Princeton Theological Seminary, recently conducted an interesting study about the attitudes that people hold about these “deadly sins” and restored “melancholy” to the list, thus bringing the amount of sins to eight.

Here is how Capps defines each of the sins. As I explain them, I invite you to think about what this study asked people to answer. First, which sin do you consider to be the most serious, the most harmful? And secondly, with which sin do you struggle the most?

Anger: An angry or resentful attitude reflected in feelings of intense hostility, vengefulness and inner rage

Apathy: An apathetic attitude toward life, reflected in an indifference toward the needs and aspirations of others

Envy: A persisting envy of another person who enjoys advantages of attention and recognition that one wants for oneself

Gluttony: Addictive habits, like excessive or erratic eating or drinking, which cause oneself and others misery

Greed: A consuming desire for wealth or affluence (or for the security material things promise)

Lust: A sexual attitude that treats other persons as objects

Melancholy: A personal bitterness toward life; hatred and disgust for the world and the people with whom one associates

Pride: A self-centered attitude of continually expecting or demanding praise and adulation

So of these types of sin—anger, apathy, envy, gluttony, greed, lust, melancholy, and pride—which do you consider the most serious and with which do you most struggle?

Capps’ findings were interesting. For both clergy and laity, pride and envy were at the bottom of the list for the seriousness of sins. They considered them the least offensive. Yet, ironically, these were the top to sins they admitted to struggling with. Yes, the sins of pride and envy plague most Christians.

Capps explains that since people don’t consider these sins to be that serious, they don’t necessarily feel much guilt about having pride and envy. However, they do feel shame about it.

They feel shame because they have high ideals for their lives. They think they ought to be able to accomplish everything they put their minds to, especially in relationships. They think they can be all things to all people. And it turns out they can’t. And so they feel bad about themselves for having fallen short of their own ideals.

This makes people feel drained and depleted. They desperately hunger for recognition and admiration but live with a gnawing sense of defeat and failure. In short, they feel miserable because of their own inadequacy. They are ashamed of themselves.

So what do we do with ourselves when we find ourselves in this boat? When we feel depleted and don’t know how we got this away? Even looking at scripture can contribute to this. For example, in today’s gospel lesson we see Jesus standing up to the devil. Without food, out in the desert, he still has the stamina to beat the devil at his own game every time and resist temptation. We think how unlike Jesus we are because we haven’t that kind of spiritual strength. And that can push us further into our shame.

Yet, we also have some amazingly helpful words from Paul in our Epistle reading. He is upset at how how the people are seeking to establish their own righteousness. Isn’t that what we’re doing when we feel ashamed about not living up to our high ideals? We don’t need to be the perfect people we think we can be, he explains. “For Christ is the end of the law so that there may be righteousness for everyone who believes." By this end, he means fulfillment. Christ has fulfilled the law on our behalf.

Christ has done for us what we cannot do for ourselves and his righteousness can be our righteousness no matter what deadly sins plague us. How? By believing and calling upon his name.

That’s the whole deal as Paul tells it. We don’t need to go around puffed up with pride trying to winkle a little bit more appreciation out of people so we’ll feel better about ourselves. We don’t have to get jealous when we see other getting more recognition than we do. These sins stem from the needy, shameful self and they can’t fill our emptiness. They come from the heart of the person who feels unloved.

Yet God loved us so much that he sent his Son, Jesus to be our righteousness of for us. Jesus came to complete the law for us. If we just believe in Jesus and call upon him to help us, we will be saved. That is love. That is pure love. That is what we are hungering for in our heart of hearts.

Paul writes that this love is not far off. He says "The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart." We can grasp the eternal love of God in Christ simply be believing in our hearts and calling to him with our mouths. Salvation is right here. Love is right here. The remedy for our emptiness is right here. Right now.

Oh, can’t we see it? Can’t we grasp it? That’s what this season of repentance is designed for. It’s not here to make us feel more guilt or shame than we already bear. It is to help us see that we don’t have to go on living this way. We can trade in our emptiness for joy. We can admit that we need Christ’s righteousness because we can’t earn it by our own good living. We can reach out and grab onto our dear savior with all our hearts and ask him for salvation. The word is so, so near. Why don’t we just call out to him?

Let us pray: Jesus, we cry to you. You know that our own attempts at happiness have failed us again and again. We simply cannot live up to our own ideals. We fall short and end up feeling depleted and needy. Yet you came to save us. Help us to see that your love and your righteousness are so near to us. We reach out to you again. We believe you. Lord Jesus, save us. Amen.

© Laura Gentry 2010