Ash Wedneday Reflection

I started this Ash Wednesday reflection last week because I knew this particular week would be very busy, and I wanted to be prepared. But no matter how much I read, no matter how much I tried to weave some very deep theological points in with a little humor to offset the solemn nature of this day, nothing I wrote really felt right to me.

Our church’s Anniversary weekend this past weekend, however, started the old wheels turning again as I took yet another look around at the diversity of our membership—younger, older, men, women, black, white, Hispanic, straight, gay, transgendered, bisexual, and undecided. Not only that, we have a ton of spiritual traditions in our midst. We have Catholic. We have just about the full buffet of Protestant traditions, and we have Native American spiritual traditions represented in our membership, as well.

What that means for us is that our understanding of Lent runs the spectrum. This point was driven home to me yesterday as I substituted at a local middle school. The teacher with whom I was working asked the simple question, “How does your church celebrate Lent?” And as surprised as I KNOW some of you are going to be, at first I was left speechless. I finally gave her a lame textbook answer about the practicing of giving something up, while not actually requiring our members to do so.

But, her question has stuck in my mind. “How does your church celebrate Lent?” Given the diversity of our congregation, the most accurate—and painful—answer is, “We don’t.” At least not as a church family.

Of course, some folks may respond to my comment by saying something like, “But pastor! We’re MCC! We don’t fit any church’s mold of religious practice! We’re free to be the people God has called us to be—ashes or not.” Our people with more evangelical backgrounds tend to be uncomfortable with the more traditional church practices like wearing robes, and especially the more somber parts of the church year. Therefore, they tend not to participate in services like Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, or Good Friday. For these people, the church year is all about Easter and Christmas. Also, some of us have been taught to be ashamed of who we are, who we love, who God created us to be. So, anything that smells of shaming, we tend to avoid like the plague.

Our evangelical sisters and brothers do make some good points, however. First, we are free to be the people God has called us to be, and sitting in sackcloth and ashes like our ancestors from the Old Testament does not make us any holier. At the same time, though, there is much more to the church year than Easter and Christmas. Jesus was born, yes, but as fully human, that meant he had to die. Yes, Jesus rose again, but the road to the resurrection goes through the cross.

Other folks with more Catholic or traditional-liturgical backgrounds dive into seasons like Lent with a passion—the more somber the better! 40 days of penitence and ashes—doesn’t get much better than that! These sisters and brothers tend to give up all kinds of things—from alcohol to tobacco to chocolate. With this mindset, denying ourselves certain luxuries of life enables us to appreciate the plight of the poor, the hungry, the homeless, and the addicted.

These folks make some good points, too. While God does love each and every one of us, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a healthy sense of responsibility that causes us to stop and take an inventory of our lives. And if it takes wearing sackcloth and sitting in some ashes for 40 days to make that happen—then so be it! If we need to give something up to kick start a reflective process—go for it!

At the same time, there is more to Lent than giving up something we like and beating ourselves up for sins past and present. After all, giving up alcohol for 40 days might give us a good head start on recovery; but if we don’t plan to stick with it after the 40 days of Lent, what’s the point? Giving up one meal a week might make us think about hungry people; but if we don’t take those thoughts and translate them into action, what’s the point?

In the end, Lent is not an “either or” proposition. Lent is “both and.” It is good and it is right—although somewhat painful—to stop and take a personal, and communal inventory of our lives. The ashes we take on Lent remind us of our mortality, of our place in the world, that we do not know it all, that we are part of the created order, and not the Creator—a fact of which we need to be reminded often.

But that is not the end of the story.

We are also spirit, and as such, we belong to God, who scripture tells us is Spirit. What this truth tells me is that while we will all die one day, our spirit will live again another day. During Lent, my prayer is that, as individuals, we use whatever practices that are useful to us to begin the process of dying—dying to practices that are harmful to ourselves and to others—practices like racism, sexism, homophobia, emotional and physical abuse, addiction, and attitudes of chronic negativity. But I also pray that we rise again on the other side with healthier spirits filled with the warmth, grace, and peace of the Holy Spirit.

As communities of faith, my prayer is that in this season of Lent, we do more than go through the motions of reflection and worship. My prayer is that in this season of Lent our communities of faith dig deeper, and begin the process of dying—dying to negative and defeatist attitudes, dying to the spirit of, “We can’t,” and rising on the other side with the Holy Spirit power of, “With God’s help, we can!”

And above all, may God create in each of us—and in our communities of faith—a clean heart, and a new and right spirit.

God bless you and amen.

February 13th

Least Likely to Succeed

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18



High school is probably one of the most potentially traumatic times of our lives. Now I realize that is a pretty strong statement. However, based on conversations I have had with a variety of people throughout the years, it is clear to me that very few people have had uneventful high school years. My very unscientific research has further led me to believe that there are really only two groups of kids in high school—at least there were when I was growing up.

The first group was the “Popular Kids.” You know the ones. The jocks; the impossibly attractive, clear-skinned kids, the kids whose parents bought them new cars at age 16; the homecoming queens and kings. If you were in this group, you could cut classes at will, smoke in the bathrooms, and STILL not serve one day of detention! Faculty, staff, and other students practically worshipped the ground these young people walked on—or so it seemed.

Then there was the rest of us.

For some of us, it seemed that we never had a pimple until the first day of our freshman year. Then, on that day, our faces exploded into one big zit. We gained 50 pounds. Some of us couldn’t even BUY a date for the prom! And why did it seem that the one or two times we tried to be cool by cutting class, we ALWAYS got busted? The only saving grace for some of us was we were reasonably intelligent and did the homework of some of the popular kids—using the wrong answers! Ah! Sweet revenge! That is, of course, until you were cornered in the locker room after gym class, and subjected to the ultimate punishment. No, not a beating; not a stabbing; not a shooting. I’m talking about the ultimate humiliation—the wedgie!

But probably the worst high school experience—at least for me—was the Year Book. That was the time of year when your social ranking—or lack thereof—was documented for historical purposes.

Do you remember some of the categories? Although I went to a school that was about 35% African-American, the couple voted “Most Likely to Succeed” was ALWAYS a picture-perfect white couple—as were the Homecoming Kings and Queens for each class. I could never figure that one out—at least until I got a little older.

Have you ever wondered why there was never a “Least Likely To” category? I could’ve made at least one of those--Least Likely to Survive Rope Climbing in Gym Class!

Now what in the world does any of this have to do with our reading in Genesis for today? Especially when we consider the human subject of the reading is none other than Abram—later called Abraham—otherwise known as “The Father of Faith.” Talk about most likely to succeed!

But not always. Let’s take a quick look at Abram before his rise to biblical fame. In chapter 12 of Genesis, God calls Abram to “go to the land that he (God) would show him.” God promises Abram that He will bless him, and make Abram the father of a great nation, as well as make Abram a blessing to others.

Now at the time of his calling, Abram wasn’t exactly dirt poor. He had a certain amount of livestock, as well as an extended family that had joined him in Haran. But financially speaking, Abram wasn’t what we would call anything special.

Well, even if he wasn’t rich, Abram had to be a man of great honesty for God to call him, right? Not necessarily—at least not in the beginning. We see while in Egypt, Abram lied to Pharaoh, and told him his wife Sarai was actually his sister in order to save his own skin! But after God sent a plague on Pharaoh’s family, Pharaoh became wise to the deception and sent Abram, Sarai, and their crew out of the country—with many gifts of livestock and servants.

By the time we reach our reading for today, Abram is much wealthier than he was at the time of his calling. Abram has also become a bit of a military hero by rescuing his nephew Lot from an evil alliance of kings led by King Kedorlaomer, and has even been blessed by the high priest Melchizedek. Now things are beginning to look up for Abram, right?

Not really. See, in Abram’s time and culture, a big part of a man’s success was determined by the size of his family—particularly the number of sons he had. Since scripture tells us Sarai was well past child bearing age, even with all these awards, in the eyes of at least some of Abram’s peers, he was probably still seen as “LEAST likely to succeed.”

By the tone of the reading today, it appears at first Abram himself may have been feeling a little bit like “Mr. Least Likely to Succeed.” Abram had responded faithfully to God’s call, and God had taken care of him so far; but without children, what good would any of that be? Without what gives honor, an heir, no gift will matter. Who knows? Maybe in Abram’s mind, he was still a loser.

Abram’s considerations brought him to the point we so often reach. Life is sometimes a tragic affair. It is sometimes full of loneliness, broken hopes, irresolvable conflicts, painful illnesses, and death. God tells us that He loves us, and we try to believe it; but then we look at the world around us and say, “Does it really matter?” “I can’t do anything about all of this.”

Maybe that’s the whole point. Let me explain.

Scripture tells us that God took Abram outside to look at the sky. God told Abram to count the stars—if he could—and God promised that Abram’s descendants would be like those stars. Think about it. Stars were—and still are--unable to be counted. Stars are also part of God’s creation for which God—not Abram and certainly not us—is responsible. Whenever God makes a promise, it is God’s to fulfill, and God doesn’t need our help to decide how He is going to fulfill it, or WHO He is going to use to fulfill it. Amen?

Scripture goes on to tell us that at that moment, Abram believed, and God reckoned it to him as righteousness. The word “reckoned” in the Hebrew has priestly connotations, and it means a gift has been properly offered. In other words, Abram’s gift of belief was the appropriate proper response to God’s promise.

It has been said that it is this moment—when Abram believed-- when Abram received what had been around him all along—God’s love for him as the human being he was. Abram had tried so hard to act in ways that illustrated he was open to doing what God wanted him to do. After all, when God first called him to go, Abram left without question.

Yes, Abram was dishonest with Pharaoh to save his own skin. But then he took care of his nephew Lot by rescuing him from King Kedorlaomer, and even tithed a full 10% of the spoils of his victory to the high priest Melchizedek.

But none of that mattered to God.

God didn’t say to Abram, “Because you have done thus and so, I am going to reward you.” God didn’t say to Abram, “Because you tithed that 10%, I am going to make you a great nation.” God also didn’t say to Abram, “Because of that deception in Egypt, the whole deal is off,” either.

The point here is despite Abram’s worthiness or unworthiness, he was accepted by God. God wasn’t as concerned about Abram’s past as God was concerned about humanity’s future—God had chosen Abram to be part of God’s plan for humanity’s future, and Abram responded to God’s choice in faith.

So it is with us. God doesn’t care whether or not we were voted “most likely to succeed” in high school. God doesn’t care whether we thought of as “least likely to succeed,” either. It is our response to God’s offer of saving grace that matters.

The first move is God’s—always—and the appropriate response from us is faith—always. A faith that includes questions? Yes, Abram had them. A faith that even includes doubts? Yes. History is full of people of faith who had doubts from time to time. Theologian Paul Tillich even tells us that “Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith.” But the appropriate response to God’s offer is still always faith.

Can we do that?

Can we trust a promise from God that cannot be measured by reason or history? That’s what grace is, you know. Can we combine that trust with a willingness to nevertheless enter the adventure of life—as crazy as that adventure may sound at times?

Well, I guess we’ll never know until we try, now will we?

Like Abram, may we, too, respond to God’s offer of saving grace with the one response that will be reckoned to us as righteousness. Let us believe. Let us respond to God in faith.

God bless you and amen.