The Forgotten Message of Lent


I’m a part of a lot of peer groups. As a matter of fact, probably too many. I have a group I meet with weekly on Thursday evenings. I have another group I meet with every fourth Thursday. I have a life coach, a consultant, a spiritual director and a counselor for a wife.

Most of my friends have gone through multiple units of CPE. My father and grandfather are successful pastors; my wife’s uncle and grandfather are too. My full time job is at a seminary that trains ministers for a living. I eat lunch with world renowned and newly budding theologians and rub elbows with missionaries and congregational leaders. I spend my free time traveling to hear these women and men speak while reading their books. As a matter of fact, I met and heard Barbara Brown Taylor last week.

There are lots of people who speak in to my life. And I want this. I surround myself with people who are life-giving and like-minded. We all do. We seek out situations that build us up, allow us to reach out, carry on, do more, feel better, risk greater, and love deeper – at least in the core of our true selves we want this.

We want to belong, to feel whole and to know that we are special and held.

And I fully recognize that I’m fortunate to be where I am. I sit in intentional, liminal spaces with fellow pilgrims for a living. I get paid to think and write about God. And I love it. I love pastoring and I love being a part of a something much bigger than myself.

Yet for most of my time on earth . . . l live with an overwhelming emptiness. Emptiness in that, despite the people in my life, I still fall short, mess up, sin and forget.

And when I get to this point, I feel like I need to repent; but I don’t for fear of what all these good people in my life might think. For fear of what others (that I respect) will think, I fail to admit that I am just as broken and in need as the next person.

I think we all do from time to time. And it cripples our faith and our witness. It makes us look foolish, uncaring, and shallow. No matter how many people speak into our lives, if we forget we need the spirit of the living God breathing peace and forgiveness, what good are we?

If only there were a season in the Christian calendar that provided space for us to do this – oh wait, that’s Lent.

The forgotten message of Lent is we’re required to do more than just believe in Christ and surround ourselves with people who are like-minded; we must also follow. There’s a huge difference between being a believer and choosing to be a follower. Followers confess their sins, seek forgiveness, and move with the Spirit.

As much as I surround myself with incredible Christian witnesses, I too fail to follow at times. We all do. And we need to confess and turn from this.

Confession allows us to let go of the false sense and most protected parts of our fake selves. It may be painful, but confession frees us to turn from the lies we once held as truth (about ourselves, our relationship with God, etc.). It frees our spirit to follow Christ. When we confess, we become less trapped, feel less empty, and carry a lighter load of regret.

I pray that this Lenten season we find the space and freedom to repent of the life that keeps others from seeing Christ. May we do the tough work of shedding the false sense of ourselves. May others see us as followers and not just believers.

The forgotten message of Lent is we don’t repent enough. I guess that’s because we aren’t serious enough about Christianity. And Jesus laments this. I think we should too.
------
This blog was originally published for ABPNews Blogs on March 8, 2013.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Most Difficult Parable Ever

Image
Theologian N.T. Wright finds the parable of the fig tree to be quite strange.  He says, “Jesus' warning in Luke 13 is at once amplified by this almost humorous, yet in fact quite sinister, parable of the fig tree in the vineyard.” And it is sinister.  It’s a hard pill to take.  Jesus' parable goes like this: A man has as fig tree planted in his vineyard.  One day he comes out looking for fruit on it, but there are no figs.  He says to the vineyard keeper, “Look at this tree.  For three years, I've come hoping to find some fresh figs, but what do I find? Nothing.  So just go ahead and cut it down.  Why waste the space with a fruitless tree?” The vineyard keeper replies, “Give it another chance, sir.  Give me one more years working with it.  I’ll cultivate the soil and heap on some manure to fertilize it.  If it surprises us and bears fruit next year, that will be great, but if not, then we’ll cut it down.”  (Luke 13:5-9, The Voice) But how is it sinister?
Read more

Leaving on a Jet Plane. . .

Image
This week I will be flying to the Middle East with about 30 seminary students to tour and explore the Holy Lands. The trip is designed for second year seminary students who are seeking parish ministries. The group is comprised of several seminaries that cover the theological spectrum. There will be men and women who are either conservative, liberal, moderate or anything else not mentioned. The thesis behind the trip is to get next generation leaders together in the Holy Lands to have an ecumenical experience. If we leaders share this experience together, it will make doing life and denominationalism a lot easier later in life. I covet your prayers and can’t wait to blog about it when I get back. Due to traveling and limited time to blog, I will be taking a short hiatus from my weekly blogs but promise for more insightful reflection upon my return. God bless to you and in your endeavors. Here is our Itinerary. May 18 Depart Atlanta at 5:20 p.m. (Delta 122)
Read more

The Bird of Dawning Singeth All Night Long

Image
This Christmas I was moved by the words of Frederick Buechner.  For my last blog of the year I offer to you his wisdom rather than my own ramblings.  I hope it does for you what it continues to do for me. Frederick Buechner says in his book The Faces of Jesus: On the dark bulwark of Elsinore, Shakespeare has Marcellus and Haratio reflecting on Christ in the opening scene of Hamlet: Some say that ever ‘gainst that season comes Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairly takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallowed and so gracious is the time These lines from the first scene of Hamlet in a sense say it all.  We tend to think time is just progression . . . as moment following moment, day following day, in relentless flow, the kind of time a clock or calendar measures.  But we experience time als
Read more