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Marc Kolden
Luther Seminary
Chapel Sermon
March 4, 2008
Lent 4
“A Joyful Fast?”
John 16:16, 20-22
Marc Kolden
John 16:16,
20-22—[Jesus said] “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and
again a little while and you will see me. . . . Very truly, I tell
you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will
have pain, but your pain will turn into joy. When a woman is in
labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is
born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having
brought a human being into the world. So you have pain now; but I
will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take
your joy from you.”
These words
of Jesus were spoken to the disciples on the evening of the Last
Supper, not long before he would be betrayed, captured, put through a
show trial, beaten, and executed on a cross. No wonder the disciples
were sorrowful and afraid to hear that Jesus would leave them, even
before they knew exactly what horrors he and they would go through.
Yet when
this account was written down, the resurrection had happened. Jesus
lived again. They had seen him. The Spirit had come. The disciples
and many others were filled with joy—the joy that Jesus promised would
not be taken away from them. And as we hear these words, we too are
included in Jesus’ promise and in the disciples’ joy, since we too are
Jesus’ followers.
Now it’s
Lent, two thousand years later. “What are you giving up for Lent?”
Not so long ago that was a common question. In Christian cultures
most people tried to give up some luxury or pleasurable activity in
their observance of Lent. Often this involved fasting (that is,
abstaining from food) or at least giving up desserts or second
helpings. Jesus had fasted for forty days to begin his ministry and
so Lent, our fast, lasts for forty days. This was thought to be means
by which God would “suppress vice, elevate the mind, and bestow
strength and merit.” Beginning with Ash Wednesday, it was a time of
self-denial and mortification as believers meditated on Christ’s life
and sufferings. In a related fashion, congregational worship became
more solemn and somber during Lent, with an emphasis on recognizing
one’s sins, feeling remorse, and repenting. (See more on Lent at the
end of this sermon.)
But why is
the emphasis in Lent so often on giving up good things, food we
like, activities we enjoy, music that makes us glad, worship that is
uplifting, leisure that refreshes us? How does depriving ourselves of
good things purify us or make us more holy or renew us? How
does this follow from trust in the God who saves us through faith in
Christ, apart from our achievements or religious practices? Does Lent
even fit with an understanding of Christianity “reformed by the
gospel” (to borrow a phrase from Robert Jenson)? Or is there
something semi-Pelagian about Lent?
Of course,
we should be extremely thankful for the suffering and death of the Son
of God for our salvation; and we should confess our sin with honesty
and sorrow; and we should be overwhelmed by the undeserved mercy of
God who forgives and renews us; and we need to study and meditate on
Christ’s humbling himself and becoming obedient even unto death on a
cross so that the Holy Spirit daily may put to death our sinful self
and join us to the new life of the risen Christ. But how does our
depriving or disciplining ourselves comport with such a savior?
It seems to
me that what we ought to give up for Lent is the bad stuff, not
the good stuff! Let go of things that aren’t true anymore
because of Christ—things such as sadness, despair, fear. Give up
things that aren’t faithful in light of what we know in
Christ—such as self-righteousness, self-centeredness, pride,
cynicism. Get rid of things which never were good or helpful
or useful but which we hang on to—obsessions, various idols (little
gods) we worship, bearing grudges, seeking revenge, envy, gossip,
slander, laziness, always being anxious, stinginess and jealousy,
begrudging others’ success or accomplishments. These are the sorts of
things we might well give up for Lent and for the rest of the year as
well!
Then there
would be gladness, gratitude, rejoicing, and hope in abundance: JOY
that would not be taken from us, even in death. We would sing praises
and alleluias instead of gloomy dirges and hymns that portray God as
some threatening force eager to do us in if it weren’t for Jesus.
Some of us might even become fun to be with because we’d have given up
constantly accusing ourselves or others; because we’d have stopped
announcing gloom and doom about every new attempt to make the world a
better place. (We’d have quit being “killjoys,” in other words.) In
our joy we even might be moved to take on another’s burden or extend
the witness to Christ.
A preacher
in chapel a few weeks ago noted that while in this place it had become
a wee bit acceptable to sing Christmas hymns during Advert, he doubted
that we would soon be ready to sing Alleluias during Lent. I wouldn’t
mind that but it probably wouldn’t be right for me to force this on
some of you without warning. And yet . . . , and yet, if we “bury”
the Alleluia and other words of praise and rejoicing for six weeks
(and even omit it on Sundays during Lent, which technically are
festivals of the resurrection—little “Easters”); . . . if we do not
praise God for over six weeks each year and if we practice that same
Lenten abstention for a lifetime of eighty years, we would end up
not praising God for over nine years of our life. We really
should wonder about that.
What are you
giving up for Lent? Unbelief, despair, hatred? Not a bad list for
starters, since that would leave you with faith, hope, and love. And
maybe throw out sadness too, while you’re at it. Then Lent could be a
“joyful fast”—even a feast! . . . with the risen Christ, keeping his
promise to his followers that when he was raised from the dead and
came to them again, “your hearts will rejoice and no one will take
your joy from you.” That’s a promise! Amen.
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