sermon – Page 20

Radical Vulnerability

February 28, 2024 By Vicar at Mount Olive

Midweek Lent, 2024 ☩ Love One Another ☩ Week 2: Confess Your Sins to One Another

Vicar Lauren Mildahl
Texts: James 5:13-18, Luke 18:10-14

God’s beloved, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Jewish sage Hillel the Elder was once challenged to explain the whole Torah – but to do it so simply that he would do it in the amount of time that he could balance on one foot. And his famous response was: “That which is hateful to you, do not do unto your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary; go and learn.” (You couldn’t tell but I did that one foot!)

In much the same way, a good amount of the New Testament, especially the Epistles, can be summed up in three words: Love One Another.

The rest is commentary. And today we hear some rather challenging “commentary” on loving one another from the Epistle of James: confess your sins to one another.

Now, I think it is clear from the passage that James isn’t really talking about confessing your sin to someone you have wronged, though it is important and very challenging to come face to face with someone you have hurt, to confess and to ask forgiveness, to make amends and repair the relationship. That is a vitally important practice and also something we are commanded to do in scripture.

But that doesn’t seem to be what this passage is about. The instruction to “confess your sins to one another,” doesn’t come in the context of repairing a specific relationship. It comes in the context of care for the entire community. Particularly caring for those that might be absent from the community.

“Are any among you suffering?” James asks. “Are any among you sick?” Who are the vulnerable among you?

Who is isolated from the community?

Sickness can be terribly isolating – I think all of us remember that from the pandemic well enough. But even when a complete lockdown and medical quarantine isn’t necessary, sickness still keeps you away from family and friends, from work or school or church, from the life-giving connections with other people. Suffering, too; sometimes that is the worst part of suffering, being unable to share it. Maybe because you don’t want to be a burden, or maybe because you resent the people that don’t suffer or who don’t understand your suffering. Suffering, like sickness, is isolating.

And so is sin. Lying, stealing, injuring, exploiting, envying, hating, hoarding–every way we are hurting one another, depriving one another, ignoring one another, and severing our connections with one another–it isolates us. And even if you aren’t the person I’m directly hurting, if you catch me lying to someone else, will you trust me? If I hate a different kind of person, but not you, will you want me around? Breaking one relationship is pretty much bound to break another. Until all that’s left is isolation.

James sees the dangers of isolation, whether it’s caused by suffering, sickness, or sin.

And his remedy to address the isolation of the vulnerable is to lean even more into radical vulnerability. To recreate community by inviting others into our weaknesses. If you are sick, James says, call the elders so they can pray over you and anoint you. If you are struggling with a sin, confess it to someone else and let others pray for you. And it struck me that this advice is not actually so much about how to love one another, but how to allow yourself to be loved. Shine a spotlight on your weaknesses and invite others to love you through them.

And, I’ll have to admit, that sounds terrifying.

It sounds about a million times easier to pray for someone else than to be prayed for. To visit the sick, rather than be visited. To be the one loving rather than to be the one opening myself up to be loved by speaking up. The Psalmist wrote that “While I held my tongue, my bones withered away,” but speaking of my sins and my weaknesses and my failings–exposing my wounds and everything I am least proud of–that doesn’t seem very good for my bones either! The cure is worse than the disease.

And it can be. I’ve heard horror stories of spiritually abusive spaces and traumatizing practices in the name of encouraging people to “confess their sins to one another.” I’m not asking you to relive your traumas or just dump them on other people. There is wisdom and discernment involved in seeking the right kind of care in the right kind of structure – like a support group or a prayer partner. I want to name that.

And another way I think we can often go wrong is by leaving out the crucial part of the puzzle: it’s not a one-sided thing. Confess your sins to one another. Pray for one another. Each and every one to another.

Because radical vulnerability – that only works with radical mutuality.

I confess to you. You confess to me. We confess to one another. We hold one another.

What really stands out to me in the parable that Jesus tells in Luke is that these two men, the Pharisee and the tax collector, is that they are both standing in the Temple by themselves. They aren’t praying in community. They aren’t praying for one another. They are both isolated. The Pharisee is isolated by the sin of his pride: “Thank God I’m not like those people.” And the tax collector by his guilt: “God be merciful to me, a sinner!”

And the last verse (as it is usually translated), leaves them in opposition: “I tell you, this man [that is, the tax collector] went down to his home justified rather than the other…” They are still apart, still isolated.

But the commentator Amy-Jill Levine offers a different reading. She focuses on one of the prepositions “para” – from which we get our English word “parallel.” She writes: “That pesky Greek preposition para…can mean ‘rather than;’ it can also mean ‘because of’…or ‘set side by side’. Its primary connotation is not one of antagonism (‘rather’) but one of juxtaposition (‘next to’).”

And I find a glimmer of hope hidden in that little word. What if they went down to their homes side by side? What if we imagine the end of that parable instead treated with James’ remedy of radical vulnerability and mutuality?

The Pharisee, admitting his struggles to the tax collector, confessing how hard it was to keep company with people who just don’t really seem to be trying to live very good lives.

The tax collector, praying for the Pharisee, and confessing in turn his pretty severe violations of the community – how he was collaborating with and benefiting from the systemic oppression of the Roman occupiers and exploiting his neighbors.

And back to the Pharisee, responding in love, praying for the person he most despised.

What if they had walked home in parallel, arm in arm, no longer isolated? And what if that is precisely what Jesus had in mind? What the God who loves and cares for each and every one of us, who made us for each other, wants for us?

That’s the flourishing and abundant life possible in the Spirit, when we love and we let ourselves be loved.

The confession in itself isn’t the remedy, prayer alone isn’t the remedy: it’s the access to divine life in community. That can heal us.

But it’s a hard thing I’m asking today. It takes an incredible amount of bravery! Especially to be the first one to step into radical vulnerability. I certainly don’t want to go first. I don’t want to tell you about my weaknesses. I don’t want to tell you about where I am struggling. I don’t want to tell you my failures.

This is as much as I can confess: that my fear of being vulnerable is what makes me vulnerable and keeps me isolated.

And now that I’ve confessed that it’s not up to you to fix it. Confessing to one another is not about getting or giving advice or validation or sympathy – though those things might be helpful. But the real point is that when we confess to one another, when we practice radical vulnerability and radical mutuality, we insist to one another that we are all part of this community. And we refuse to let suffering or sickness or sin pull anyone away into isolation. So that we can walk home side by side.

No one has to go first if we all go together.

Love one another, beloved. And be vulnerable enough to let yourself be loved. The rest is commentary.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Gladly Fail

February 25, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

Faithful discipleship comes through failure and struggle, through the life that emerges from them to bless you and the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year B
Texts: Mark 8:31-38; Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Romans 4:13-25

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

You are going to fail as a disciple if you try to be one. That’s certain.

You’re going to struggle to be faithful if you try. Count on that. And it’s the only way you’ll grow as a disciple, and find faithfulness.

Peter’s failures are necessary to him becoming the child of God, the disciple, he is meant to be. When Peter resists Jesus’ path of the cross today, he unknowingly takes up his own cross right then. That suffering he endures today helps him deepen in faith and learn to follow faithfully.

This is the mystery to grasp. Jesus says today that being a faithful disciple is about losing, about letting go. But losing means losing. Messing up. Making mistakes trying to be faithful. And Jesus says this is what you truly need in order to follow.

When Mark wrote his Gospel, Peter was a revered martyr, crucified like Jesus.

When Paul wrote to his Romans, Abraham was millennia into being the beloved head of God’s family. But both Abraham and Peter didn’t start there.

Paul says today Abraham never wavered in his trust of God. But Paul knew Abraham wavered plenty. Promised at age 75 that he’d have a child, a child not born until he was 100, Abraham had lots of doubt and struggle. Thinking God seemed to have forgotten the promise, Abraham sleeps with Hagar and fathers his beloved son Ishmael. Beloved, but not the promised child. Abraham struggled to trust God in Egypt, and when asked to sacrifice Isaac.

Mark painfully shows all of Peter’s failings in his story, though he’s writing to people who hold Peter in awe. After this debacle, called Satan by his beloved Jesus, Peter still has his collapse on Maundy Thursday and denial of Jesus to look forward to.

Paul and Mark take two different ways to say the same thing: these heroes, these models of faithfulness, got there through struggle and failure.

This is hard to grasp. We’d rather avoid failing as much as we can.

You probably weren’t sent out by a parent or teacher with the words, “Go ahead and mess up today.” As for your faith, you probably heard “trust always, be a good follower, you’re called to be like Jesus.”

But Jesus had to fail to become who he was meant to be. He is God-with-us, yes, but Jesus is also a true human being who was tortured, beaten, spit upon, and brutally nailed to a wooden rack for all to witness. Jesus failed miserably to convince God’s chosen people that God had come in person for them. Out of the half a million Jewish people living in Palestine, by his death and resurrection he’d picked up only about 120 followers. And was rejected by the vast majority of the leaders of his own people.

This is the path Jesus calls you to follow.

Peter’s actually brilliant in his courage following that path today.

Look, he’s given up a lot to follow Jesus: his livelihood, his stability, maybe his family. And he trusts Jesus is God-with-us, the Christ, God’s answer to the pain of the world. Things are going well, healings, crowds. And then Jesus says, “Oh, by the way, I’m going to be rejected and killed.”

And Peter knows this is a bad idea, it’s not right for the Messiah. And he privately tells Jesus that. Now, he’s obviously wrong. Jesus makes that clear.

But Peter risked. That’s the blessing. He’s struggling to learn how to follow, and he thought he had the right answer here. Just because he didn’t, doesn’t matter. He tried. And failed. And that helped him become the faithful leader he became.

But not right away. Even at Gethsemane, he’s clearly not on board with this dying. He fights the guards with his sword. And when his life is threatened, he curses that he never knew Jesus. Failures aren’t easy lessons. And sometimes take repeated stumbles to grow from.

But Peter’s risk today is your model.

Following Jesus means living in self-giving love, sacrificial love, for others and the world. Jesus talks about it all the time. But that means risking things, and risks are risky. Sometimes you mess it up. You say the wrong thing. You push someone away trying to help. You know you’re embedded in oppressive systems and try hard every day to break out of that and then do something harmful.

If you try to love as Jesus loves, you will fail sometimes. If you are vulnerable and self-giving as Jesus is, you’ll be hurt, you’ll offend, you’ll self-protect.

But that’s the point. Sitting back and trying to have a perfect faith, hoping you’ll never mess up, will never lead to growth. But your woundedness will make you someone who can walk alongside other wounded folks. In your failure to love, you’ll learn different ways of loving, you won’t make the same mistake again. Or, if you do, like Peter, at some point you’ll learn to stop doing it.

This doesn’t sound like great news. But remember: you didn’t make this path.

That’s the good thing. God called Abraham and Sarah and Hagar and Ishmael and Isaac and said, “go where I lead.” And they did, with a lot of stumbling and failing. Jesus called Peter and the others and said, “follow me.” Follow me – Jesus is already on this failure track.

When you stumble and fall, you’re with the God who also stumbled and fell, who will pick you up, brush you off, and help you grow from your failure. This is Jesus’ path – that’s the good news – and he forgives your failures, binds your wounds, heals your pain, and gives you what you need to keep stumbling forward.

But Jesus also shows that the path of failure and loss always leads to life. Jesus’ resurrection is the vindication of sacrificial love and vulnerability. The Triune God who made all things shows that when you take the path that goes through failure you find life that cannot be defeated. Not just when you die. That resurrection life is yours now, the early believers realized. Even as Peter and Paul stumble through the book of Acts, the Spirit lifts them up and sends them on their way, restored for another day, another try.

Embrace Peter’s boldness. That’s your path.

Be the disciple God is calling you to be, even if you stick your neck out and it gets chopped. Even if you try hard and still don’t get it. Even if your love is rejected, or thrown back at you, or offends.

This is the way, Jesus says. Lose your life and you’ll find it. Like Abraham. Like Peter. It turns out failure is a good thing. It’s your way to faithfulness, to being the disciple of Christ you were meant to be.

And maybe, in your failure and growing from it, others who struggle can find hope for themselves. After all, that seems to be the whole plan Jesus has in mind.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Harmony

February 21, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

Midweek Lent, 2024 + Love One Another + Week 1: Agree with One Another

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Text: Romans 12:16-18, 21

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

A man was stranded on an uncharted desert island for 20 years.

When he was found, he took his rescuers on a tour of the island where he’d lived alone for so long. He showed them his hut, the place he got fresh water, where he’d planted food. They wondered how he kept himself sane all alone for so many years. He showed them another hut. “This is my church,” he said. “I pray here every week, and that gave me hope and kept me together.”

On the tour, they noticed another hut further away, seemingly abandoned, falling apart. They asked what it was. He said, “Oh, that’s my former church. I had to leave, there was too much disagreement.”

Now that’s a silly old joke. But there’s nothing funny about disagreement in church communities. The joke rings true because most of us personally know faith communities or church bodies that split over disagreements, even moving down the street and putting up another building.

Disagreement within a Christian congregation can destroy the life of the community and the faith of the people. If we’re commanded to love one another, agreeing with each other seems a needed starting place.

But you probably noticed today’s readings never said “agree with one another.”

When we imagined exploring the “one another” teachings this Lent, to help us embody Jesus’ great command to love one another, “agree with one another” stood out as a challenging one. It was from the last chapter of second Corinthians. But Romans 12 had more substance surrounding it that seemed to offer a fuller reading in worship.

Except the NRSV didn’t translate Romans 12 like 2 Corinthians 13, “agree with one another,” even though it’s the same Greek. We’ll get to that in a moment.

What you heard today was Paul’s literal phrase: “have the same thing in mind toward one another.” It’s important to understand that deeper root here. Because Paul’s Romans likely weren’t ever going to agree – in our sense of the word – on some very important issues. But Paul says that, in spite of that, they need to have the same thing in mind toward one another.

The Roman Church was divided against itself.

Paul’s people were a mix of Christians, some who were Jewish, some who came to Christ from non-Jewish peoples. And there were problems. The Jewish Christians still kept the Torah, considered themselves Jews, but also members of the body of Christ. For them, the two were inextricably joined. The Gentile Christians came to Christ from different religious and ethnic places, and cherished that they were welcomed and loved as they were, and made members of Christ’s body.

Paul is trying to get the two groups to realize that their disagreements and differences aren’t the important thing. Their identity as members of Christ’s body far outweighs their differences.

Paul doesn’t try to convince either side to give up their issues. Each can practice their faith as they do. But he pleads, encourages, demands, that they find that deeper unity in Christ that transcends their disagreements. That they have, as we heard today, the same thing in mind toward one another: no matter if one group still fully practiced their Jewish faith as disciples of Christ, and the other did not, they were one.

It was and is the love of Christ that joined them, not their agreement. Not even on issues both groups were convinced were deeply important. Paul believed they could thrive as a community of Christ with these differing points of view respected and tolerated and loved in each other.

Which brings us to the translation NRSV made of Romans 12.

“Live in harmony with one another,” our usual translation reads.

“Have the same thing in mind toward one another” becomes not “agree with one another” but “live in harmony with one another.” And that’s beautiful.

I love to sing in a choir. Multi-part harmonies where each section sings their own line but all come together in beauty are deeply fulfilling to sing. You know this joy when we sing all together but in parts and God is present here.

And it’s a wonderful model for Paul’s words. In music, there can be many parts that don’t agree as such. The tenors go one way, the altos another. Each needs to know their line, embrace it, love it, sing it. But ultimately all need to sing together. Harmony only happens when more than one part is heard.

No one part is “the right one.” Sometimes they may even seem to conflict. But the greater song is the important thing to keep in mind. Even as we weave around each other in our differences, we are singing the song of Christ together.

This is a challenging thing for a community to learn.

But Jesus didn’t create a community based on winning and losing, where some are “right” while others are “wrong.” And people leave for other communities where everyone agrees with them.

Jesus created a community through his blood and body that lives in harmony, that finds truth together, not in shouting and opposition. And with the song of the Triune God weaving amidst our harmonies, our different lines, the song we sing together as a community more and more becomes the song of God for the creation. A song that made all things and will heal all things.

Have the same thing in mind toward one another. Live in harmony with one another. And listen for God’s healing song to emerge for our lives and the life of the world.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Angels in the Wilderness

February 18, 2024 By Vicar at Mount Olive

Lent isn’t only a time to wrestle with our demons and the devil out in the world, but also a time to encounter spiritual good and to be served by angels.

Vicar Lauren Mildahl
The First Sunday in Lent, year B
Texts: Mark 1:9-15, Genesis 9:8-17

God’s beloved children, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We start in the wilderness.

Like every year in our lectionary, the first Sunday of Lent begins in the wilderness, with the “Temptation of Jesus.” Mark’s account is by far the shortest and it leaves out almost all of the details that we hear in the other synoptic gospels. But, still, as we begin our forty days of this liturgical season, we hear again of Jesus and his forty days in the wilderness, with the devil and the wild beasts.

This reading and this season of Lent invite us to turn our attention to our own wildernesses: those areas of our own lives where we might be feeling a little lost. Where we are face to face with the spiritual evil that hurts us or tempts us. Where the wild beasts within our hearts still roam. It can be a scary place to go. Spiritual practices can help – giving something up or taking something on, and it helps that we are going together. But still, it’s hard.

Which is, I suppose, what I love about Lent. I like that it’s hard.

The Rite of Confession that we are including in our liturgy this season is hard. It’s hard to name my faults, my own faults, my own most grievous faults. But, you know, when the water is a bit too hot and the scrub brush is a little too stiff and the soap is a little bit too harsh, that’s when I feel the cleanest. There are blessings – perspective and clarity – out in the wilderness. Perhaps that’s why the Spirit drove Jesus there.

But I can also fall for the trap that, I think, our lectionary falls into.

In the other years, when we hear this story, we only hear about the wilderness. We hear the fuller account of the Devil and the specific temptations offered to Jesus and it means we begin our Lenten season, narrowly focused on this cosmic boxing match. We can fixate so much on the blow by blow, and Jesus’ one-two knockout at the bell – until that’s what Lent becomes too: a struggle, a contest, a wrestling match where there must be a winner and a loser. The conflict with spiritual evil becomes the entire focus – and it seems like a close match.

And so the stakes are raised and, with them, guilt.

Shoot! I forgot and ate that chocolate bar I was supposed to be fasting from.
Shoot! I wanted to pray twice a day, but I was too busy.
Dang it! I was going to resist the devil today, but I was just too tired.

I guess spiritual evil wins this time. It can feel hopeless. Like losing.

But the nice thing about Mark’s account, because it is so short, is that we actually get to hear it in context.

And when we do that, we see that spiritual evil is completely outnumbered by spiritual good! Because I lied to you. We don’t actually start in the wilderness.

We actually begin in the water.

This year, we begin with Jesus’ baptism, and with the voice from heaven – spiritual good – speaking with a parent’s pride: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The Holy Spirit descends like a dove – spiritual good flying into the world. Angels come to Jesus’ aid – spiritual good helping and providing. And it ends with the proclamation of spiritual good drawing near – the reign of God – the good news – the gospel.

The water, the voice, the dove, the angels, and the gospel – by my count there is five times more spiritual good in this short passage than there is spiritual evil!

And, realizing that can change how we view Lent.

What if it isn’t just a time to wrestle with our demons and the devil out in the world – but also time to be drenched with spiritual good and to be served by angels?!

Like a lot of modern people, I find it a little hard to talk about angels and demons. I certainly believe in spiritual activity – good and evil. But, for me, most everything that angels are said to do, I understand as part of how the Holy Spirit is active in the world. Protecting, speaking, healing, helping – those are all comfortably within the realm of the third person of the Trinity for me.

I guess, in my theology, I just don’t need angels? Is one way of putting it.

And I’ve never thought about Lent as an opportunity to meet an angel.

But who am I to dictate how the Holy Spirit will accomplish her deeds? If she wants to use angels, she will use angels! Because it is undeniable that for the people of the Bible, and for a lot of people today, angels are a major part of their experience of Christian life. I heard some beautiful stories this week about encounters with angels from some of you in this congregation. And I expect that if we polled this room we’d hear many more.

And just because I’ve never seen anything that I would describe as angel, I certainly know about close calls, near accidents, and help that arrived just when I needed it. I know about words of comfort and encouragement, calling me a beloved child just when I was at my lowest. I know about the energy of creativity, the hope of restoration, the bliss of intimacy, and the call of justice. I know what has been good for my spirit. I know spiritual good. So, I guess, I do know about angels.

And I know about rainbows.

After every storm, spiritual good materializes. Painted in the sky for us, we see the reminder of the first covenant God ever made with creation. A reminder made of arching colors, that God has promised to stick it out with us no matter what. Even when we face the pounding rain and raging wind of spiritual evil. Even when it seems hopeless. When we need the reminder the most.

Rainbows appear after storms. And angels arrive in the wilderness.

Spiritual good is all around us.

There’s a gentleman who has visited our church recently, who might be here today, who sits in the back. And one Sunday as he sat among the choir members waiting to process, he looked at me with rapture and said “I’m surrounded by angels!”

At first I thought, “Aww, that’s nice, but no, we’re just people.”

But maybe he was onto something. Because when we join the dance of the Trinity, when we walk in the way of God, when love draws us to one another, spiritual good flows through us. We join the ranks of angels – protecting, speaking, healing, helping, we become angels for each other. You all are surrounded by angels. The ones you cannot see and the ones you can.

You are surrounded by spiritual good. Five to one, it’s no contest.

And through your Lenten spiritual practices, whatever they are – through fasting and prayer, through volunteering and giving, through silence and singing, through deep intentional tending of your own personal wilderness and through your angelic service in love to those around you – spiritual good grows even more.

The wilderness is still there. But as we face it together this Lent, remember that you are soaked in the same spiritual good that drenched Jesus in our text today.

Like Jesus, you carry your baptism with you into the wilderness – for those of you who are baptized. And if you aren’t baptized, you can be! Lent was traditionally a time of preparation for baptism on Easter, we’d love to accompany you on that journey.

And, like Jesus, all of you carry the assurance that you are also God’s child, that God loves you and speaks with parental pride about you! And God is well pleased!

The Holy Spirit flies to you, and keeps you under her wings.

The gospel is proclaimed by you and for you: Jesus, God-With-Us, has been to the wilderness and will be there with you every step of the way.

And angels surround you.

In the name of the Father, of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Dusty Water

February 14, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

You are called to these practices to deepen your faith journey so you are a blessing and hope in the world, water in a desert.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Ash Wednesday
Texts: Isaiah 58:1-12; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21; 2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Should we be doing what we’re doing here tonight?

If you listen carefully to our readings you might get the distinct impression that both the prophet and the Son of God discourage outward signs of repentance such as we do tonight.

Jesus warns against those who mark their faces when they fast to so others know they’re doing it. Isaiah’s people are doing the familiar repentance ritual of putting on burlap clothes and pouring ashes over their heads. And God says: is that what you call acceptable to me?

Yet at the center of this liturgy we will confess our sins, and have ashes placed on our foreheads. It’s not pouring a bucket over our heads, but it’s definitely marking our face.

Remember this, though. The people who created the lectionary were pretty smart people. They could read. They saw Isaiah 58 and wanted it read today. They remembered Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount and thought, “that’s the Gospel reading.”

So maybe there’s something deeper here we’re missing.

The three spiritual practices Jesus names form our great Lenten call, to which you’re invited tonight.

The giving of alms he names first, sharing your wealth to help your neighbor in need, then prayer, and finally fasting. All of these Jesus encourages, endorses.

Just do them for the right reasons, Jesus says. Don’t do them to impress others. If you’re doing spiritual practices, walking your baptismal journey, don’t do it so others can see you and admire you. So if you’re getting ashes today so you can show people how pious you are, or if you really want to go out with friends without washing your forehead, Jesus suggests you re-think your motivation.

But if this Lenten journey, begun in confession and the mark of ashes, realigns you with God and God’s call to you, that’s good. Fasting, prayer and giving of alms are deeply important things to do, because that’s the way to life.

And that’s exactly what God says through Isaiah.

The people in their burlap sacks, with ashes falling off their hair, face, and head, complain that God doesn’t even notice them.

But God says, I don’t care about sackcloth and ashes. That’s not a proper fast. The fast I want is that you invite homeless people into your home. I’ll notice that. Loose the bonds of injustice in your world, help the oppressed go free? I will see and rejoice in that. Provide food to those who hunger and clothes to those who have none, and your life will be like a light breaking forth at dawn, God says. I will definitely see that.

Giving up something for Lent, as we do, isn’t a true fast for God, either. True fasting is rejoining God’s way and life to be a blessing to others.

These are some of the most beautiful verses in Scripture.

The joy God promises you and me comes when we find our spiritual journey in being God’s blessing and care for others. When you become God’s light in the shadows of this world. When you are a watered garden, abundant blessing to others who are fed by your goodness and kindness. When you’re like a spring of water that never fails, God says.

That’s the goal of our Lenten disciplines, our Lenten journey. That in giving alms, in prayer, in fasting as God hopes we fast, we become more and more a blessing to our neighbors and our world. And find blessing and life in return.

There’s one more thing to know: you are definitely going to die.

When you receive ashes, you’ll be reminded of this. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” That sounds depressing.

But Jesus and the prophet don’t see that. The joy that comes from realigning with God’s priorities and hopes, with God’s love for all people, isn’t lost by the realization you’re going to die, it’s deepened.

That remembering gives you hope. And direction. If you live in the absolute truth that your time is limited, even if your end is after many more years to come, you have the incentive to seek the joy of your baptismal journey right now. To take advantage of today because no one promised you tomorrow.

Tonight we begin our yearly renewal of our baptismal calling.

And what Isaiah dearly hopes, what Christ Jesus longs to see, is that what we practice in these weeks becomes our pattern, the shape of your whole life. That in doing these things you live fully into the truth that you are a beloved child of God, called to bear God’s love and life into the world. To be a lush, watered garden, a spring of water for your world.

And since you will die some day, today’s the day to get started. Now’s the time, Paul says. Give alms. Pray. Fast. And you will see the joy spring out of your heart and pour into the world for the hope of all.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen