Now

The forty-day season of Lent that begins today, on Ash Wednesday, draws as a primary metaphor the wilderness journey of a band of slaves out of Egypt and toward the Promised Land. Except it took them forty years, not days, to reach their destination. These next forty days in the wilderness remind us that we, too, are somewhere between slavery and freedom. We are moving toward the Promised Land of new and abundant life. If we dare to look at it in this way we begin to see Lent not as a punishment, but as a testing of our resolve. And there is a difference. 

We do well as we begin this journey to remember that our forebears received many gifts in the wilderness, including water from the flinty rock, manna from heaven, the gift of Torah that later poets would realize is “sweeter than honey.” (Psalm 19:10) All of these gifts in the wilderness were given so that this stiff-necked people might learn to put their trust in God rather than in the pharaohs of this world. 

Many centuries after the Exodus, Jesus of Nazareth comes to the Jordan River to be baptized by John. From there he is immediately driven into the Judean Desert (aka the wilderness) where he is tested for forty days. One of the gifts he receives during that time is that he is ministered to by angels. 

Like God's chosen people, Jesus also seems to gain a sense of clarity around his vocation in that place of testing. Specifically, about the kind of messiah he will be: not a super-hero who jumps off tall buildings and is miraculously rescued; not a miracle worker who turns stones into bread; not a power-broker who builds empires; but rather a “suffering servant” who reveals in his death and resurrection the wisdom and power and love of God.  

So we, too, should be prepared during these days of self-examination to find some gifts along the way. We, too, may find bread for the journey. We, too, may find some clarity around what our own vocations are about as followers of this Jesus. We may, by God’s grace, find more passion and courage and strength and hope than we knew we had as we go about the work of ministry. We may learn (or remember) that the living God is indeed merciful and slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, because that is at the very heart of what both Israel and Jesus discovered about God in the wilderness.

In the epistle reading appointed for this day, from St. Paul's Second Letter to the Church in Corinth there is a verse quoted by Paul in this new context that was first offered to God’s people by the prophet Isaiah during the Babylonian exile (See Isaiah 49:8). St. Paul writes: “see, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation.” 

This is a rare occasion when I prefer the older translations to the NRSV. There, instead of "see" we read, behold, Behold is a far more interesting word than see! “Behold” is like a trumpet blowing. It’s more like, “hey, look over here!" It's as if Paul is writing in all CAPS. Behold! Now is the acceptable time! Behold! Now is the day of salvation!

This one verse may be enough to carry us through the next forty days, all the way to Easter. Perhaps it is a prayer we might offer as we begin each day of Lent, and then try to live at least that day more fully aware of the presence of God in our lives. Yes, forty days. But always one day at a time. How would our lives be changed if we read and heard, marked, learned, and inwardly digested this single verse over the course of the next forty days?

First, I think it would make us far more intentional about getting “unstuck” from the past. Too many of us spend too much of our precious time in the past. It may be because of some trauma, from which we need to be healed. But it can just as easily be because of something wonderfully nostalgic. Glory days! It may also simply be easier to get a handle on the past than it is on the present. We play it over and over again, thinking about “what if we’d said this” or “done that.” But “yesterday” is not where life is lived! What has been done has been done, and one important aspect of faithful discipleship is in learning how to “let it be." Learning to “let go and let God,” in order to live more fully into this day. Behold! Now is the acceptable time!

Similarly, “tomorrow” can be as dangerous as “yesterday.” Sometimes we worry and fret, painting worst case scenarios about global warming or nuclear war or the cancer that will surely come from eating the wrong foods.  I am not suggesting we practice denial; only that worst case scenarios can paralyze us. At other times we imagine that “tomorrow” is where the rainbow leads: that all will be well when we finally receive that degree or get that promotion or find that true love or the children are born or the children go off to college or retirement finally arrives. But I’m not sure it matters all that much here as with the past whether we are pessimists or optimists. If all of our energy put into a future that is beyond our control, we miss today. Behold! Now is the day of salvation! 

I think this word is offered again and again to God’s people in every generation. To that band of slaves in the Sinai Desert, when they started to think that the melons and figs of Egypt were better than manna in the wilderness; to those Babylonian exiles when they started to think that God’s best days were the good old days under King David; to those Corinthian Christians when they started to focus so much on the future return of Jesus that they forget their mission in the present. These words also speak to us, as we begin this Lenten journey. God speaks through this text to each of us: 

You cannot change the past and you cannot control the future. So live this day, putting your trust in me. It will present enough challenges of its own! Live this day gratefully and mindfully and faithfully, seizing this moment to love God and to love neighbor. Behold! Now is the acceptable time! Behold! Now is the day of salvation!

This day is no doubt more somber than the joyful alleluias we will sing on Easter morning. But the meaning of this day is still very much at the heart of the gospel of Jesus Christ: it is a word of “good news.” I think that is what the ashes are all about. They are an outward and visible sign of our mortality and our humanity; not of humiliation nor of shame. The ashes are there to insist that every single one of us will one day die. We will die because we are not God. We are creatures, not the Creator. 

We live in a culture that does it’s utmost to deny that and it gets us all into trouble. But the saints of the church have always known that it is not death itself, but the fear of death (and the denial of it's reality) that prevents us from full and abundant living. We deceive ourselves when we think we have all the time in the world. We are called to be disciples in this time and this place, with God’s help. Now. 

So remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Those are not words of punishment or threat, but of hope that call us to tend to our precious lives. They call us back into our skin and back to the meaning of Holy Baptism. They implore us to live this day more boldly and more creatively and more interdependently. This is the time. This is the day. Now. 

There is a beautiful and in my view way underutilized hymn in The Hymnal 1982 (page 333) entitled "Now the Silence." I think it speaks to the meaning of this day, and of the forty days that lie ahead. 

Now the silence. Now the peace. Now the empty hands uplifted. Now the plea. Now the Father's arms in welcome. Now the hearing. Now the power. Now the vessel brimmed for pouring. Now the Body. Now the Blood. Now the joyful celebration. Now the wedding. Now the songs. Now the heart forgiven leaping. Now the Spirit's invitation. Now the Son's epiphany. Now the Father's blessing. Now. Now. Now.