February 18, 2024
First Sunday in Lent
Rev. Canon Marianne Wells Borg
Trinity Episcopal Church, Bend, Oregon
Mark 1:9-15
This is the first Sunday of Lent. In the Gospel narratives we journey with Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem. We learn more about his life, his vision and his journey’s end. Execution and death.
This season invites us to reflect on our own lives and our own end as well. What do we make of our life. And our part in it.
The season of Lent is 40 days. Forty is one of those symbolic biblical numbers. Noah was in the Ark for forty days, Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights, there are forty days from Jesus resurrection to his ascension, it was 40 years that Israel wandered in the desert. The number 40 is interpreted as a time of trial and testing or a time of new life, new growth, transformation; a time of change from one great task to another.
The forty days of Lent traditionally emphasizes a time of trial and testing. A time of penitence and coming to terms with our wrongdoings. A season for self reflection.
And I think self reflection is important. It can help change the way we see ourselves and our world and affect the way we continue our days. It is opportune time.
Ash Wednesday is considered the first day of Lent. And it is in that service we are invited to a Holy Lent. It is worth noting that in the 1549 Book of Common prayer the English reformers left out the customary imposition of ashes. They wanted to focus on repentance and human sinfulness rather than mortality.
I have read this liturgy and participated in that service over many years. And have accepted it as presented. But for whatever reasons, this year I had a hard time with it. I could not settle with what I heard as the harsh and self deprecating tone of the service.
The opening prayer begins: “Almighty and Everlasting God you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent.” Sounds fair enough. But this year the words “you hate
nothing you have made” struck me as odd. There’s an affirmation in there. Somewhere. But in addressing God “you hate nothing you have made” started off on the wrong foot with me.
I thought of my beloved little dog. Or anyone I would address as a beloved. A partner, a friend, a child. It would never occur to me to start saying to them “I hate nothing about you.” “Little Theo,
(that’s my dog’s name) I hate nothing about you.” Why would I say that? Why would God say that? Maybe I am just a little overly sensitive these days. We are all a little tense these days. So on the first day of Lent I winced. And resisted.
Then the prayer goes: we “lament our sins and acknowledge our wretchedness.” We acknowledge our wretchedness? What a way to begin a season. Any season. Acknowledging our wretchedness. Or you, Celebrant, acknowledging my wretchedness on my behalf. This made me sigh. And want to turn away.
And we go on to confess to God, “We have not loved you, we have not loved our neighbors, we have been deaf to your call, we’ve not been true to the mind of Christ, we’ve been unfaithful and self indulgent…I know, I know, I know….And it goes on.
And then, “Oh that we may turn from our wickedness and live….”
Oh that we may turn from our wickedness and live.
Wretched and wicked. Is that who we are? Wretched and Wicked? O worm that I am? O worm that you are?
This made me tired and weary. Sad. And angry.
I am so tired of being reminded I am a disappointment, not enough, how many mistakes I make, not done this right, not followed through on that, really missed the mark on so many things. I have heard this from the beginning it seems. And I wasn’t brought up in the church! It was crushing and
overwhelming and shaming for me to think my parents thought that of me. But to have God think that way too?
How do people get over that? And yet shall we thank God that in spite of all that we are not hated? This brings me little comfort.
I remember one of our precepts in the Episcopal Church is that “prayer shapes believing.” Prayer shapes believing. That is what worries me. And I a priest of the church talking this way about our liturgy.
Am I being a little too touchy about all this? Am I taking this too personally? Or not personally enough? Is anyone else bothered by this language? Do you dare to be?
I remember my husband telling me he had to memorize from the Lutheran catechism “I am by nature sinful and unclean” before he was 8 years old. I think that is awful. And to teach that in the
name of God.
There is a fundamental emphasis in Christianity on our being sinners. And that God is here to save us from ourselves. That’s why he sent Jesus.
Do we really believe that at our core, in our depths, we are sinners, wretched and wicked? And that we need to be saved from ourselves?
When you see me, or the person sitting next to you or your neighbor is that what you see? A sinner. Wretched. Wicked. Granted there is a lot of talk like that these days. About the wretched and wicked. We’re surrounded by them we are told. But is that really who we are? Is that really who you are?
And if we think we’re wretched and our neighbor is too that puts a sinister and perverse twist on Love your neighbor as yourself, doesn’t it. Think about it.
What also worries me is the lengths those us who feel redeemed will go to ostracize, eradicate, shame, degrade such neighbors, such sinners. And in the name of God.
If we do not love ourselves, and we may have to learn how, we are doomed.
This year I found the words of the Invitation to a Holy Lent too harsh. Too hard to take. Not helpful. Not this year. Not for me.
But I found other words that were helpful. Words that I think are getting at the same concern as our Ash Wednesday liturgy. But goes about it a little differently. Differently enough that I was able to hear the words. I moved toward them. Instead of away. And I want to share those words with you. Words from the great American poet Walt Whitman. Some even consider his writings
scripture.
A poem by Walt Whitman, O Me! O Life!
Poetry is not everyone’s first language but bear with me.
O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
(aside: The questions recurring are around the meaning of Me and of Life. Questions we continually puzzle and ponder. What is the meaning of life. And what of me?)
O me! O life! Of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d
with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more
foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
(That I could hear and identify with. It didn’t sound accusing. More confessional.)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects
mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all,
( We are always seeking illumination — our eyes crave the light, vainly crave light on our existential questions but don’t find answers. Life is illusive, confusing.)
Of the poor results of all,
Of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the
rest me intertwined,
(In other words I am part of this too.)
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good
amid these, O me, O life?
What good amid these? O me, O life? Is this not the question of Ash Wednesday. What good is me? What good is life? What is life’s meaning?
And Whitman offers an answer!
What good amid these?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may
contribute a verse.
What good is there?
That you are here. That you exist. That is the good amidst our strife. We may be part of our strife. But we are also the good amidst our strife. And we may contribute a verse. Our life is contribution. Our existence is the reason for living.
Is that too stark? Is that not satisfying enough?
But is it not all wonder, a marvel, albeit a bewilderment that we exist at all! And have identity, a self, that knows it’s alive and is aware of itself and the world of which we are a part.
Is not this wonder significance enough for our existence. But we are like Job questioning the why of life before an inscrutable God out of the whirlwind of the marvel of creation.
What I hear Whitman insist amidst our recurring existential questioning is that being here at all is worthy. Do we experience our life that way?
And to contribute to this world is our privilege. We play a part. And may offer a verse amidst multitudes. And become a great poem for God the Great Poet of our origin.
Whitman calls us to embrace ourselves. Celebrate your life. And your verse.
For me Whitman acknowledges the puzzlement of the meaning of life. And its vagaries. And our own. I think the Ash Wednesday liturgy does too. And Whitman implores us to live. As our Ash
Wednesday liturgy does. Turn and live. But the language of our Ash Wednesday liturgy impales us on shame and guilt and sin and seems to make a monument of our wretchedness or wickedness. Life is difficult and cruel enough. The language of the liturgy this year was too battering for me.
But Whitman calls us to self love amidst all our confusion and life’s elusiveness. In Whitman I heard my call to repentance.
Love yourself. Love yourself. That you exist. That you have identity. Love yourself. And the wonder of it. Love yourself is synonymous with love others. And love yourself and love others is synonymous with love God.
Listen to how Whitman puts it:
Be not curious about God ( don’t freak out. By that I think Whitman knows we cannot grasp what is God)… Be not curious about God…
Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, in the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass; I find letters from God, dropped in the street, and every one is signed by God’s name, and I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever.
God is not separate from the living of our days. From each moment. God is not separate from our own flesh. And the flesh of the other. Yes you hate nothing you have made. And God is found in the street where we live.
If this is indeed the message of Ash Wednesday forgive my deafness. If I missed this in the liturgy I am glad I gained it in Whitman.
Marvel at the wonder of it all. Even what we cannot fathom. Marvel at the wonder of it all. As Abraham Heschel wrote: “Wonder is the wellspring of love… and love, in the end, is what drives us to a passion for all things wild and at risk.” A passion for all things wild and at risk.
When Jesus was baptized (we heard this in our Gospel today), when he broke through the waters of life, he was addressed: “You are my son, the beloved in whom I am well pleased.”
Such words did not immunize him from life or death. But those words were the wellspring that drove him from Galilee to Jerusalem. And I believe that what Jesus knew about himself he wants us to know about ourselves.
You are Beloved. With you I am well pleased. You are singularly important. You exist. That is your gift. You are the gift. Without knowing this the journey might be just too great.
Mary Oliver writes: “When its over I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened or full of argument. I don’t want to end up, simply having visited this world.”
I don’t want that for any of us.
You are here. Celebrate yourself. And one another. A great task. This I suggest is the invitation to a Holy Lent.
Thank you for this – it is the reason I have come to treasure Second Saturdays. We can articulate any question or reaction we have as a part of our unique (and loved) created being. Liturgy for me goes beyond the words that we share to include anything surrounding me that catches my attention and affirms that I am alive! Easy to find in my Mountain River Valley home! And, having always caught the wildlife – all animals really – around me in visual art, in these later years I have begun to paint with words and found poetry brings new life. Thus I find the natural world balances some of the harsh words. We start our service in the little log church singing “Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place, I can feel the mighty power and the grace. I can hear the brush of angel wings, I see glory in each face. Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place” It sets the thread of love firmly in place – even and especially in Lent!! May the journey of Palms be a blessed Sunday for all.
Thank you for your wise and life fulfilling words. I miss you lady. Love, Rynn
Thanks for the refreshing and important insights you share, Marianne.
And in the spirit of celebrating Life and our lives which you encourage during Lent (and always!), permit me to share this poem of mine which also attempts to do the same:
LIFE is here!
LIFE is here!
In the infinity of Now,
The pulsating heart,
The effortless breath,
The sensual sounds all around,
Nature’s panorama of splendour,
The ever flowing canvas of delights!
LIFE is here!
In the serenity of solitude,
The stirrings of love,
The surety of faith,
The glowing light of hope,
Spirit’s majesty and mystery,
The ever flowing music of grace!
LIFE is here!
In the power of Now,
The invitations of goodness,
The invocations of beauty,
The impulses of truth,
Divinity’s universe of possibility,
The ever flowing dance of joy!
LIFE, my life, is here!
©Roger Arendse, 21 August 2016
Blessings!
Dearest Rev. Marianne: Thank you so much for sharing your angst of the Ash Wednesday liturgy. I have struggled so long with the liturgy that I used to love, seemingly alone in my struggles as most do not hear me (guess that is why I enjoy 2nd Saturday conversations so much!) So your words of affirmation about how you have been affected, but how you have ended up in an invitation to a “holy” lent, has been so helpful. I once again find myself saying I cannot attend Holy Week offerings much for the same reasons. I have not for a few years now but thought maybe this year. . . .? I will find those places and words that offer the transformational language of holy week elsewhere because my Episcopal Church will be language/liturgy/business as usual which no longer feeds me. Thank you Walt, you, and of course, God! “O me, O Life!” Indeed!
I think you are spot on with your reservations about self-deprecation in the time of Lent. I think Whitman’s words suggest that we are to be alive by embracing a Holy purpose in our lives. I think you do that through your foundation. I am a Christian mystic, so I am indwelled by Holy Spirit that empowers and guides me to worthy purposes that many would say can never bear fruit. I am flawed, but not evil. My book “Response Theology – Agape Love Powered by Holy Spirit’ reflects my calling to live according to the witness of Jesus. Poetry for me these days is the blooming of wildflowers along our bayou. God’s garden, if you will. Shalom, Marianne.
The hymn Amazing Grace is it beautiful and popular hymn. However I have a problem with the first verse. It contains system the words ‘That saved a Wretch like me.” I have refused to call myself a Wretch. I may do things wrong and I need to make improvement but I’m not a wretch. I do not like the beginning of every church service to be about how bad we are. I think we should start with the canticle of praise. I AM 80 years old and I have thought this for many many years.
Amen! Thank you for this sermon.
When I ponder the wisdom and poetry and beautiful inspiration in Scripture, indeed in all poetics…when I witness what has become of “Christianity” in our country… when I think of our wretchedness and wickedness, so emphasized by “the church” despite our having been made in God’s image, then I do not wonder at the emptying of our churches. Indeed, although I’m an ordained minister, I can seldom bring myself to attend. I realize I’m neglecting both my call and the communal aspect of church, but I prefer to seek community without liturgy, at least, not the Christian liturgy.
Anyway, thank you for all you’re doing to help people like me feel less alone in our estrangement.
Peace and blessings to you. ~ Rebecca
Super helpful to have your reflections on this. I have stopped attending my Anglican church’s Good Friday liturgy for similar reasons, because I can no longer put up with the relentless accusation of ‘miserable sinner’. In fact I’m struggling even to continue going to church at all, because increasingly I hear this message woven into other parts of the liturgy, the hymns, and the preaching. You have articulated very well why I am weary of this need to constantly remind me of my status of ‘sinner’.
I made a long reply. But made not sure it posted.
If it didn’t please let me know so I can rewrite and repost. It.
Jim
Love this!
Thomas Keating says repentance is
changing the direction in which you look for happiness.
When I was 10 I told my father I was giving up candy for Lent. His reply, “I’m sure that will make God very happy” caused me to think. Why am I giving up candy and it didn’t make sense. I always fail at Lent because I don’t get it. I pay attention more and watch tv less because I try to be more in the Divine presence and it is a tender time. Thank you Marianne!
The best Ash Wednesday message I have ever heard!
Thank you!
Lynn , from Boston
Took perhaps perverse pleasure, as others spoke of being dust and returning to dust, recalling that we are STARdust. Every atom of our bodies beyond the hydrogen is dust from stars long gone. What a nice idea the I shall return to stardust.
I think that was a marvelous homily. There is too much negative medieval piety in the Church’s Lenten liturgy- the constant breast beating is overkill. Part of that attitude comes from our early life catechesis when we were told that tortured and dying man on that cross was there because of my sins and he was making atonement to God for my sins. Horrible theology for young people!
Good sermon for Lent or any other time.
The religious teaching that the church usually says Lent conveys to us is unhealthy. Turning away from the stuff about how wretchedly, awfully unworthy we are is so much healthier and, I like to think, God at work.
Keep listening for that voice.
As a retired Episcopal priest I’ve danced around these things you mention for many seasons come and gone and I appreciate what you say. If I’m getting this right Buddhist refer to our innate Buddha nature and from that our innate desire to be happy and end suffering for ourselves and for others. This I translate across traditions as our God nature and being able to love God, love ourselves and love others. It is innate and yet we often have problems with the execution. Thank you for your reflections.
Oliver, Heschel, Whitman, Jesus and others that offer wisdom and inspiration are fresh and sustaining. Dogma, ancient creeds, and stale liturgy remain old wine skins. Perhaps the latter cannot contain emerging spirituality.
One week in June, 20 years or so ago in Truro, Nova Scotia, Canada, I attended as a lay person, the Atlantic Seminar in Theological Education, ASTE, where Marcus and Rev. Greta Vosper were the alternating speakers over the 5 days.
What I recall is that Gretta was “the new wine skin person”, suggesting that a total reform was needed: traditional vocabulary needed to be dropped, not given new definitions.
Marianne.That is a superb,sermon and resonates absolutely with my thinking and spirit.Thanks for sharing your heart.Spot on.
I find all of your sermons compelling and this one on Holy Lent uplifting. When we journey with Jesus in these 40 days we know of his suffering and through self reflection, ponder our own at various times of our life. I believe God did not come to condemn the world, as our choir song tomorrow communicates, but to show us goodness in his creation, in ourselves and in the body of Christ… so much potential to love and show mercy in our world. And yes, I can make a mess of things, but know when I wake up, I can make amends, God will pick me up, and not leave me behind.
Thank you for sharing your sermons. I have read two of Marcus’s books which clearly changed some of my thinking along with your second Saturdays.
Excellent sermon. Thank you for your bold, truthful, grace-filled reflection. It is Gospel.
Thank you for this Marianne. You have articulated so clearly what I have felt for years on many Sundays in church especially after a week of doing my best to love God and love my neighbour!