Lent 4C
In the name of God. Amen.
One of the pearls of wisdom that
I hold as most-prized from my mentor to the priesthood is from one day when she
warned me: don’t start believing your own press releases – and be warry of
those who do.
I thought of that bit of wisdom
I’d held onto all these years a few weeks ago when Michael and I went into the
city to see a show. I usually don’t like
to read my Playbill until at least intermission, because I don’t want it to
give anything away for me. But by the
time intermission came, I was feeling very bothered by the leading man. Something – and I couldn’t quite put my
finger on what it was – felt wrong for me.
I just didn’t like him, and you’re supposed to like the leading man.
Curious, I turned to my
Playbill. I found his bio, and I could
see it right there. He was a man who
believed his own press releases. His bio
began: “He is stoked to be making his
Broadway debut! He burst onto the scene in 2009 and since then, has become a global
phenomenon.”
The thing is, if you have to
describe yourself as a “global phenomenon” it’s almost certain that you’re not one. But even though he was an actor, that true,
underlying part of himself invaded the character he was portraying – and that
truer part of himself was one incapable of humility. His portrayal made it hard to feel sympathy
for the character.
The Parable of the Prodigal Son
is the story of a man who started out believing his own press releases. He started out believing that he knew more than
his father, and that he could achieve greatness on his own, where his father
was holding him back. Through the course
of living his life, however, the truth came out. His father’s restraints were actually what
kept him going. Eventually, his situation
became so dire that he had to face the facts of his situation. His self-congratulatory confidence was
misplaced. He did actually need
others. He would have to humble himself
and return to his father if he were to survive.
If you’ve heard the story before,
you know how it goes: he did humble himself.
And he did return home. He had
learned his lesson and was prepared to pay the cost. And his father welcomed him home with open
arms. He didn’t treat him as a servant,
but as a lost son, returned. His grace
toward his son was more powerful than his son’s failures.
In Lent, we are called to humble
ourselves – to set aside the “press releases” that we project for others, and
to remember that we are people in need of grace, too. The grace of Easter is coming, but we must
prepare ourselves to receive it. It’s
grace that we are worthy of receiving, but not because of our own
achievements. We are worthy because God
has declared to us that we are worthy.
We are worthy because God has given us the grace of worthiness. Not because we did the right things, but
because we are loved.
I’m always a little bit surprised
when I use Rite I, to learn how many people are spiritually fed by that prayer
we say just before receiving communion, the “Prayer of Humble Access”. It’s the prayer that begins, “We do not
presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the
crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the
same Lord whose property is always to
have mercy…” Whenever I’ve proposed using the prayers of
Rite I in a congregation, usually one of the first things I hear is, “Can we
use the Prayer of Humble Access”?
There is something soul-feeding
for many of us that comes from remembering that we need God’s mercy. We’re called to do a lot – we’re called to
care for others and to live our lives to the glory of God. But no matter what, what really brings us
closer to God is not what all we do, but what all God does for us. It’s not our actions, but God’s mercy. There’s something comforting about
remembering that try-as-we-might, we can fail and still be loved.
There’s nothing wrong with
puffing yourself up from time to time.
The world doesn’t always come at us with mercy the way God does. But at our core, it’s not our puffing-up that
matters most, but our ability to be humble enough to ask for love and to
receive mercy from one with no obligation to give it.
Easter comes as unexpected
grace. The women who approached the tomb
that morning weren’t looking for resurrection.
They were looking to do the work that needed to be done. But instead, they got the grace and the mercy
they didn’t even know to be possible.
Instead of work, they got love.
Instead of mourning, they found joy.
When we find a way to humbly
present ourselves before God – to push aside the puffing-up that the world demands
– that’s when we’ll find that same grace.
That same love. That same joy. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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