A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent
First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on March 13, 2011.
Texts: Psalm 32 and Genesis 2:15-3:21
Lent has to be the worst marketing ploy in the history of the Christian Church. Just imagine it. The Pope calls an emergency meeting of his cardinals in his secret Pope room and says, “Guys, we got a problem. Attendance is down. Giving is down. We need a way to recharge the faithful. Now, who’s got an idea?”
“I have one! Let’s put a sign in every church that says, ‘Beatings will continue until morale improves.’”
“No, Spain already tried that. It didn’t work so well.”
“How about we fine people for not showing up at church. And if they can’t pay the fine, we’ll throw them in jail until they make enough money to pay up.”
“No. England did that already. Come on, something original.”
“I’ve got one! Let’s do Lent!”
“What’s a Lent?”
“It’s forty days of prayer and fasting in preparation for Easter. Extra church services, no meat, and we’ll tell everyone to give something up so they can focus on God. Count back from Easter 40 days. Don’t count Sundays. That means we’ll kick off on Wednesday with a ceremony of ashes, symbolizing repentance.”
“Sounds great. Let’s do it!”
You all know how it turned out, right? The preachers told their congregations to prepare for 40 days of prayer and fasting starting Ash Wednesday. So the people did the only reasonable thing. They crammed 40 days worth of partying into Tuesday. Great plan, guys. Way to honor Jesus with beer, babes, and beads.
And can somebody please explain the logic behind Fish Fries on Friday? “No meat? No problem. We’ll eat fish instead.” Whoever came up with that little loophole deserves to work for Goldman Sachs.
Try explaining Lent to your neighbors. “Well, it works like this. Think of something you really love to do, something you do a lot. And you make a promise never to do that at all for forty days. Sound like fun?”
And yet, we still do it. I sat in my office this week, thinking about what I should give up for Lent. And you know the first thing that sprang to my mind? Hot dogs. Every Wednesday night, I have hot dogs, and not just regular hot dogs. I get two steaming hot 1/3 lb. all-beef franks, piled high with Chicago-style fixings, on bed of crispy golden french fries. I love my wife’s cooking, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I look forward to Wednesday night.
So I’m thinking about Lent and the first thing that pops in my mind is hot dogs. You know what the second thing was?
“No way!”
I love hot dogs! I wrote this sermon on hot dogs! Forty days? You gotta be kidding me. And then I think, “What? Jesus died for me, and I can’t give up hot dogs?” So now I’m stuck either way. Either I lose my hot dogs, or I feel guilty for forty days! Who’s dumb idea was this?
As a marketing ploy, Lent makes New Coke look like a good idea. But as a discipline, it’s gold. We talked last week about what Charlie Sheen and Jesus Christ have in common. Namely, that they’re both human. The way we lift up celebrities is a twisted shadow of the way we put Jesus on a pedestal. We miss the fact that he had fears and doubts, just like us. He was fully human. He identified with us completely, so that we could identify with him. We are to be little Christ’s. As he was for us, we are to be for others. Which is fully true, but it’s not the whole story.
Many scholars believe that the word Christian was first used by our enemies as a way to mock us. “Oh look at them. They think they’re little Christs, mini messiahs running around saving the world.” In fact, that “ianos” ending that they stuck on the end of Christ, Christ-ianos can have another connotation, slave of Christ. As in, “Look at them. They don’t think for themselves. They’re just little slaves of Christ. ‘Yes, master. Whatever you say, master.’” And the Christians said, “Thank you. That’s perfect.”
There’s online web-comic that I really enjoy. It’s called The Order of the Stick. The main characters are little stick figures who know they’re in a Dungeons and Dragons roll-playing game. One of the characters is a very devout follower of Thor, whose is name is Durkon. In one of my very favorite scenes, Durkon gets in over his head. He’s incapacitated in a dungeon full of monsters that want to eat him for supper. So he looks down at his little necklace that says WWTD, and thinks to himself, “What would Thor do?”
And in his little thought bubble, Thor steps down from the sky and says, “With my ultimate power of the thunders, I, Thor, smash this entire dungeon to shattered ruins, each piece no larger than a man’s fist. Then, I return to Asgard to woo goddesses and drink an ocean’s worth of beer. Huzzah!” And Durkon says, “Somehow, that “W.W.T.D” thing is never really as applicable to my situation as it’s supposed to be.”
Try as we might, there are things Jesus did that we can’t do. Jesus healed the sick. He touched the outcast. He fed the hungry. He humbled the mighty, and died on the cross an innocent man. I can’t even give up hot dogs!
People complain about hypocrisy in the church, but that’s not the real reason people reject Christianity. Hypocrisy is everywhere. If you’re waiting for a perfect club to join, you’re going to be looking a long time. And when you find it, they’re not going to let you in. Hypocrisy is just the convenient excuse. Who’s in favor of hypocrisy?
No, the real reason is that we hate coming to the table as anything less than equals. Jesus is the great physician, the good shepherd. He’s here for the lost and the hurting. Grace implies a benefactor. Forgiveness implies a wrong. The graffiti on the wall says, “Jesus Saves.” And in our hearts we reply, “From what?”
That’s where our Psalmist is. He tries to keep silent, doesn’t want to ask forgiveness. But he says that in his silence it’s as if his bones are on fire. He’s sapped of strength, as if God were pressing him down. So he changes his mind, and the song becomes a prayer.
“You are my hiding place. You always fill my heart with songs of deliverance. Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in you. I will trust in you. Let the weak say, ‘I am strong in the strength of the Lord.’ I will trust in you.”
And God responds. He says, “I will instruct you and teach you. I will lead you with my eye.” How do you lead someone with your eye? The second half of the couplet explains, “Don’t be like a mule that needs a bit and bridle.” God does not use force to control us. We are children of the king, not beasts of burden. We are co-heirs with Christ, citizens of the Kingdom of God, and it’s high time we acted like it.
There’s a lot of argument over Genesis. Is it a literal 7 days, or is it metaphorical? Frankly, I don’t care, because for preaching purposes, it doesn’t matter which way you read it. The point of the story is the same. Adam and Eve don’t want to be disobedient. They want to be like God, knowing good and evil.
And what’s the immediate result? 1. They feel shame at their own bodies. 2. They hide from God. 3. Adam blames Eve. Eve blames the snake. 4. An animal has to die so they can have skins for clothes. The point of the story is that sin breaks our relationship with ourselves, with each other, with God, and with nature. Sin is a tangling vine that starts as a seed, grows into a prison, and ends in death. If you eat this fruit, you will surely die, not immediately die, but surely.
Lent may be horrible marketing, but it’s great discipline, because it all comes from here. As your pastor, I don’t get to choose what habit you give up, or what new one you start. What am I going to do, check up on you? It all happens here.
We give something up, or start something new, and in the process we learn something about ourselves, about how we treat other people, about our relationship with God, about the hold that mere things have over us, and the carelessness with which we treat the world we’ve been given. It’s a great discipline, because it only takes 40 days to realize we don’t have it all together. We really could use a good shepherd, or a great physician. It’s a great discipline, because the only way God can lead you with his eye is if you keep your eyes on God.
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