I heard an unfunny joke the other day about us Christians and Lent and masochism. It was on the level of the crack the Governor of Louisiana, the same man who said his party must do everything it can to resist our new President, made about us and I resent it; in fact I am going to go after him. But that’s another matter. I have news for those who think Lent is drab and horrid: Lent doesn’t hurt. Lent’s a relief. Penitence isn’t painful. It feels good. It’s honest, and Lent gives us permission to be completely honest, just as yesterday’s quiet day gave us permission to be in silent peace.
It is a relief.
And every word this morning is a relief.
First of all: the days are surely coming, says the Eternal One, when I will order a New Covenant... when I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. So that explains it, and what a relief. Because you see I have a stubborn conviction that that promise has been delivered. That the Eternal One has written the Law in our hearts. Most people read that in a soft sentimental way; sounds rather sweet, written in the heart. Not I. I think it sounds strong and mighty.
And so we are born bearing the Law. I really do believe that part of the New Covenant is having the Law in the heart. That means I do not think we learn the rules of right and wrong from our elders when we are small. All they do is reinforce them. I honestly believe we no more need to learn the fact that it is wrong to steal than we need to learn how to breathe or how to see. It makes the word from today’s Psalm make sense: a sinner from my mother’s womb. That works if one is born with the Law.
To be born as you and I are already knowing the Law–that is in fact tough. Auden knew what I’m talking about and he wrote a very fine and very chilling poem about it: it begins, The Hidden Law does not deny/ our laws of probability/ but takes the Atom and the Star/ and human beings as they are/ and answers nothing when we lie. (If you ant the rest ask me later.) It’s chilling because we cannot evade a law that is written in the heart. When I am driving I always have to remember what the law is about turning on a red light. But I never have to decide whether it is wrong to steal.
The honesty of it all-that is what I find relieving. Socrates said no person sins wittingly. St. Paul said, I sin wittingly all the time, I cannot help myself. For me St. Paul clearly wins this dispute. My problem almost never really involves deciding right from wrong. Thinking about hypothetical right and wrong is a very good thing to do, but it only happens rarely in real life. Connie gave me a superb real life example yesterday: here it is. The Board of Ed wants to go Green. I endorse that as a man who grew up with happiest moments in the green woods and now understands our serious and God-given mandate to care for this little planet. So they have decided to use only recycled paper in their copy machines. But. But this costs ten dollars more per case . And multiply that by the Public Schools in New York City, who are already strapped for money and are already underpaying the teachers, and you have a conflict of priorities. Origen said teachers are the lips of God. That’s one where I really couldn’t decide very quickly. Still cannot.
But every day, every day it isn’t like that.
My problem far more often is doing what I know very well is right. This explains Paul’s pain here, and yours and mine. If the Law is written within us, we are going to feel much more hurt when we break it than we do when we break laws that are outside.
And the entirety of Psalm 51–THE classic Penitential Psalm. I know my transgressions/ and my sin is ever before me. Does that sound melodramatic to you? I wish it did, for me it just sounds deadly accurate. Precise. Hide your face from my sins/ and blot out all my iniquities. All the crimes and misdemeanors and cruelty and neglect and sheer folly that make us ashamed of ourselves if we have any self-knowledge at all: wash that away, and I shall be pure indeed. What a joy to say those words: create in me a clean heart O God and sustain me with your Spirit. Say that every time you wash your hands. Open my lips O Lord and my mouth shall proclaim your praise: if you begin your day with Morning Prayer, those will be the first words you say every day.
Now I hear the voice of our prevailing culture objecting to this strain. I hear it saying how culturally incorrect of you, you are talking about guilt, and guilt is a neurotic thing to be gotten rid of. Well, to that voice I hear the voice of C. S. Lewis, who reminds us that if we feel guilty for what we have not done, then we definitely need Dr. Freud. But if we feel guilty about what we indeed have done, we need–well, we need things like a season of Penitence and this beautiful Psalm. Psalms are poetry, and poetry is there to give us a voice to say what we most need to say. Such as Purge me form my sin and I shall be pure. What a relief.
And the Letter to the Hebrews. Another spiritual classic. Christ as you well know is known to us in many ways: as a sacrifice, as a Victor over sin and death, as a Ransom. Here we are reminded that he is also our great High Priest after the Order of Melchisedek. You remember Melchisedek, don’t you? Maybe not, and I don’t blame you, he is fairly obscure. He is a mysterious figure who appears out of nowhere in the first book of the Bible as the King of Salem, or maybe Prince of Peace–his name means something like King of Righteousness–and offers the Patriarch Abraham Bread and Wine-which looks so much like a Sacrament it makes modern scholars shake the head in disbelief. Offering the gifts and the sacrifices on our behalf. We can really use that. I often ask students to think about those animal sacrifices practiced not only by the Hebrews but by just about everyone in the ancient world.
We think they seem a little off but we have the wisdom of Psalm 50, where God asks if we think God actually drinks the blood of goats and likes the smell of roasting meat. So we have after sight they didn’t have.
That isn’t fair. Those sacrifices worked. When you handed over your goat or your sheep to your High Priest, it must have been a tremendous load off your soul. What a relief. Your sins were paid for.
Well our Letter to the Hebrews tells us we have a Covenant that offers something that’s better still. We have the ultimate Great High Priest, one who is as close to God as your mind is to you, and one who has been tempted just as you and I are tempted but without sin. The greatest of priests offering the greatest sacrifice that can be offered: perfect.
And today’s Gospel. Some Gentiles come and ask to see Jesus and his disciples tell him, expecting him no doubt to do one of his signs or preach, but instead he changes the subject completely, to the most important thing in the world, and says “the time has come.” Now the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. The wait is over.
Then Anyone who loves his life loses it; anyone who hates his life in this world keeps it for eternal life. How culturally incorrect of Jesus. You are not supposed to say things like that. That voice calling Dr. Freud will ring out again.
But what a relief that he says it.. Christ gives us what we need here as antidote. Life in this world–hate it. Not hate being alive, not that at all, but life I this world, this age, the seculum. Be honest: don’t you hate it? If you say but I love my spouse or partner or children or parents, then they do not belong to that seculum for you, they are your foretaste of that eternal life. This world is the one that makes you have to brace yourself before you can read the newspaper, that seems cheaper by the second, that seems to reward folly–not downright evil just simpleminded folly and shallowness. Renounce them: and as St. Athanasius says, when the renunciation is voluntary, the pain is transformed into power.
And then that exquisite saying about the grain of wheat. What a reversal of our culture’s shady attitude toward death. Carl Jung said that every single patient over the age of forty who came to him expressed a deep and painful fear of the grave. The phrase what’s the worst that can happen? is usually thrown around foolishly but there is of course one answer: death. That is the worst that can happen. It is already a relief to face that.
But our faith at its very heart and core has more. Our faith, our Scriptures, our worship, our creed all say it: God , the Eternal One, is so brimful of love, and loves us so much, that God will turn Death into blessing, and let us with John Donne turn and mock him: Death, be not proud, Death, where is thy sting? Death, thou shalt die.
One of the Desert Fathers was asked by an anxious soldier whether God would forgive his sins. The elder asked, when you tear your cloak, do you mend it or throw it away? Mend it, said the sinner. Well, if you take care of your cloak when it is damaged, what do you think God will do with God’s own image when it is torn?
Oh, yes, Lent is a relief, and everything about its fifth Sunday is a relief. I love every word, and this is one of those Sundays where the Collect seems to me as much a work of poetry as that Psalm. This Collect gives me the voice I need: make us love what you command, and desire what you promise. If you could have just one wish for your psyche it should be that. Those commandments are within you, so it hurts, it hurts badly, when we do not love them. But if we can love that voice within us that tells us that any cheating or dishonesty or cruelty is as wrong as murder and adultery and grand larceny, if we could welcome it, and love it, we would be happy every single day in this mortal life. And if we could desire what God has promised: well, that fairly well guarantees a joyful, blissful and glorious Eternity as well., because that is exactly what God has promised. And the Good News is this: we can.
