Lent 01, Year C
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
March 6, 2022
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
To watch the full service, please visit this page.
Way back in November, on the first Sunday of the new Church Year, we talked about how Advent and Lent reflect one another.[1] Both are seasons of preparation, and that preparation is ultimately focused on the same thing: the end of the world. Advent holds an external focus while Lent has a more internal bent. In Advent we busy ourselves restoring the Royal Road and preparing the world around us for the fearful arrival of the Great and Mighty King. Lent, on the other hand, tends to fall more along the lines of Swedish death cleaning—a time to simplify, eliminating unnecessary things from our lives so we can make space in our remaining days for what’s truly important. After all, we’ve begun following Jesus to Jerusalem where we can expect to join him in crucifixion.
In our broader culture, Lent is probably best known as the time of year when Christians in more liturgical branches of the Church “give up” something for God. Growing up outside those particular traditions, my friends and I had harsh words for people we saw seeking God’s favor by “sacrificing” luxuries like chocolate or candy for a little over a month. We would joke amongst ourselves about “giving up giving things up for Lent.” To us, Lent was part of what we collectively derided as “works salvation,” so we had neither interest in nor use for it. And even though I’ve been involved in the Episcopal Church for more than a decade now, I have to admit Lent and some of its surrounding traditions still leave me feeling a little uncomfortable at times.
The problem isn’t the season itself, nor is it in people making even the slightest attempt to grow closer to God or remember Jesus’ forty days of fasting in the wilderness. There’s something to be said for at least trying, even when our efforts pale in comparison to the devotion of the ancient martyrs or our Muslim neighbors during Ramadan.
My concern lies around our focus during this time. Lent is, by its nature, a season to turn away from or deny self. It’s an opportunity to look to God and learn to reflect the Divine Nature more clearly. But when we think of Lent in terms of “I’m giving up [X],” it’s easy for that purpose to slip to the side. When Lent becomes about me “sacrificing” something, my attention subtly returns to myself. Self-focus undermines the whole concept of Lent, and by emphasizing or constantly remembering how I’m giving up something, I remain self-centered, ending up no differently than I started.
We might try to fix that problem by changing our statement to “I’m giving up [fill-in-the-blank] for God.” That helps a bit, but it can lead us into a different area of concern. When we claim to be doing something “for God,” it’s easy to start keeping score. We turn our “sacrifice” into a game where God somehow owes us. It’s like playing catch: I’ve thrown the ball to God by doing [X], so now God should toss it back by doing [Y] for me. Even though we know that isn’t how Deity works, we trick ourselves into thinking that God is somehow indebted to us. Our attention drifts to our desires, and we begin looking for what we’ve decided is an equivalent transaction, all the while ignoring the simple yet incalculable gifts God gives us each day.[2] When God doesn’t end up doing what we want, we eventually decide religion doesn’t “work,” so we take our ball and go home.
But now I’m wondering if maybe we’ve been looking at Lent upside down. Maybe this exchange idea—even if we didn’t expect something in return—is misdirecting us. What if Lent isn’t really about sacrifice or loss—about “giving up” something for God? What if we should be using it as an opportunity to look to the future instead?
It goes back to something we talked about toward the close of our previous Church Year: the world is always ending, and the world is always beginning.[3] When we turn our attention to what we’re giving up, we’re unintentionally tying ourselves to the past: our focus becomes a world doomed to fade from existence. We essentially bind ourselves to Death and that which is passing away. As a result, we end up halting any progress we’ve been making and ultimately allow ourselves to be dragged into oblivion.
So then, what if we start looking at Lent less as preparing ourselves for death and more about readying ourselves for the coming world? What if we substitute our idea of “giving up” with something more like “giving away?” It’s like moving to a new home. As we get ready for what’s to come, we discover that by clearing out the attic and our closets we aren’t sacrificing as much as disencumbering ourselves. A new world is dawning; a new life awaits. So why bring along the same things that were dragging us down in the old one? Lent becomes an opportunity to set aside that which has continued to burden us while allowing us to establish a lifestyle in better keeping with the New Creation that we are in Christ. Fully abandoning death, we find the strength to turn to Life and begin living into the dreams God has been planning for our world.
The world is always ending, and the world is always beginning. Which one you see depends on which direction you’re facing. We can look behind us and bemoan the loss of what was—all the things we’re “giving up for God.” Or we can turn to the future and participate in the creation of what can be. Back in Advent we spent a good amount of effort and energy preparing the Way of the Lord. Now that we're in Lent, it’s time to step onto that same Royal Road and join Jesus on his journey to the heart of the Kingdom.
[1] http://www.slouchingdog.com/sermons/year-c-november-28-2021-advent01
[2] How much exactly is a breath worth? Or a good night’s sleep? Or any sleep?
[3] http://www.slouchingdog.com/sermons/year-b-november-14-2021-proper28