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| SERMON Ash Wednesday February 17, 2010 The Rev. Charles W. Messer |
| 667 Mount Road, Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 |
| Small Parish - Big Heart The little church you've been looking for! All are welcome! |
| Our Mission: To worship the Lord To serve the community To grow the church |
Joel 2:1-2,12-17 or Isaiah 58:1-12 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10 Matthew 6:1-6,16-21 Psalm 103 or 103:8-14 |
It is called the invitation. I made the long walk down the center isle to
Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling, what seemed to be the longest
hymn in the Baptist hymnal. “Every head bowed, every eye closed,
someone in here needs to give their life over to Jesus.” Pleading with
the congregation, it seemed as though my childhood pastor wouldn’t
stop until somebody made their way to the altar. “If you were to walk
out of here and die in a car accident, where would you spend
eternity?” The congregation on its feet, my brother gnawing at his
hands because he can’t wait until lunch, my heart pounding out of my
chest and I’m holding to the back of the pew in front of me for dear
life. The music swells at the refrain and we all sang, “Come home.
Come home. Ye who are weary, come home. Earnestly, tenderly,
Jesus is calling. Calling, oh sinner, come home.” Unable to resist, I let
go of the pew. Without feeling the carpet underneath my feet, it was
as if I floated down the isle. With sweaty hands and feeling the eyes of
the congregation on my back – especially my mother’s, I knelt with
my pastor and prayed to receive Jesus as my savior. That was 30
years ago.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that hot Sunday morning in Lake Wales. I’
ve thought about how my life had been changed by that experience
and how much I have changed since. Often I’ve looked back on that
day with smug reminiscence, like looking back on rotary phones or
watching the Amish. It seemed so antiquated, so evangelical, so
fundamental. I had been “liberated;” education and experience
enabled me to not only understand my faith differently but also feel
mild embarrassment for such a “primitive” and “superstitious”
religious upbringing.
“So, Chuck, what are you giving up for Lent?” Just before I climb up
on my pious moral high horse to tout denial of worldly pleasures, God
reminds me of that Sunday morning 30 years ago. God could care less
what or if I give up for Lent. God has better things to do. What God
wants from us is simple: God wants everything. To paraphrase Psalm
51, “Had you desired it, I would have given up Diet Coke or Alcohol or
Chocolate or cursing or television or even Facebook, but you take no
delight in burnt offerings. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a
broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
Today is a reality check. The state of our brokenness rubbed in our
faces; death and sin and sin and death. But the real issue isn’t the
death that is part of the biological process, but the death we bring on
ourselves: The countless times pride demanded our attention so that
our worship of God is, in reality, is the worship of ourselves. The
times when we cherished things more than relationships, when we
failed to love and show love as we have been loved; death casts its
shadow over us. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall
return.
When Adam and Eve were banished from Eden, God never left them
to suffer at the hands of their own destruction. God went with Adam
and Eve out of paradise into darkness. God was more than a mere
spectator to their waywardness but became a full participant in
redeeming the human race.
Within the darkness we never held onto God, but it God was holding
onto us. Despite our sin, despite the awful and horrendous things we
do to ourselves and one another, God loves us: undeserved and
unearned favor, totally and unconditionally.
Today we strip away all of the decorations of piety and the pettiness
of religion. Lent isn’t a time to beat our breast and say how bad we
are. Lent is the time to be mindful of the living reality of grace; living
in gratitude for undeserved and unearned favor. Remember that you
are dust and to dust you shall return.
I have Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling on my I-pod. It isn’t as long
as I remembered. Other than the first verse, I could never remember
the other three. The final verse, the one in which I let go of the pew
and made my way down the center aisle, sums it all up: O for the
wonderful love he has promised, promised for you and for me! Though
we have sinned, he has mercy and pardon, pardon for you and for me.
Come home, come home; ye who are weary come home; earnestly,
tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling, O sinner, come home!
Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling, what seemed to be the longest
hymn in the Baptist hymnal. “Every head bowed, every eye closed,
someone in here needs to give their life over to Jesus.” Pleading with
the congregation, it seemed as though my childhood pastor wouldn’t
stop until somebody made their way to the altar. “If you were to walk
out of here and die in a car accident, where would you spend
eternity?” The congregation on its feet, my brother gnawing at his
hands because he can’t wait until lunch, my heart pounding out of my
chest and I’m holding to the back of the pew in front of me for dear
life. The music swells at the refrain and we all sang, “Come home.
Come home. Ye who are weary, come home. Earnestly, tenderly,
Jesus is calling. Calling, oh sinner, come home.” Unable to resist, I let
go of the pew. Without feeling the carpet underneath my feet, it was
as if I floated down the isle. With sweaty hands and feeling the eyes of
the congregation on my back – especially my mother’s, I knelt with
my pastor and prayed to receive Jesus as my savior. That was 30
years ago.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that hot Sunday morning in Lake Wales. I’
ve thought about how my life had been changed by that experience
and how much I have changed since. Often I’ve looked back on that
day with smug reminiscence, like looking back on rotary phones or
watching the Amish. It seemed so antiquated, so evangelical, so
fundamental. I had been “liberated;” education and experience
enabled me to not only understand my faith differently but also feel
mild embarrassment for such a “primitive” and “superstitious”
religious upbringing.
“So, Chuck, what are you giving up for Lent?” Just before I climb up
on my pious moral high horse to tout denial of worldly pleasures, God
reminds me of that Sunday morning 30 years ago. God could care less
what or if I give up for Lent. God has better things to do. What God
wants from us is simple: God wants everything. To paraphrase Psalm
51, “Had you desired it, I would have given up Diet Coke or Alcohol or
Chocolate or cursing or television or even Facebook, but you take no
delight in burnt offerings. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a
broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
Today is a reality check. The state of our brokenness rubbed in our
faces; death and sin and sin and death. But the real issue isn’t the
death that is part of the biological process, but the death we bring on
ourselves: The countless times pride demanded our attention so that
our worship of God is, in reality, is the worship of ourselves. The
times when we cherished things more than relationships, when we
failed to love and show love as we have been loved; death casts its
shadow over us. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall
return.
When Adam and Eve were banished from Eden, God never left them
to suffer at the hands of their own destruction. God went with Adam
and Eve out of paradise into darkness. God was more than a mere
spectator to their waywardness but became a full participant in
redeeming the human race.
Within the darkness we never held onto God, but it God was holding
onto us. Despite our sin, despite the awful and horrendous things we
do to ourselves and one another, God loves us: undeserved and
unearned favor, totally and unconditionally.
Today we strip away all of the decorations of piety and the pettiness
of religion. Lent isn’t a time to beat our breast and say how bad we
are. Lent is the time to be mindful of the living reality of grace; living
in gratitude for undeserved and unearned favor. Remember that you
are dust and to dust you shall return.
I have Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling on my I-pod. It isn’t as long
as I remembered. Other than the first verse, I could never remember
the other three. The final verse, the one in which I let go of the pew
and made my way down the center aisle, sums it all up: O for the
wonderful love he has promised, promised for you and for me! Though
we have sinned, he has mercy and pardon, pardon for you and for me.
Come home, come home; ye who are weary come home; earnestly,
tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling, O sinner, come home!
To contact us: Calvary Episcopal Church 667 Mount Road Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 OFFICE The Rev. Charles Messer, Rector Fr. Chuck: frmesser@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Website: mail@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Office: calvaryoffice1@verizon.net |
