Providing a Place for Resurrection to Happen

 

Good Friday

An innocent man falsely accused and punished by the state.  An insurrectionist released.  Public influencers manipulating the thoughts and actions of the people.  The initial Good Friday, occurring almost 2,000 years ago, disturbingly mirrors what is transpiring in our country in our own day and time.  The cast of characters may have changed, but the dynamic of the events from back then, which we gather at this noon hour to lament, are being replayed once again. 

More and more, people are asking me as their spiritual leader what they can do – what they should do – at an hour such as this.  I wish I could climb Mt. Sinai and return with ten directives etched in stone for folks to follow, but I can’t.  Ranting on social media may make you feel good for a moment, but affects very little change.  Contacting your congressional representatives likely is going to be met with a form-letter reply.  Arguing with a family and friends is worse than fruitless. 

I have clergy colleagues advocating for people in my position to speak up and speak out because silence means complicity.  I continue to weigh my ordination vow to boldly and prophetically proclaim the word of God with my vow to care for all people in the flock I serve, regardless of age, gender, race, sexual orientation, or political affiliation.  I continue to seek discernment on the tension between prophet and pastor, but again, Mt. Sinai has not weighed in with something definitive.

In the biblical account of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution, we read about Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimethea, two people whose witness has something to say to us.  Both are members of the Great Sanhedrin, a Jewish legislative and judicial assembly of seventy elders.  It is this body which tries Jesus and finds him guilty, a decision neither Joseph or Nicodemus endorses.  They represent for us what it looks like not to support the status quo and yet be powerless to affect a different outcome. 

At a great deal of personal risk and no little personal expense, they approach Pilate and request permission to give Jesus’ body a proper burial.  By tending to the body, in spite of all the chaos and insanity surrounding them, Joseph and Nicodemus find a moment and an opportunity to reaffirm basic human dignity; to hold true to the standards and time-honored sensibilities of the Hebrew tradition.  Their actions do not bring Jesus back to life.  They do not sway public sentiment.  They do not set wrongs.  But here is what they did do.  By setting Jesus’ body in a tomb they provide the setting for the Easter moment.  They provide a place for Resurrection to happen.

These days, more and more, I find myself reflecting on the Velvet Revolution, a series of 1989 events unfolding over six weeks in Czechoslovakia which led to the downfall of the Soviet-backed communist party and the election of Hàclav Havel, a poet and playwright, as the president of a free country.  The revolution was fueled by students and other dissidents who gathered nightly for prayer and the singing of hymns before going out onto the streets to conduct peaceful protests.  In less than a month, the movement, starting with a relatively small number, began to double daily, and eventually drew over a million people.  Czechoslovakia became the first domino to fall in what resulted in the fall of the Iron Curtain and the demolition of the Berlin Wall.  It would be impossible to pinpoint a specific factor which launched the Velvet Revolution, but it is fair to say what happened provided a place for Resurrection to happen.   

It seems every year I remind us the Good Friday liturgy calls the faithful to prayer, specially to the Solemn Collects.  They remind us now that as Jesus’ work is finished, ours begins… and it begins with prayer.  This year, a part of my prayer is our actions might provide a place for Resurrection to happen.      

A Mighty Purpose

 

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday / Year C

Luke 22:14-5:56

Have you watched any of the Master’s Tournament this weekend?  I haven’t, even though it is the most prestigious event in the golfing world.  The purpose of golf is pretty straightforward: hit the ball down the fairway toward the green and into the cup using the fewest strokes possible.  Some are better at it than others. 

What is the purpose of life?  The answer to this question is a bit less clear and varies from person to person.  In fact, how we answer – if we have an answer at all – may even vary from day to day and certainly shifts over the course of one’s life.  If we don’t know what the purpose of life is, how do we know if we are living it well?  In golf you have a scorecard.  It tells you how you are doing over the course of eighteen holes.  But what about life?  How do we measure the way we are living?

I read of a gentleman who upon meeting a person for the first time never asked conventional questions such as “What do you do for a living?” or “Where are you from?”  He asked people “What have you done that you believe in and are proud of?”  For some it is an unsettling question, but not for all.  One woman told him that she was doing a good job raising her three children.  A cabinetmaker told him, “I believe in good craftmanship and practice it.”  Another person told him she had started a flower shop and it was the best for miles around.”  Perhaps the first step to finding your purpose of life is to have a good answer to the question “What have you done that you believe in and are proud of?” 

Every year as I listen to the Passion reading I am always struck by how Jesus was in charge of nothing yet in control of everything.  He lived his life with purpose and with passion: healing the sick, calling the lost, forgiving the sinner, lifting up the outcast, challenging the proud, confronting the powerful, and proclaiming the presence of the Kingdom of God in the midst of a society that looked like anything but.  He knew who he was, he embraced his calling, and he accepted the consequences that came with it.

In the preface to his book Man and Superman, George Bernard Shaw wrote this:

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one: the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap, and being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. 

This quote helps me to understand why I so deeply admire Jesus.  He lived with a mighty purpose, he persisted to the end, and strove in all ways to make the world a better place.  I admire his singular clarity about living.  I suspect if we could ask Jesus what he had done that he believed in and what he was proud of, he would say he believed in the Kingdom of God and was proud of the way he lived and died for it.  Ralph Waldo Emerson, contemplating Jesus’ example, wrote, “The purpose of life is not to be happy, but to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived life and lived it well.”

As you listen again to the Passion of our Lord I wonder if you come away with the same sense I do, that your life is small in comparison.  It is not that we have to be the Messiah, the one who saves all humanity.  This is not our goal, our calling, or our purpose.  But don’t you sit back and wonder if you are doing great things well within your ability and doing them to the fullest?  The old evangelist Billy Sunday once noted more people fail through lack of purpose than lack of talent.  I suspect he is right. 

Jesus died because he had a purpose to his life; a purpose which called humanity to live as God intends and as a result he threatened those in power.  I am suggesting many of us fail to live because we have not discerned a great purpose in life; a purpose worthy of the name ‘Christian’ – a follower of Christ.

Perhaps you can identify with the main character in the Afghani author Khaled Hosseini’s novel And the Mountains Echoed who says,

The cities, the roads, the countryside, the people I meet – they all begin to blur.  I tell myself I am searching for something.  But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to.

For many of us Holy Week will be the most spiritual time of the year.  We will attend services, gather in fellowship, listen to the bible, and relive the last moments of our Lord’s life.  I encourage you to use this week to think about your purpose in life.  Perhaps your prayer can be, “O God, I want to be like Jesus.  Please guide me to something I can believe in that will honor you and make me proud of what I do.”

A Very Human Need

John 12:1-8

Lent 5 / Year C 

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard and anointed Jesus’ feet.” 

A little background on nard.  It comes from the root of a plant in the honeysuckle family which only grows in the Himalayas at an altitude roughly between 10,000-15,000 feet above sea level.  Its roots, when crushed and distilled, form a thick, amber-colored oil with a very pungent, musky aroma.  In biblical times this product was used to scent perfume, included in recipes, and added to wine.  In addition, it was an herbal medicine used to treat a wide variety of health conditions, everything from insomnia to depression to wound care.  And because it had such a powerful, lingering fragrance, it was used in the burial process to mask the odor of decay.  Rare and expensive at the time, we are blessed to live in an age when you can purchase pure nard on Amazon as an oil, an air freshener, and even as a roll on starting at $11.99 on up.

In John’s gospel, Mary’s action, like most every other event he records, is deeply symbolic.  Jesus himself sees it as foreshadowing of own burial which is less than a week away.  But, as with the other signs, what holds deep significance also has a very practical, very human purpose.  The water turned to wine at Cana signals new life, but it is also a basic staple of a celebration. The water at the well in Samaria points to the living water Jesus makes available through the Spirit, but is also a refreshing drink at the noon hour on a blistering day.  The wine and bread at the Last Supper represent Christ’s body and blood, but at a fundamental level provides nourishment to a group of hungry people.   

Mary’s action addresses a very human need.  Jesus’ feet are dirty.  They ache.  They may have bruises or blisters or abrasions.  Taken at this level, what she does is thoughtful and kind.  It is a kind of grace, unneeded and yet much appreciated.  It is just one of those things which makes life easier to bear by easing a little bit of another person’s burden.  You never know when a simple act offered at just the right time will be for another an enormous source of relief and encouragement in the struggle which is life.

I do not consider myself to be the most attentive, situationally aware of the needs of others kind of person, but there are times when I do pick up on something and find myself inspired to act; and yes, I use the word ‘inspired’ intentionally because the impulse to do a specific thing to help another most often comes ‘to’ me, not from ‘within’ me.  Pilgrimages helped me with this.  I tended to finish each day’s walk before many in our group and, after resting a bit, I often backtracked (particularly on the long, difficult days) to welcome in those who, unaware, were closing in on the day’s destination, saying, “You are almost there!”  It was a small gesture, but always appreciated.

Mary’s gesture is much deeper than this.  In the culture at the time, her action speaks of humility, devotion, and service; with perhaps devotion being most significant to her.  Jesus had healed her father Simon of leprosy.  She sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him teach while her sister Martha stewed in the kitchen.  And, after her brother Lazarus had been in the grave for several days, Jesus brought him back to life.  Yes, she is deeply devoted to Jesus and is keenly attuned to his needs.  The nard must have felt luxurious as she applied it to his feet.  And more than one commentator suggests its scent would have lingered long enough for Jesus to sense it even as he hung on the cross. 

In Mary we have a model of thoughtfulness and selflessness, sacrificing an alabaster jar of expensive nard which some commentators posit was a dowry, others a retirement investment.  And a good sermon might end with the preacher encouraging listeners to be like Mary, maybe even pointing out whatever act of compassion you offer to another you extend to Jesus as well.  It is a lesson worth keeping in mind to be sure.

But what does Jesus model for us to emulate?  He shows us what it is like to be human – to be physically tired, to be sore to the core, to be done in by the demands of the daily round.  He is aware of how he feels and receptive to an effort to ease what ails him.  He embraces the ministry of another’s care because he, like us, has physical needs.  

Throughout Lent we have been focusing on the metaphor of pilgrimage.  To see yourself as a pilgrim is to acknowledge life begins, continues, and ends in God.  Of the three, continues is the most challenging.  From time to time, we find ourselves physically spent, emotionally drained, and spiritually dry.  Jesus knows this because he knew it in his own life.  He willingly accepted Mary’s thoughtful and compassionate act.  His posture invites us to welcome gladly the grace others extend.  And it reminds us to seek refreshment at the Lord’s Table, where our Heavenly Companion offers us a balm which lingers long to meet our every need.

No Longer from a Human Point of View

 

2 Corinthians 5:16-21 & Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Lent 4 / Year C

St. Paul writes, “From now on we regard no one from a human point of view.”  We might want to ask, “What is a human point of view?” and “What has changed so that we no longer categorize people in this way?”

Well, let me illustrate what a human point of view looks like.  Years ago I officiated a wedding and after the service, the wedding party went off to take pictures at a lovely city park featuring a picturesque lake with a charming arched bridge crossing at its narrowest point.  At least 30 other parties were there for the exact same reason.  And, as you can imagine, the bridge was a setting very much in demand.  Each individual group might hold it for twenty minutes or more as a photographer clicked away from every possible angle.  As soon as one wedding party vacated the bridge another pounced to get it.  All in all, the scene was quite comical, like something out of a Monty Python movie.  At one point I heard a photographer scream, “The bridge is empty.  If we most fast we can take it!”, launching a full-on sprint by a young woman in a wedding dress with her new husband hard charging right behind her.

The people gathered in the park that afternoon could have regarded one another by any number of perspectives they shared in common: all were young, all were celebrating a new marriage, all are members of the human family.  But how did they view one another?  As combatants seeking to occupy the same ground.  This is one snapshot of what it looks like to regard another from a human point of view.

Why does Paul say “we” no longer regard any person from a human point of view?  Because we are “in Christ”, made a new creation by embracing God’s reconciling love for us.  Everything about us before, including perceiving others from “a human point of view”, has passed away.  We now see the world in an entirely new light.  We see every person as God sees them.

And there is no better illustration of God’s perspective than today’s gospel reading… Jesus’ parable known as the Prodigal Son.  We find in the father’s love for his wayward son an image of God’s love for us.  Based on the father’s behavior we learn God grants us enough leeway to choose our own path (even when it can be destructive), is longsuffering as we stray, and receives us with open arms whenever we return.  Why?  Because from God’s point of view we are beloved, not because we earn it, but because we are.  No conditions are attached.  Our proper response to God’s unconditional love is to come home, or as Paul says, to “be in Christ.” 

In the elder brother we see what it looks like to regard another from a human point of view.  He sees his younger sibling in the full, unvarnished light of all his misdeeds, slights, foolish decisions, and willful disobedience.  And this is not an inaccurate assessment.  He describes his brother perfectly from a human point of view.  And did you notice how he sees himself from the same perspective?  He thinks of himself as being hard working, deserving on account of his loyalty and sacrifice, and (most of all) underappreciated.  And again, from a human point of view, he calculates his value accurately.  But the father’s calculation, like God’s, begins and ends with his unfailing love for each of his sons. 

Paul says we who are in Christ now view everyone from this perspective.  In fact, we are appointed as ambassadors to manifest this in the world and to proclaim it to all people… especially to Tyrell Montrel Echolas, a 40-year-old from Tennessee. 

Why do I mention him?  Because last Wednesday he began to send text messages to our parish members claiming to be me, pretending I needed money to for some pastoral need.  It was, of course, a scam and I know several of you were confused by it.  Someone shared with me information about Mr. Echolas garnered from a web service (including the fact he has 62 criminal infractions and has been in prison multiple times).

Armed with this report, I thought about calling him directly and giving him a piece of my mind.  From a worldly point of view, he deserved it.  But, because at the time I also was pondering what Paul wrote, I began to wonder what it would look like to approach him as an ambassador for Christ charged with sharing how God sees him as beloved.  I didn’t figure out what Ambassador Keith should do before I learned from one of you his phone is not set up to receive calls.  Still, I ponder the question because Paul says I should no longer view Tyrell from a human point of view.

One of the blessings of being a pilgrim on the Camino is how it transforms the way you experience others who are walking the Way with you, be they companions or total strangers.  The earthly perspectives of age, gender, nationality, physical condition, and more, gives way to a realization we are all on a spiritual journey.  It is a connection which becomes palatable as arriving pilgrims gather in the square in front of the Cathedral in Santiago.  We all had finished what we had set out to do and each one of us was in some way transformed by the experience.  Sensing this bond gives insight in what it looks like to see one another from God’s point of view.

We who are in Christ aim to live life informed by this reality.  We don’t need Mr. Echolas to remind us it can be a real challenge.  But still, with every step we take in the pilgrimage of life, we begin to connect with others from a perspective not merely human.  Gradually, more and more, our lives begin to embody one of my favorite prayers in the prayer book:

“Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of fellowship and show us your presence in those who differ most from us” (p. 840).   

From now on, we regard no one from a human point of view.

Finding God in a Game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors

 

Exodus 3:1-15

Lent 3 / Year C

Lindsey Godwin, a college professor, writes about a family vacation at the Grand Canyon.  After the adventure was over, she asked her children about their favorite memory from the trip, supposing it might be standing on the edge of an awe-inspiring natural wonder or stargazing a night sky unpolluted by human light.  But no, their highlight moment was winning a stuffed monkey from a claw game at a hotel arcade.  After all the hours of planning, enduring the inevitable snafus which come up while travelling, and paying for it all, Godwin says she had hoped for something more impactful than this.

As a parent, I have been there.  I suspect you have too.  Still, I can relate to her children because of my experience on our pilgrimage on the Portuguese Way of the Camino.  At one point I encountered a local family enjoying a walk together on a beautiful day.  Even though I didn’t speak their language I recognized two of the boys were playing a game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors.  I can’t remember how I communicated it, but somehow I let on I knew the game and wanted to play.  And so it began: Paper, Rock, Scissors – shoot.  And just that quickly I won.  I can’t even begin to tell you how disheartened the little boy was.  Apparently, he enjoyed winning much more than I enjoy besting a small child at anything.  Now, I am not in the habit of asking God for miracles, but at that moment I prayed, “Please, please, please, dear sweet little baby Jesus, humble and mild, if you can hear me, I only ask one thing: don’t let me win the next game.”  Round 2: Paper, Rock, Scissors – shoot.  I shot paper while he had scissors.  I can still visualize his celebration dance and unvarnished joy and I remember how it reaffirmed my belief in the Nicene Creed and all things orthodox.

The Paper, Rock, Scissors Champion of the Camino

Like the stuffed animal from the claw game, why is this one of my most profound memories of that pilgrimage?  If the trip’s brochure would have advertised this to be the zenith of my experience, I never would have signed up.  And yet, it is one of my most cherished, enduring memories.

Graham says it is an example of what psychologists refer to as the “peak-end rule.”  It suggests we tend not to remember the totality of a grand undertaking but focus more on the peak moments.  But here is the catch, these peak moments typically are not the pinnacle, majestic, experiences, but ordinary moments you notice and savor.  Graham writes, “Research… on well-being… shows that happiness isn’t found in once-in-a-lifetime experiences, but in small, meaningful moments.”  

All of this may seem counter to today’s first reading from the Book of Exodus.  Moses is on Mt. Horeb and he is in the midst of doing a very ordinary thing (tending to his flock of sheep) at a most ordinary location (a non-descript mountain on the Saini Peninsula whose main distinguishing feature seems to be its parched landscape - the word horeb means ‘very dry’).  So, in this sense, he is merely tending to the daily round when the most extraordinary thing happens.  God becomes manifest to him in a bush on fire yet not consumed by the flame.  It is perhaps the single best-known encounter between a human and the Divine in all of scripture.  It truly is a peak experience. 

You might think it is so overwhelming Moses can do nothing other than to be drawn into it, but the text tells us he has to look aside from what he is doing in order to see the bush and then must decide to investigate it.  It is a small detail, yet it reminds us how Moses, like all pilgrims, is open to discerning God’s presence in mundane moments and times.  Who knows how many other shepherds had passed by this site yet failed to apprehend in it what Moses discerns.            

Do you know the story of St. Martin of Tours?  He grows up in the 4^th century during a time when Christianity has become a legal religion, but hardly embraced by Rome’s ruling elite class.  Martin, being the son of a veteran officer, is required to join a cavalry at the age of 15 and three years later is sent to a select unit assigned to protect the emperor.  At some point during this period in his life, Martin decides to be baptized.  While still in his training period, as he is riding into the French city of Amiens, he comes upon a scantily clad beggar.  Without hesitation, Martin cuts his military cloak in two, giving one half to the beggar to keep him warm.  That night, he dreams Jesus, wearing the beggar’s cloak, is telling angels how Martin had given it to him.  What begins as a simple act of kindness and compassion has become an example which continues to inspire the faithful to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

When you understand your life to be a pilgrimage, you become especially attentive to the ordinary moments of life, expecting them to be extraordinary opportunities to find joy and meaning in our life.  And while you may never come across a burning bush like Moses did, each day is filled with God’s presence, even in something as ordinary as a game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors. 

Destination & Uncertainty

 

Luke 13:31-35

Lent 2 / Year C

Daniel Boone, the 18^th century frontiersman, was known for going off into the wilderness on hunting expeditions which lasted for weeks or even months.  More than once he was gone so long his family thought he was dead.  Once a friend asked him if it was difficult to find his way in such a remote, unforgiving land.  “Well,” Boone replied, “I can tell you I have never been lost.”  Then he added, “But I do confess to having been confused for weeks at a time.”  

Uncertainty is a certain feature of life.  It happened every day on each of my three pilgrimages when, after walking for some time, the typical markers guiding the pilgrim’s way were nowhere to be found (a sure and certain sign I had missed a turn somewhere).  And it happens from time to time on our pilgrimage through life.  We find we are not where we expect to be, have little or no idea how we got here, and don’t have a clue how to find our way back on track. 

Abraham is a perfect example of this.  God has promised to make his descendants more numerous than the stars, but, as the years go by, it is not at all clear how this is going to come to fruition given he and his wife are old, getting older, and have no children.  What the path from where they are to where God promises one day they will be is a vexing concern to Abraham. 

This can make for great filmmaking when a movie begins by showing you the end, then develops the story by tracing how the main characters get to the climactic scene.  But what makes for wonderful cinema does not always translate well to life.  As I said last week, viewing your life as a pilgrimage means embracing the notion your life begins in God, moves forward with God, and ends in God.  It means living with the assurance every step you take brings you closer to your ultimate destination.  But there are times, as we see this morning with Abraham, when we begin to doubt how we will find the way to our destination.

Each morning on each of our pilgrimages, we began with a briefing of what to expect on the day’s walk.  It included such things as significant hills we would climb, cafes we would pass along the way, the total number miles we would be walking, and where the day was going to end… our destination. 

About half of the days, like Daniel Boone, I found myself “confused.”  I knew where I was supposed to end up, but I wasn’t sure where I was, and I certainly did not know how to get from wherever I was to where I was supposed to be.  Thank goodness for cell phone coverage and GPS, which often gave rise to another important, deeply spiritual question: How on earth did I get here when I am supposed to be over there (which strikes me as a great topic to pursue in another sermon, but strays from today’s focus on destination and uncertainty)? 

So, let’s stay focused on destination.  What is the ultimate destination of our pilgrimage which ends in God?  There are many different images and metaphors for where we are headed.  The Burial Office in the Prayer Book draws on one of my favorites.  The Rite II Prayer of Thanksgiving following the receiving of communion has us pray this:

We thank you for your assurance of our place at your heavenly banquet, which is our holy destination.

The Rite I version puts it this way:

We thank thee that in thy great love thou hast fed us with the spiritual food and drink of the Body and Blood of thy Son Jesus Christ and hast given unto a foretaste of thy heavenly banquet.

When you receive communion do you experience it as foretaste of your ultimate destination?  Do you conceive of it as a way of gathering around the Lord’s Table with all those you love but see no longer?  On our pilgrimages on the Camino and the Way of St. Cuthbert I knew every day was going to end with us sitting around tables, relaxing at a local café.  So too, God promises our earthly pilgrimage will end sitting at a Table with Christ (our gracious host) and all the saints (our eternal dining companions).  What we experience in part every Sunday one day we will know in full.

This is our promised destination but there are times when it does not feel at all certain.  We lose our way.  Our progress gets impeded.  Our stamina and strength slip away.  The way forward is unclear or seems impossible.  You may not doubt the ultimate destination, but the way to go get there is most certainly uncertain. 

Abraham was in such a place.  And God’s answer to him was as simple and direct as “Have faith.”  Abraham did and God was pleased.  It sounds simple and trite, but faith is the marker you need to help you find your way forward with God. 

During his fight for justice and equality, Martin Luther King certainly wondered how he would ever get to the destination when the path he chose was so riddled with challenge, resistance, and violence.  So he always drew on his faith, which he described as taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.  It is being brave enough to trust even though the details are not spelled out or nailed down.  God says to us, “Eventually this path will get you to where you want to be.  Are you willing to go if I walk it with you?”

Here is one final thought.  Ponder the difference between a diary or journal and a memoire.  A diary records what is happening in the moment.  It captures all of one’s emotion is real time, all the worry, all the fear, all the pain, all the doubt.  A memoire looks back and reflects on all you have been through and what you learned along the way.  It is much easier to see the hand of God at work when one looks back than it is to see in the present moment. 

Put another way, sitting in a café at the end of the day reflecting with fellow pilgrims on the day’s most strenuous climb was very different from standing at the foot of an incredibly steep hill and wondering how I was going to muster the strength to climb it. 

“God, be my help” is a prayer.  “God will help me” is a statement of faith.  “God was with me” is a testimony.  When Abraham could not see the way forward he set out in faith.  Only in hindsight does he make sense of how it all came to be.  As you look back over your life, when have you acted in faith?  What do you tell others about it?  And, is there a step you need to take today, but have been reluctant (for whatever reason) to take it?

"...with God's Help!"

 

Luke 4:1-13

Lent 1 / Year C

“Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin repent and return to God?”  “I will, with God’s help.”      

This year’s Lenten theme is pilgrimage.  It invites us to see life not as some tedious, pointless undertaking or as a self-centered enterprise where everyone’s sole purpose is to maximize one’s own personal experience, but as a journey which begins in God, goes forward with God, and ends in God.  And as I said on Ash Wednesday, I plan to use this motif to interpret the appointed lessons during our Lenten pilgrimage as we walk with Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem and to the Cross.

So we begin today, as we do on the first Sunday of every Lent, by reading about Jesus being tempted in the wilderness.  It points to something true in everyone’s life… namely, you cannot go through life without being tried and tested.  And it becomes especially acute once you have committed yourself to a particular purpose or practice.  As a trivial example, before I gave up chocolate for Lent I was never tempted not to treat myself to a sweet snack.  I simply felt an urge and indulged.  Now that I have committed to abstain during Lent, the pangs come often and temptation is as near as the bakery department at Publix.

Our pilgrimage in and to God is no different.  Once you are baptized and commit yourself to live in accord with the renunciations, affirmations, and commitments of its covenant the testing begins.  If you take your allegience to Christ seriously and if you intend to walk the pilgrim’s way then you can count on obstacles, just as surely as those of us who have gone on walking pilgrimages can count on sore feet, tired legs, bad weather, and heavy loads (none of which seem to happen if you opt to spend your vacation lounging around a pool while reading a book and taking advantage of the all-inclusive drink package). 

So, here is one thing we learn from today’s reading: trials and testing are inevitable.  Here is another thing we learn: there are ample spiritual resources to help see us through.

Before I made my first pilgrimage on the Camino, my friend Dale (yes, the same Dale with the packing protocol radically different from his wife’s) took me to an R.E.I. store to get outfitted.  If you are not familiar with it, R.E.I. stand for Recreational Equipment, Inc., but I think it stands for Really Expensive Inventory!  Dale took me through the process of buying a backpack, hiking shoes, wicking-fabric clothing, blister resistant socks, rain gear, a water filtration system, and so much more.  I will say, with the exception of the filtration gizmo which I never used, all of these resources proved to be immensely helpful on our 15-18 mile per day walks.

When Jesus responds to every temptation by quoting Scripture he points to one of the resources God makes available to us.  Our Ash Wednesday liturgy highlighted several more: self-examination and repentance, prayer, fasting, self-denial, and reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.  In a letter to the Church in Philippi, Paul compares the spiritual resources of truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the word of God to armament worn by a soldier (6:11-18) and just as you would not even think of going into battle without being properly outfitted, neither should you attempt to face tests and trials without taking on what God provides.  To the church in Ephesus Paul describes what God provides as being the fruit of the Spirit (5:2).  They include love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.

We Episcopalians are not particularly good about reaching out to God for spiritual help.  I think it is in our DNA going all the way back to Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, the architect of the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549.  He believed if people knew the 10 Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Nicene Creed most often most of the time they would know what to do and would do it.  This is why so many of our colonial era churches have what we have in our chapel: tablets with the words of these three teachings inscribed on them.  What I like about Cranmer’s thinking is this: we are not helpless agents who are not responsible for our foibles contending we simply have no power to do any different.  We have all the direction we need and are fully capable of giving it heed.  What I don’t like about his thinking is this: too often, when we are at our wit’s end, the message we hear is “buckle down on your own and try harder to be a better person.”

Let me suggest a mantra for us to use on our Lenten journey straight from the prayer book, right out of the baptismal covenant to repeat over and over again, especially when we are tried and tested: “I will, with God’s help.”  It’s such a wonderful synthesis between the tension of personal responsibility and our need to rely on God.  I will… with God’s help.  It confesses I am committed, and I have spiritual resources to help me do more than I can do on my own. 

One of my favorite verses for pilgrims is Isaiah 40:3: “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength.  They shall mount up like eagles with wings of great length.  They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”  It reaffirms God is a present help for all who look to heaven for the provisions necessary for life’s journey.  “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin repent and return to God?”  “I will, with God’s help.”