Love that hurts
Commentary
The story is told of a young girl whose very best friend lived just down the street. They
were playmates and almost sisters, with visits back and forth nearly every day.
When Jennifer was killed in an automobile accident, Tracie and her family were drawn through the same trench of grief. Two families were heartbroken, and shared the awful blackness of funeral clothing together.
The day after the funeral, Tracie disappeared for a few hours. Her mother was worried, and searched the house and yard in growing concern. When she went out to the street in front of their home she saw Tracie at a distance, slowly meandering toward her on the sidewalk, oblivious to her surroundings.
"Where were you, Tracie?" her mom asked as she strode toward the young girl. "I was worried about you."
"I was at Jennifer's place," Tracie replied. "I was helping her mom."
"What were you helping her with?"
"Well, neither of us felt like doing much, so I just crawled up into her lap and helped her cry."
Sometimes we all need to cry, and now and again we need help to do it. In the passages for today, on this Ash Wednesday, tears and repentance and sorrow and prayer and fasting and pain are the order of the day. Joel helps ancient Israel cope with a devastating famine that hints as a harbinger to God's greater judgments. Paul reminds the Corinthian congregation of his pain on their behalf, hoping to move them to tears of repentance. And Jesus simply assumes that we will give and pray and fast, for in these disciplines our hearts become more fully aligned with the values of the kingdom of heaven.
Joel 2:1-2, 12-17
It was a plague of locusts that set the context for Joel's prophecy of judgment day. While farmers watched their crops sliced away by the unstoppable insect horde, cultural uneasiness set in, and the prophet linked this disaster to God's ultimate punishment on sin. No illustrated message has ever been more graphic.
It has been repeated 1,000 times. One college professor presented his class syllabus on the first day of the new semester. He pointed out that there were three papers to be written during the term, and he showed on which days those assignments had to be handed in. He said that these dates were firmly fixed, and that no student should presume that the deadline did not apply to her or him. He asked if the students were clear about this, and all heads nodded.
When the first deadline arrived, all but one student turned in their papers. The one student went to the professor's office and pleaded for more time -- just a single day! The student spoke of illness and hardships which had prevented him from completing the assignment, but all the research was finished, and a few more hours would allow the paper to be ready. The professor relented, and granted a one-day extension without penalty. The student was extremely grateful, and sent a note thanking the professor profusely.
When the second deadline arrived, three papers were missing from the pile of student productions. The student who had previously asked for an extension was back, and so were two others. As before, all the reasons expressed for failure to complete the assignment were touching and moving and tear-jerking, and the professor again allowed some latitude. The deadline was set aside, and the papers were required by the end of the week. A veritable chorus of praise filled the professor's small office, and blessings were heaped upon him.
When the third due date arrived, the professor was inundated with requests for extensions. Nearly a quarter of the class begged for more time -- many other assignments and tests were due, many books still needed to be read, much work was required this late in the semester. But this time the professor held firm. No extensions were to be given. Grades would be marked lower for tardiness. Stunned silence filled the classroom.
The large delegation that met the professor in the hallway near his office was very vocal in their anger. "You can't do this to us! It isn't fair!"
"What isn't fair?" asked the professor. "At the beginning of the term you knew the due date of each paper and you agreed to turn in your work at those times."
"But you let so-and-so have extensions. You can't tell us now that we can't have a few extra days."
"Maybe you are right," said the professor. He opened his grade book and made a rather public subtraction from the grades given to the four formerly late papers. Each of those students, now also in this group, protested loudly. "You can't do that, professor! That's not fair!"
"What's not fair?" asked the professor. "Justice or mercy?" The question blanketed them heavily as each student silently slipped away. And the professor? When he reported the incident to others, he simply concluded (paraphrasing Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady), "They'd grown accustomed to my grace!"
We grow easily accustomed to God's grace. We need to become "Wow!"ed again by the amazing thing that happens when God chooses to start over in love toward us, even after the "great syllabus" demands a divine reckoning. No partnership can stretch forever to cover bad behavior or infidelity. Judgment day invariably comes.
Yet the prophecy of Joel carries with it more than warnings of God's grim reaping. In the divine matrix, justice is always wedded to mercy. The prophet, therefore, includes a call to a day of fasting, a solemn assembly in which hearts are turned and consciences cleansed before the Holy One. While the actual response of the people in Joel's day is unknown, the prophet ends his short messages with scenes of refuge and pledges of a world renewed. This is not only a theological promise for the future of humankind; it is also the hope we cling to when our relationships wander through rough places. God will guard the hearts that trust him even in the difficult times. Those who hear the warnings of a prophet like Joel can also be surprised by the miracle of a Lover's care.
2 Corinthians 5:20b--6:10
Second Corinthians is actually the fourth of Paul's letters that we know about posted from Ephesus to the Peloponnesian Peninsula in the middle years of the 50s A.D. Paul had stationed himself for three years in Asia Minor, working from Ephesus as a base of operations. But Corinth, the city that was his home for the bulk of his second mission journey, was much on his mind. Early in Paul's time at Ephesus, he heard news of gross immorality afflicting the congregation he loved deeply, and sent a harsh letter of reproof.
The response was underwhelming. Some in Corinth held up his scathing indictment as the letter of the law, but many questioned and challenged Paul's right to meddle in their affairs now that he was no longer a pastor-in-residence. Divisions and jockeying parties sprang up in the church until it looked like the United Nations on summer recess.
Those still in leadership positions were worried. They decided to send a letter and a delegation to Paul, hoping that a personal visit would take the edge off Paul's passionate anger, and a few theological questions would turn everyone's attention away from the ethical and moral morasses in which they were stuck. And, in fact, it seemed to make a difference. The outcome was another letter from Paul, but this one more focused on the big picture issues of church development. It enters our New Testament as 1 Corinthians.
The success of that encounter seemed to give Paul reason to believe he had regained a place of authority in speaking to the problems of the Corinthian congregation. Therefore, he wrote another letter and sent it under the personal care of Titus. This epistle, however, was evidently vitriolic, for Paul himself acknowledged that it caused the congregation great sorrow and deeply hurt them (2 Corinthians 7:8). His words here in 2 Corinthians 5- 6 are an attempt to explain more carefully that what he hoped would happen is a show of repentance among the Christ-believers in Corinth, and a renewal through reconciliation.
Paul's litany of hardships is designed to show the depth of commitment he has for the Corinthian congregation. If he were not so deeply tied to them in love he would not care so ponderously for their welfare. It is like the parent who tells the child before a punishment, "This hurts me more than it hurts you." No child believes it, of course. Not until that child has grown and brought other children into this world. Then, suddenly, the full awareness of parental care floods home, and the tears of a child gush fountains from the eyes of a father. Paul hopes that something of this testimony of love will be reciprocal, and that those who write him off too quickly as a lame-duck departed authoritarian fool will peer into his heart and know that his call to repentance and renewal is rooted in the twin bonds that bind both God and Paul to this rascally but revered church.
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
The Sermon on the Mount is the longest teaching of Jesus recorded in the gospels. By way of a number of clues, Matthew gives clear indication that he wants us to see Jesus as the new Moses, bringing the deepened word of God to a new age of the kingdom. Jesus goes up the mountain (5:1) as did Moses, and the major elements of the original covenant document in Exodus 20-24 are restated and then deepened and broadened in impact. Even at the close of the Sermon in chapter 7, Matthew tells us that people marveled at Jesus' teachings, finding them more authoritative than those of the scribes. The implication is clear: the scribes only interpret the teachings of Moses, but Jesus brings a new word like Moses.
In the verses for today, Jesus addresses public acts of kingdom living -- almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. It is interesting to note, first of all, that Jesus expects these practices to be part of the lifestyle of those who are his disciples and citizens of the kingdom of heaven. These are not optional activities but essential behaviors. To be a follower of the ways of the God of the covenant is to care for the poor, to pray, and to fast.
Almsgiving requires at least three stages of investment. The first is awareness. One cannot give alms without having the eyes to see where the need is and who personifies that impoverishment. This is illustrated by a fascinating incident from early in the church's history. According to Edward Gibbons, in his masterful treatise, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Antonius Pius, who ruled from 138-161 A.D., was one of the best of Rome's rulers. During his days there was more wealth, business success, and domestic peace than most civilizations have known.
Antonius Pious was a good ruler, and his people knew it. In fact, one of his biggest supporters was the Athenian philosopher Aristedes, who lauded the emperor on many occasions. One day, however, Aristedes sent Antonius Pious a letter in which he urged the ruler to observe and imitate a particular group of people in the kingdom. "In all your grand empire they are the only ones who make it a habit to see the needs of the poor and do something about it," wrote Aristedes. Who was he referring to? Christians -- disciples of Jesus who had learned to see.
A second dimension of almsgiving is the actual sharing of substance. Fiorello La Guardia was a police court judge before he became mayor of New York during the Great Depression. One cold winter's night, a man was brought to him charged with stealing a loaf of bread. The man acknowledged his guilt, noting that it was the only way he could provide food for his family. La Guardia pronounced judgment and fined the man $10, knowing that the thief could not possibly pay up.
But instead of sending the guilty party to jail, La Guardia pulled $10 out of his own wallet to pay the fine. Then he took back the $10, suspended the sentence, and fined everyone in the courtroom 50¢ for living in a city where a man has to steal bread in order to eat. When the man left the courtroom that day he had light in his eyes and $47.50 in his pocket.
Thirdly, almsgiving involves compassion, the quality of sharing in the plight of another with more than flippant handouts. Said Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself."
Jesus' words about prayer remind us to ask ourselves why we want to pray in the first place. Bill Keane, in one of his delightful Family Circus comic strips, once showed little Jeffy picking up his football and looking forlorn because it was flat. A car had run over it. Little Jeffy says to himself, "I need a new football. I don't know if I should send up a prayer, write a letter to Santa Claus, or call Grandma." We may laugh at his dilemma, but it digs deeper into most of our psyches than we would care to admit. Jesus uses the illustration of some who treat prayer as simply another form of getting things we want, whether goods or esteem, even in a religious community. Do we seek the honor or approval of others, or is there a ready relationship that is in place with God.
Prayer, according to Jesus, means that we recognize our truest needs and also recognize the one who cares for us more than we can even care for ourselves. One writer tells of a kindergarten class that took a field trip to a fire station. A firefighter told the children what to do in case of fire. "First you go to the door," he said, "and you feel it to see if it's hot. Then you get down on your knees. Does anyone here know why you do that?"
"Sure," said one of the little ones. "You get down on your knees to ask God to get you out of this mess." While not all prayers are made in the heat of fiery conflagrations, there is a refreshing honesty about that child's understanding of prayer.
When Jesus continues, and addresses the concept of fasting, he again assumes this practice will permeate the community of his disciples. While we may think of fasting as culturally conditioned and best left in the world of first-century Judaism, it would be well to give it another consideration. In biblical times, people fasted for three specific reasons. The first was repentance: David fasted after he was caught in his sin with Bathsheba; the people of Nineveh fasted when Jonah shouted the impending judgment of God; the Israelites fasted every Day of Atonement, and many times in between. Second, fasting was a way of remembering: when King Saul and Prince Jonathan died in battle with the Philistines, David called the nation to fast and remember; Daniel fasted when he recalled the destruction of Jerusalem; and in Jesus' day there was an annual fast to remember the holocaust that nearly wiped out the Hebrew race when the hordes of Babylon swept down from the hills of Ephraim. Third, fasting was a way in which people could rivet their attention on God, keeping the body uncomfortable while the mind was clarified. Jesus himself expressed this fasting activity during his forty-day wilderness preparation for ministry. He was only following in the fine footsteps of Queen Esther who readied herself for an encounter with King Xerxes by fasting, and Ezra who joined fasting and prayer as his final act of readying the returning exiles before they took to the wilderness road between Babylon and the ruins of Jerusalem.
Fasting is not dieting. It is, instead, a declaration of the religious truth that we are not mere consumers who live for our bellies. Furthermore, it is a way of saying, "No," so that we can determine where, in fact, we will say, "Yes," and mean it truthfully out of our relationship with God. Those who cannot say, "No," do not know what it means to say, "Yes."
Application
On this Ash Wednesday, there is no greater application than to point people's eyes to the suffering Savior. We begin today the forty-day walk to the cross, sensing anew the growing heaviness in Jesus' heart, the weariness of his shoulders as the burden of the world collapses upon them, the aching of his spirit in the knowledge of what looms ahead, and the resolute resignation of his voice as he speaks increasingly about what will be done to him when he arrives in Jerusalem.
If we keep one eye and ear on Jesus, and then observe Joel and Paul with the other eye and ear, we will have a good stereo effect to elicit the proper pain of those who have a deeply symbiotic spiritual kinship with their Savior.
Alternative Application
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21. It might be possible to abstract the verses on fasting from Jesus' words in the Sermon on the Mount and use them as a model for today's demeanor. There is a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that brings us into the mood of fasting as we enter our own fasts during this Lenten season:
I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.
I gnawed at every root,
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.
Feed the grape and the bean
To the vintner and the monger;
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 51:1-17
As this Lenten season begins, it might be a good thing to think deeply about confession. This psalm goes to the heart of the matter as the writer comes clean. "I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." In a world of believable deniability where taking responsibility for our mistakes and missteps is not common, this writing goes straight to the heart. So many of us are like the adolescent boy who gets caught breaking a window. And this applies to people from the lowest to the highest stations in our culture. The first impulse is self-righteous denial. "I didn't do it!" After it becomes painfully obvious that, in fact, the boy did break the window, the fallback is "it's not my fault!" Finally, when all else fails, the boy accepts responsibility and takes on some chores to pay for the new window to replace the one he broke.
The psalmist speaks the truth. If we peel away our own layers of denial and self-delusion, we know what we have done wrong. We are aware of the damage we have done and the hurt we have caused. And with our "I'm okay, you're okay" pop culture notwithstanding, each person knows down deep that they are not -- in fact -- okay.
It is here that confession emerges, not as a finger wagging, shame-inducing process, but as the beginning of God's healing plan for each person. In confession, truth is told. Truth about actions taken and not taken; truth about words said and words left unsaid. In confession truth is told about what is found deep in the heart. And like the psalmist, as we also come clean before God, abundant healing and mercy is offered.
When truth is told, the dodging and defensiveness can disappear. When all is laid out on the table and truth is offered, not merely to God, but to the self, the wounds inflicted can begin to heal. When all the layers of denial and falsehood disappear it becomes clear that God isn't out to get us. God isn't looking for us to slit our throats in guilt at "his" feet. No. All God desires is the truth; the truth that is already known to God, but hidden in our pride and arrogance from our own eyes.
All that God desires, it turns out, is a broken and contrite heart so that healing can begin. Would that everyone, from government leaders to parish councils could take this step into truth-telling and confession. For if we are all honest, we know our sins all too well, and they are ever before us as we enter this season.
When Jennifer was killed in an automobile accident, Tracie and her family were drawn through the same trench of grief. Two families were heartbroken, and shared the awful blackness of funeral clothing together.
The day after the funeral, Tracie disappeared for a few hours. Her mother was worried, and searched the house and yard in growing concern. When she went out to the street in front of their home she saw Tracie at a distance, slowly meandering toward her on the sidewalk, oblivious to her surroundings.
"Where were you, Tracie?" her mom asked as she strode toward the young girl. "I was worried about you."
"I was at Jennifer's place," Tracie replied. "I was helping her mom."
"What were you helping her with?"
"Well, neither of us felt like doing much, so I just crawled up into her lap and helped her cry."
Sometimes we all need to cry, and now and again we need help to do it. In the passages for today, on this Ash Wednesday, tears and repentance and sorrow and prayer and fasting and pain are the order of the day. Joel helps ancient Israel cope with a devastating famine that hints as a harbinger to God's greater judgments. Paul reminds the Corinthian congregation of his pain on their behalf, hoping to move them to tears of repentance. And Jesus simply assumes that we will give and pray and fast, for in these disciplines our hearts become more fully aligned with the values of the kingdom of heaven.
Joel 2:1-2, 12-17
It was a plague of locusts that set the context for Joel's prophecy of judgment day. While farmers watched their crops sliced away by the unstoppable insect horde, cultural uneasiness set in, and the prophet linked this disaster to God's ultimate punishment on sin. No illustrated message has ever been more graphic.
It has been repeated 1,000 times. One college professor presented his class syllabus on the first day of the new semester. He pointed out that there were three papers to be written during the term, and he showed on which days those assignments had to be handed in. He said that these dates were firmly fixed, and that no student should presume that the deadline did not apply to her or him. He asked if the students were clear about this, and all heads nodded.
When the first deadline arrived, all but one student turned in their papers. The one student went to the professor's office and pleaded for more time -- just a single day! The student spoke of illness and hardships which had prevented him from completing the assignment, but all the research was finished, and a few more hours would allow the paper to be ready. The professor relented, and granted a one-day extension without penalty. The student was extremely grateful, and sent a note thanking the professor profusely.
When the second deadline arrived, three papers were missing from the pile of student productions. The student who had previously asked for an extension was back, and so were two others. As before, all the reasons expressed for failure to complete the assignment were touching and moving and tear-jerking, and the professor again allowed some latitude. The deadline was set aside, and the papers were required by the end of the week. A veritable chorus of praise filled the professor's small office, and blessings were heaped upon him.
When the third due date arrived, the professor was inundated with requests for extensions. Nearly a quarter of the class begged for more time -- many other assignments and tests were due, many books still needed to be read, much work was required this late in the semester. But this time the professor held firm. No extensions were to be given. Grades would be marked lower for tardiness. Stunned silence filled the classroom.
The large delegation that met the professor in the hallway near his office was very vocal in their anger. "You can't do this to us! It isn't fair!"
"What isn't fair?" asked the professor. "At the beginning of the term you knew the due date of each paper and you agreed to turn in your work at those times."
"But you let so-and-so have extensions. You can't tell us now that we can't have a few extra days."
"Maybe you are right," said the professor. He opened his grade book and made a rather public subtraction from the grades given to the four formerly late papers. Each of those students, now also in this group, protested loudly. "You can't do that, professor! That's not fair!"
"What's not fair?" asked the professor. "Justice or mercy?" The question blanketed them heavily as each student silently slipped away. And the professor? When he reported the incident to others, he simply concluded (paraphrasing Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady), "They'd grown accustomed to my grace!"
We grow easily accustomed to God's grace. We need to become "Wow!"ed again by the amazing thing that happens when God chooses to start over in love toward us, even after the "great syllabus" demands a divine reckoning. No partnership can stretch forever to cover bad behavior or infidelity. Judgment day invariably comes.
Yet the prophecy of Joel carries with it more than warnings of God's grim reaping. In the divine matrix, justice is always wedded to mercy. The prophet, therefore, includes a call to a day of fasting, a solemn assembly in which hearts are turned and consciences cleansed before the Holy One. While the actual response of the people in Joel's day is unknown, the prophet ends his short messages with scenes of refuge and pledges of a world renewed. This is not only a theological promise for the future of humankind; it is also the hope we cling to when our relationships wander through rough places. God will guard the hearts that trust him even in the difficult times. Those who hear the warnings of a prophet like Joel can also be surprised by the miracle of a Lover's care.
2 Corinthians 5:20b--6:10
Second Corinthians is actually the fourth of Paul's letters that we know about posted from Ephesus to the Peloponnesian Peninsula in the middle years of the 50s A.D. Paul had stationed himself for three years in Asia Minor, working from Ephesus as a base of operations. But Corinth, the city that was his home for the bulk of his second mission journey, was much on his mind. Early in Paul's time at Ephesus, he heard news of gross immorality afflicting the congregation he loved deeply, and sent a harsh letter of reproof.
The response was underwhelming. Some in Corinth held up his scathing indictment as the letter of the law, but many questioned and challenged Paul's right to meddle in their affairs now that he was no longer a pastor-in-residence. Divisions and jockeying parties sprang up in the church until it looked like the United Nations on summer recess.
Those still in leadership positions were worried. They decided to send a letter and a delegation to Paul, hoping that a personal visit would take the edge off Paul's passionate anger, and a few theological questions would turn everyone's attention away from the ethical and moral morasses in which they were stuck. And, in fact, it seemed to make a difference. The outcome was another letter from Paul, but this one more focused on the big picture issues of church development. It enters our New Testament as 1 Corinthians.
The success of that encounter seemed to give Paul reason to believe he had regained a place of authority in speaking to the problems of the Corinthian congregation. Therefore, he wrote another letter and sent it under the personal care of Titus. This epistle, however, was evidently vitriolic, for Paul himself acknowledged that it caused the congregation great sorrow and deeply hurt them (2 Corinthians 7:8). His words here in 2 Corinthians 5- 6 are an attempt to explain more carefully that what he hoped would happen is a show of repentance among the Christ-believers in Corinth, and a renewal through reconciliation.
Paul's litany of hardships is designed to show the depth of commitment he has for the Corinthian congregation. If he were not so deeply tied to them in love he would not care so ponderously for their welfare. It is like the parent who tells the child before a punishment, "This hurts me more than it hurts you." No child believes it, of course. Not until that child has grown and brought other children into this world. Then, suddenly, the full awareness of parental care floods home, and the tears of a child gush fountains from the eyes of a father. Paul hopes that something of this testimony of love will be reciprocal, and that those who write him off too quickly as a lame-duck departed authoritarian fool will peer into his heart and know that his call to repentance and renewal is rooted in the twin bonds that bind both God and Paul to this rascally but revered church.
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
The Sermon on the Mount is the longest teaching of Jesus recorded in the gospels. By way of a number of clues, Matthew gives clear indication that he wants us to see Jesus as the new Moses, bringing the deepened word of God to a new age of the kingdom. Jesus goes up the mountain (5:1) as did Moses, and the major elements of the original covenant document in Exodus 20-24 are restated and then deepened and broadened in impact. Even at the close of the Sermon in chapter 7, Matthew tells us that people marveled at Jesus' teachings, finding them more authoritative than those of the scribes. The implication is clear: the scribes only interpret the teachings of Moses, but Jesus brings a new word like Moses.
In the verses for today, Jesus addresses public acts of kingdom living -- almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. It is interesting to note, first of all, that Jesus expects these practices to be part of the lifestyle of those who are his disciples and citizens of the kingdom of heaven. These are not optional activities but essential behaviors. To be a follower of the ways of the God of the covenant is to care for the poor, to pray, and to fast.
Almsgiving requires at least three stages of investment. The first is awareness. One cannot give alms without having the eyes to see where the need is and who personifies that impoverishment. This is illustrated by a fascinating incident from early in the church's history. According to Edward Gibbons, in his masterful treatise, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Antonius Pius, who ruled from 138-161 A.D., was one of the best of Rome's rulers. During his days there was more wealth, business success, and domestic peace than most civilizations have known.
Antonius Pious was a good ruler, and his people knew it. In fact, one of his biggest supporters was the Athenian philosopher Aristedes, who lauded the emperor on many occasions. One day, however, Aristedes sent Antonius Pious a letter in which he urged the ruler to observe and imitate a particular group of people in the kingdom. "In all your grand empire they are the only ones who make it a habit to see the needs of the poor and do something about it," wrote Aristedes. Who was he referring to? Christians -- disciples of Jesus who had learned to see.
A second dimension of almsgiving is the actual sharing of substance. Fiorello La Guardia was a police court judge before he became mayor of New York during the Great Depression. One cold winter's night, a man was brought to him charged with stealing a loaf of bread. The man acknowledged his guilt, noting that it was the only way he could provide food for his family. La Guardia pronounced judgment and fined the man $10, knowing that the thief could not possibly pay up.
But instead of sending the guilty party to jail, La Guardia pulled $10 out of his own wallet to pay the fine. Then he took back the $10, suspended the sentence, and fined everyone in the courtroom 50¢ for living in a city where a man has to steal bread in order to eat. When the man left the courtroom that day he had light in his eyes and $47.50 in his pocket.
Thirdly, almsgiving involves compassion, the quality of sharing in the plight of another with more than flippant handouts. Said Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself."
Jesus' words about prayer remind us to ask ourselves why we want to pray in the first place. Bill Keane, in one of his delightful Family Circus comic strips, once showed little Jeffy picking up his football and looking forlorn because it was flat. A car had run over it. Little Jeffy says to himself, "I need a new football. I don't know if I should send up a prayer, write a letter to Santa Claus, or call Grandma." We may laugh at his dilemma, but it digs deeper into most of our psyches than we would care to admit. Jesus uses the illustration of some who treat prayer as simply another form of getting things we want, whether goods or esteem, even in a religious community. Do we seek the honor or approval of others, or is there a ready relationship that is in place with God.
Prayer, according to Jesus, means that we recognize our truest needs and also recognize the one who cares for us more than we can even care for ourselves. One writer tells of a kindergarten class that took a field trip to a fire station. A firefighter told the children what to do in case of fire. "First you go to the door," he said, "and you feel it to see if it's hot. Then you get down on your knees. Does anyone here know why you do that?"
"Sure," said one of the little ones. "You get down on your knees to ask God to get you out of this mess." While not all prayers are made in the heat of fiery conflagrations, there is a refreshing honesty about that child's understanding of prayer.
When Jesus continues, and addresses the concept of fasting, he again assumes this practice will permeate the community of his disciples. While we may think of fasting as culturally conditioned and best left in the world of first-century Judaism, it would be well to give it another consideration. In biblical times, people fasted for three specific reasons. The first was repentance: David fasted after he was caught in his sin with Bathsheba; the people of Nineveh fasted when Jonah shouted the impending judgment of God; the Israelites fasted every Day of Atonement, and many times in between. Second, fasting was a way of remembering: when King Saul and Prince Jonathan died in battle with the Philistines, David called the nation to fast and remember; Daniel fasted when he recalled the destruction of Jerusalem; and in Jesus' day there was an annual fast to remember the holocaust that nearly wiped out the Hebrew race when the hordes of Babylon swept down from the hills of Ephraim. Third, fasting was a way in which people could rivet their attention on God, keeping the body uncomfortable while the mind was clarified. Jesus himself expressed this fasting activity during his forty-day wilderness preparation for ministry. He was only following in the fine footsteps of Queen Esther who readied herself for an encounter with King Xerxes by fasting, and Ezra who joined fasting and prayer as his final act of readying the returning exiles before they took to the wilderness road between Babylon and the ruins of Jerusalem.
Fasting is not dieting. It is, instead, a declaration of the religious truth that we are not mere consumers who live for our bellies. Furthermore, it is a way of saying, "No," so that we can determine where, in fact, we will say, "Yes," and mean it truthfully out of our relationship with God. Those who cannot say, "No," do not know what it means to say, "Yes."
Application
On this Ash Wednesday, there is no greater application than to point people's eyes to the suffering Savior. We begin today the forty-day walk to the cross, sensing anew the growing heaviness in Jesus' heart, the weariness of his shoulders as the burden of the world collapses upon them, the aching of his spirit in the knowledge of what looms ahead, and the resolute resignation of his voice as he speaks increasingly about what will be done to him when he arrives in Jerusalem.
If we keep one eye and ear on Jesus, and then observe Joel and Paul with the other eye and ear, we will have a good stereo effect to elicit the proper pain of those who have a deeply symbiotic spiritual kinship with their Savior.
Alternative Application
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21. It might be possible to abstract the verses on fasting from Jesus' words in the Sermon on the Mount and use them as a model for today's demeanor. There is a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that brings us into the mood of fasting as we enter our own fasts during this Lenten season:
I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.
I gnawed at every root,
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.
Feed the grape and the bean
To the vintner and the monger;
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 51:1-17
As this Lenten season begins, it might be a good thing to think deeply about confession. This psalm goes to the heart of the matter as the writer comes clean. "I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." In a world of believable deniability where taking responsibility for our mistakes and missteps is not common, this writing goes straight to the heart. So many of us are like the adolescent boy who gets caught breaking a window. And this applies to people from the lowest to the highest stations in our culture. The first impulse is self-righteous denial. "I didn't do it!" After it becomes painfully obvious that, in fact, the boy did break the window, the fallback is "it's not my fault!" Finally, when all else fails, the boy accepts responsibility and takes on some chores to pay for the new window to replace the one he broke.
The psalmist speaks the truth. If we peel away our own layers of denial and self-delusion, we know what we have done wrong. We are aware of the damage we have done and the hurt we have caused. And with our "I'm okay, you're okay" pop culture notwithstanding, each person knows down deep that they are not -- in fact -- okay.
It is here that confession emerges, not as a finger wagging, shame-inducing process, but as the beginning of God's healing plan for each person. In confession, truth is told. Truth about actions taken and not taken; truth about words said and words left unsaid. In confession truth is told about what is found deep in the heart. And like the psalmist, as we also come clean before God, abundant healing and mercy is offered.
When truth is told, the dodging and defensiveness can disappear. When all is laid out on the table and truth is offered, not merely to God, but to the self, the wounds inflicted can begin to heal. When all the layers of denial and falsehood disappear it becomes clear that God isn't out to get us. God isn't looking for us to slit our throats in guilt at "his" feet. No. All God desires is the truth; the truth that is already known to God, but hidden in our pride and arrogance from our own eyes.
All that God desires, it turns out, is a broken and contrite heart so that healing can begin. Would that everyone, from government leaders to parish councils could take this step into truth-telling and confession. For if we are all honest, we know our sins all too well, and they are ever before us as we enter this season.
