Lent 4
One of the ways we can think about the Christian faith is to posit it as a solution to a problem. The problem could be sin, to which a solution could be salvation. Or the problem could be mortality, to which a solution might everlasting life or the defeat of the fear of death. Or the problem could be how to live well in a broken world, to which the solution could be healing or integration or wholeness, personally or societally. There are other ways of thinking about the faith, of course – as a way that uncovers our purpose and dignity in creation, or opens us to eventual union with God. To think this way is to examine things from the beginning or the end point – which is the same thing in Christianity – rather than to start with a problem ‘in media res’, so to speak. I grew up in a religious culture which placed great emphasis on the problem of sin and the ‘wages of death’ that sin earns, so I find myself favouring creation or union with God as the ‘way in’ to the Christian faith, albeit at times in a way that make me wonder whether I am avoiding other essential themes that speak to our reality. But in Lent, no matter how much I would like to think of other things, there is no escape from the reality in front of us. In Lent we must deal with ourselves – not as creatures with a high and eternal purpose (which we are) but as creatures who are fallen and under judgement (which we are, too).
Rather like a good epic poem the readings this evening plunge us immediately in to the middle of the action. They do not shy away from anything. ‘See, the Judge is standing at the doors!’ James 5. 9) ‘Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you’ James 5. 3). The powerful dictate what they desire… the best of them is like a brier’ (Micah 7. 3, 4). There is hope but only after the severity of our situation is acknowledged. ‘You have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful but it requires ‘the endurance of Job’, so St James implies James 5. II). Micah doesn’t imply. He says it outright: I must bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against him’ (Micah 7. 9). ‘When I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me (Micah 7. 8). The Lord will raise me up, the Lord will be my light. But now 1 am fallen and I sit in the dark. I know my need, I cannot hide it from myself.
Lent requires us to spend time with the reality in which we find ourselves, to consider carefully the problem. How often do we soldier on, rather than seek the help we need? How many times are we embarrassed to show weakness? How often do we avoid what is before us? Jesus said, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician but those who are sick’ (Luke 5. 31). Lent gives us the opportunity to come to Christ the Physician. ‘What do you want me to do for you” Jesus asked Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus answers, ‘My teacher, let me see again’— and is healed (Mark 10. 5I).
Like Bartimaeus, we need to call out Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ And when the crowd tells us to pipe down, or our inner critic says stop whining, we should cry out all the more, Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ (Mark IO. 47-48). For our God ‘delights in showing clemency (Micah 7. 18) and we can strengthen our hearts through patience for the coming of the Lord (cf James 5. 8). ‘He will bring me out to the light; I shall see his vindication (Micah 7. 9)-but now 1 am fallen and I sit in the dark. I know my need, I cannot hide it from myself. It is enough to say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’-Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’-Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’
Amen.