At last evening's Ash Wednesday service, the scripture lesson, Isaiah 58:1-12, struck me in a new way. Yes, fasting has been a Lenten practice since the beginning, inherited from our Hebrew forbears. But there is fasting . . . and there is fasting.
What struck me as I pondered the scripture reading -- and I agree wholeheartedly that Holy Scripture is indeed a window into the heart, mind, and intentions of God, so there! -- was the body-language in the text, which it links deeply to our activity as a people of God. As I said in yesterday's post, Lent is a time which hopes to form us corporately and individually as a people of God. And, as Christians who follow Jesus Christ, we have been baptized into the "body of Christ." So "body-language" is most pertinent here. By "body of Christ," Paul understands the community of disciples committed to the Way of Christ to be the living embodiment of Christ, animated by the Spirit of the Risen Lord. Paul sees "Jesus, and him crucified" as living now through the Spirit-enabled ministry of the members of the community of faith -- the Church. "Body of Christ," then, is not a badge of honor, so much as it is a way of acting in the world. Our activities embody Christ. We are the living continuance of his ministry.
How does this connect to the aforementioned "body-language"? Isaiah was doing nothing so much as declaring a new "Body-language." Notice the various physical actions: "Shout" (v. 1), "fast" (all over the place -- stay tuned), "quarrel," "strike with a wicked fist" (v. 4), "bow down the head," "lie in sackcloth and ashes" (v. 5), "pointing of the finger," "speaking of evil" (v. 9). That's what God/Isaiah says we human-types do already. But notice, now, how God through Isaiah starts to get meddlesome: "loose the bonds of injustice," "undo the thongs of the yoke," "break every yoke" (v. 6). And then God/Isaiah cuts loose and gets downright personal: "share your bread with the hungry," "bring the homeless poor into [gasp!] your house," cover the naked, not hide from responsibilities toward family members (v. 7), "offer food to the hungry," "satisfy the needs of the afflicted" (v. 10). Only if we do this Revised Version Fasting will our "call" be answered, our "cry for help" be answered by God: "Here I am" (v. 9).
All of these actions are acts of bodies. And God is summoning us not simply to the traditional ways of fasting, you know, bowing down, doing the sackcloth and ashes thing, and so on. No, God is asking -- commanding! -- the body of believers to offer their bodies in service to those whose bodies have been ravaged. Body ministers to body to bring the blessings of God. One human body takes responsibility for another human body.
Notice how unimpressed God seems to be with the traditional forms of spiritual athletes. "You just disguise your contempt for each other, and for Me, by showing off," is the essence of the message. "Spiritual exercises" build "body-mass" (no pun intended) (okay, maybe just a little), not by focusing inward, but specifically by focusing outward, toward others in need. In fact, one might justifiably ask, "just who is really in need here? The excluded folks (homeless poor, hungry, naked, needy) -- or the excluding folks?
Fasting: denying something for the sake of focusing on God, removing the distractions, ignoring the pains of "withdrawal" whilst experiencing a gathering clarity. And just what is God/Isaiah saying that we should deny here, in this newfangled method of fasting? We deny not some but something, but someone: our own imperious selves. Not in order to demean ourselves, reduce ourselves, eliminate ourselves, destroy the person called "me." But rather to enlarge the entire person by including other people who have been excluded into the circle of "me-ness." By "enlarging the body" through bodily actions. Specific, caring, bodily actions that address individual and social needs.
The New Revised Version of fasting creates a new anatomical reality, for individuals, as well as communal bodies. By swapping a "me" totally wrapped up in "myself and I," for a "we" that is radically inclusive of others at the utmost depths, in the broadest social sense, we offer our bodies to our God. As Christians stumbling our Lenten journey along Christ's Way, we might just discover a new way of being. Together.
Who knew that God was in the "body-shaping" business, sculpting a buff new "body of Christ"?
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Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
A Brief Overview of Lent
You are in charge of recruitment for the Christian Church a hundred years after Jesus’ death. Nobody is alive anymore who heard him speak. Even those whose parents did are dying out. Jesus hasn’t come back yet, and it is slowly dawning on folks that it might be a while before he does. In the meantime, you want people to be the very best Christians they can be. If they want to be baptized, you want them to understand just what they are getting into. What are you going to do?
You pick a date for baptism, say Easter, as a perfect time to enter into the new life of the risen Lord. How are you going to prepare folks for their Easter baptism? You create a prep-period. Let’s call it “Lent.” That’s what Lent was at first – the final home stretch of getting ready to be baptized, to enter the community of faith, the Body of Christ.
In a way, becoming a Christian was seen much like becoming a naturalized citizen of any country. In this case, you were becoming a citizen of God’s kingdom, of God’s reign, of God’s New Humanity in Christ. What do you do if you want to become a naturalized citizen of a country? You learn the history, you learn the key figures, you learn the events, you learn the symbols, you learn new words, you learn new ways to act, you learn the expectations, you learn a few rules. You study up, you practice, you might take a test, then you have some sort of ceremony which marks your entry into your new status as citizen of your new country. Lent became something very similar in those early days of the Church.
They learned the history of God-with-us from the scriptures of both Testaments. They learned Christian practices, such as prayer, fasting, forgiveness, service, worship, study. They learned the symbols: the Cross, baptismal water, bread and wine, the people gathered, and so on. They learned the faith: who God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are, the span of God’s dealing with humanity from Creation to the grand windup at the End, sin and salvation, the community of faith which is the living embodiment of Jesus Christ, and my own particular vocational role in God’s saving activity in this world. They learned new behaviors, new expectations, and practiced a new morality. By doing all this, gradually they merged the story of their life with the story of God-with-us. Lent was the time of making God’s vision for humanity their own: thought, word, and deed. Lent is the great remaking.
What about the penitential atmosphere in Lent? Where did that come from? During the great persecutions, people gave up the faith to avoid getting slaughtered. But later many regretted their failure of nerve and sincerely wanted to come back to Christianity. Some leaders refused to even consider the notion. They had made their decision to betray Christ, now those apostates must live with the consequences. No, they could never return to the Church. Other Christian leaders said, “You want to come back? Here’s what you must do to repent of your apostasy: you will study all over again, and by confession and service demonstrate your repentance. And after a period, you will be readmitted into our fellowship.” Penitence was the demonstration of faithfulness. Lent was the final period to demonstrate their sincere repentance. During the Middle Ages, the penitential side of Lent got way overblown, crowding out the preparation aspect. By now, Lent has declined to being a period where we play at being holy by “giving up” something (that may or may not matter to us), or hear over and over what unworthy worms we are.
But . . . what if we tried to recover the original intention of Lent: to enter more deeply into my participation in God’s activity on this earth through God’s New Humanity in Jesus Christ? What about learning more from the Bible? What about trying prayer in deeper ways? What about serving others as an offering of myself to God, as a self-conscious acting-out of God’s saving activity here on earth? Feeding the homeless, tutoring someone trying to learn English as a second language, visiting a Veterans' hospital, sponsoring a refugee family trying to make a new life in your city, mowing lawns of the homebound, sending cards to advocate for political prisoners, befriending a family of practicing Muslims (especially needed, in view of Rep. Peter King's witch-hunt-for-Muslim-extremists hearings beginning March 10) ? What about conversing with others about things that really matter, in a disciplined fashion? What about “giving up” something important, but maybe not necessary, in order to get out of the way something which has become an obstacle between me and God? What about fasting for a morning, or a day, letting every growl of the stomach becoming a reminder of my absolute dependence on God? What about praying for somebody else, or the poor, or war refugees, bringing them to the throne of God, every day? What about spending 15 minutes every day in silence, simply opening myself to God, paying focused attention to the presence of God? What about gathering my courage, and asking forgiveness from that person (you know, that one), and trying to mend fences?
What about recovering Lent as a season of growing closer to God?
You pick a date for baptism, say Easter, as a perfect time to enter into the new life of the risen Lord. How are you going to prepare folks for their Easter baptism? You create a prep-period. Let’s call it “Lent.” That’s what Lent was at first – the final home stretch of getting ready to be baptized, to enter the community of faith, the Body of Christ.
In a way, becoming a Christian was seen much like becoming a naturalized citizen of any country. In this case, you were becoming a citizen of God’s kingdom, of God’s reign, of God’s New Humanity in Christ. What do you do if you want to become a naturalized citizen of a country? You learn the history, you learn the key figures, you learn the events, you learn the symbols, you learn new words, you learn new ways to act, you learn the expectations, you learn a few rules. You study up, you practice, you might take a test, then you have some sort of ceremony which marks your entry into your new status as citizen of your new country. Lent became something very similar in those early days of the Church.
They learned the history of God-with-us from the scriptures of both Testaments. They learned Christian practices, such as prayer, fasting, forgiveness, service, worship, study. They learned the symbols: the Cross, baptismal water, bread and wine, the people gathered, and so on. They learned the faith: who God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are, the span of God’s dealing with humanity from Creation to the grand windup at the End, sin and salvation, the community of faith which is the living embodiment of Jesus Christ, and my own particular vocational role in God’s saving activity in this world. They learned new behaviors, new expectations, and practiced a new morality. By doing all this, gradually they merged the story of their life with the story of God-with-us. Lent was the time of making God’s vision for humanity their own: thought, word, and deed. Lent is the great remaking.
What about the penitential atmosphere in Lent? Where did that come from? During the great persecutions, people gave up the faith to avoid getting slaughtered. But later many regretted their failure of nerve and sincerely wanted to come back to Christianity. Some leaders refused to even consider the notion. They had made their decision to betray Christ, now those apostates must live with the consequences. No, they could never return to the Church. Other Christian leaders said, “You want to come back? Here’s what you must do to repent of your apostasy: you will study all over again, and by confession and service demonstrate your repentance. And after a period, you will be readmitted into our fellowship.” Penitence was the demonstration of faithfulness. Lent was the final period to demonstrate their sincere repentance. During the Middle Ages, the penitential side of Lent got way overblown, crowding out the preparation aspect. By now, Lent has declined to being a period where we play at being holy by “giving up” something (that may or may not matter to us), or hear over and over what unworthy worms we are.
But . . . what if we tried to recover the original intention of Lent: to enter more deeply into my participation in God’s activity on this earth through God’s New Humanity in Jesus Christ? What about learning more from the Bible? What about trying prayer in deeper ways? What about serving others as an offering of myself to God, as a self-conscious acting-out of God’s saving activity here on earth? Feeding the homeless, tutoring someone trying to learn English as a second language, visiting a Veterans' hospital, sponsoring a refugee family trying to make a new life in your city, mowing lawns of the homebound, sending cards to advocate for political prisoners, befriending a family of practicing Muslims (especially needed, in view of Rep. Peter King's witch-hunt-for-Muslim-extremists hearings beginning March 10) ? What about conversing with others about things that really matter, in a disciplined fashion? What about “giving up” something important, but maybe not necessary, in order to get out of the way something which has become an obstacle between me and God? What about fasting for a morning, or a day, letting every growl of the stomach becoming a reminder of my absolute dependence on God? What about praying for somebody else, or the poor, or war refugees, bringing them to the throne of God, every day? What about spending 15 minutes every day in silence, simply opening myself to God, paying focused attention to the presence of God? What about gathering my courage, and asking forgiveness from that person (you know, that one), and trying to mend fences?
What about recovering Lent as a season of growing closer to God?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
What to Give Up for Lent
Tomorrow, March 9, is Ash Wednesday, of course, the beginning of the season of Lent. Among some of the more scrupulous (or wanting to be so), one hears of what they will be giving up for Lent. A popular move this year is to give up Facebook for the period.
Why "give up" anything at all? You'll hear it from a 5-year-old, but even a 95-year-old might wonder as well. Doesn't matter if you belong to a highly liturgical, formal church, or one that gathers around a kitchen table -- what is this "giving X up for Lent" stuff?
In the formative centuries of the infant Church, the liturgical year began to cohere as an attempt to integrate our lives into the life of Christ. So, through scripture and ritual practice, Christians followed their Lord, trying to inculcate his ways into their way -- or, better, their ways into his Way. Lent became a period of preparation for a renewed experience of the Resurrection living in the community of faith, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus powered by the Spirit of the risen Lord (I know, I know -- dense stuff). So, just as Christ wandered through the wilderness for 40 days, now so did we. He abstained from food, so did we (mostly). He gave up something -- so will we. Imitating our Lord.
So far, so good. But probe deeper. Beyond mimicking the chief figure of Christianity, why bother "giving up" something? Spiritual heroics? A test of willpower?
Many do it because somebody in (religious) authority "says I'm supposed to." Others, a bit wiser, make a sincere effort to imitate Jesus. For some, it is simply an opportunity to cleanse themselves from a minor vice (for a brief period). For a few, it is a demonstration of mastery over X -- the triumph of spirit over flesh (however that is defined).
Notice, though, that these reasons, noble though they may be, tend to focus upon ourselves. We end up working at maintaining our sacrifice. Even if it is for Jesus. And then, at the end of Lent, we can heave a big sigh, relax, and get back to real life. Sometimes we may even feel virtuous.
Which misses the point entirely. What was Jesus doing out there on the backside of beyond for 40 days? Why did he endure the 3 temptations by Mr. Bad? Was he showing off? Was he just going through a divinely-ordained script? No. After dropping onto him in his baptism, the Holy Spirit drop-kicked Jesus into the wilderness (Mark uses that sense of the word in his version). Out there, Jesus was busy preparing himself for his ministry. Away from all distractions, he had plenty of time to consult with God.
The early Christians saw Lent as just such a time of preparation. In fact, for those who were preparing for baptism on Easter, Lent was the home-stretch of a three-year time of study, prayer, fasting, and life re-orientation. So the entire period was seen as a season of re-orientation toward the ways of God -- for the first time, or the latest time.
So it can be even in these tawdry times. The forty days of Lent can become a time of intensive study, of deep prayer (call it face-time with God), of self-examination -- not to highlight what worms we are, but to assess who we are and who we are not, and how we might re-re-orient our lives toward God. And, yes, it can be a time for "giving up" the things which impede our walk along the Way of Jesus. "Giving up" in this model becomes not so much a heroic enterprise ("see what I'm giving up for you, Jesus?"), nor a burden ("can't wait till Lent is over!"), but rather focusing on tuning our lives to God's wavelength, that the excess simply drops away. Bad habits, dirty words, etc., maybe. But also anything in our life which interferes with our following Jesus. Which can include "a few of my favorite things" -- or even the people we love.
Lent can be a time when we let Jesus do a little "interior decoration" job on our lives. Let him move the furniture around a bit. What we really "give up" is control. The "things" we may give up are just signs that we're handing over the control to God again. In order to "know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, and follow thee more nearly, day by day" (to swipe the words of Richard, Bishop of Chichester).
Lent can indeed be a dour time -- if we do it thoughtlessly. Or it can beckon us to plunge into a "closer walk with Thee." Not so much "giving up" as giving in to the Love that will not let us go.
Why "give up" anything at all? You'll hear it from a 5-year-old, but even a 95-year-old might wonder as well. Doesn't matter if you belong to a highly liturgical, formal church, or one that gathers around a kitchen table -- what is this "giving X up for Lent" stuff?
In the formative centuries of the infant Church, the liturgical year began to cohere as an attempt to integrate our lives into the life of Christ. So, through scripture and ritual practice, Christians followed their Lord, trying to inculcate his ways into their way -- or, better, their ways into his Way. Lent became a period of preparation for a renewed experience of the Resurrection living in the community of faith, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus powered by the Spirit of the risen Lord (I know, I know -- dense stuff). So, just as Christ wandered through the wilderness for 40 days, now so did we. He abstained from food, so did we (mostly). He gave up something -- so will we. Imitating our Lord.
So far, so good. But probe deeper. Beyond mimicking the chief figure of Christianity, why bother "giving up" something? Spiritual heroics? A test of willpower?
Many do it because somebody in (religious) authority "says I'm supposed to." Others, a bit wiser, make a sincere effort to imitate Jesus. For some, it is simply an opportunity to cleanse themselves from a minor vice (for a brief period). For a few, it is a demonstration of mastery over X -- the triumph of spirit over flesh (however that is defined).
Notice, though, that these reasons, noble though they may be, tend to focus upon ourselves. We end up working at maintaining our sacrifice. Even if it is for Jesus. And then, at the end of Lent, we can heave a big sigh, relax, and get back to real life. Sometimes we may even feel virtuous.
Which misses the point entirely. What was Jesus doing out there on the backside of beyond for 40 days? Why did he endure the 3 temptations by Mr. Bad? Was he showing off? Was he just going through a divinely-ordained script? No. After dropping onto him in his baptism, the Holy Spirit drop-kicked Jesus into the wilderness (Mark uses that sense of the word in his version). Out there, Jesus was busy preparing himself for his ministry. Away from all distractions, he had plenty of time to consult with God.
The early Christians saw Lent as just such a time of preparation. In fact, for those who were preparing for baptism on Easter, Lent was the home-stretch of a three-year time of study, prayer, fasting, and life re-orientation. So the entire period was seen as a season of re-orientation toward the ways of God -- for the first time, or the latest time.
So it can be even in these tawdry times. The forty days of Lent can become a time of intensive study, of deep prayer (call it face-time with God), of self-examination -- not to highlight what worms we are, but to assess who we are and who we are not, and how we might re-re-orient our lives toward God. And, yes, it can be a time for "giving up" the things which impede our walk along the Way of Jesus. "Giving up" in this model becomes not so much a heroic enterprise ("see what I'm giving up for you, Jesus?"), nor a burden ("can't wait till Lent is over!"), but rather focusing on tuning our lives to God's wavelength, that the excess simply drops away. Bad habits, dirty words, etc., maybe. But also anything in our life which interferes with our following Jesus. Which can include "a few of my favorite things" -- or even the people we love.
Lent can be a time when we let Jesus do a little "interior decoration" job on our lives. Let him move the furniture around a bit. What we really "give up" is control. The "things" we may give up are just signs that we're handing over the control to God again. In order to "know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, and follow thee more nearly, day by day" (to swipe the words of Richard, Bishop of Chichester).
Lent can indeed be a dour time -- if we do it thoughtlessly. Or it can beckon us to plunge into a "closer walk with Thee." Not so much "giving up" as giving in to the Love that will not let us go.
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