Community Church Sermons

The First Sunday in Lent, Year C - March 4, 2001

"Lent: A Season For Remembrance and Response"

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

I want to begin today's sermon by giving it a subtitle. Not only do I want to call it "Lent: A Season For Remembrance and Response", but I want to add as a subtitle "Happy Birthday, Julio Garcia".

Now, Julio, one of our great church members who can hit a golf ball a very long way, and who gives away a lot of himself in community service is 60 years old today. I wouldn't ordinarily subtitle a sermon with that fact, but I'm prompted to do it today because of something Julio's wife - Gail Petit - said to me when she told me about the big event. Gail said Julio has come such a long way from that little boy growing up on the streets of San Antonio.

And those words struck me because it's so very true of every one of us here today. You and I have all come a long way from somewhere.

In today's Scripture lesson from Deuteronomy, the people of Israel have arrived at such a moment. They are standing at the doorstep of the Promised Land. Forty years of wandering in the desert after their escape from Egypt are about to end. They have come a long way from where they used to be!

And yet, Moses does not tell the people to look too far ahead just yet. Instead, he cautions them to remember where they've been.

All of us have come a long way from somewhere. And it's important to remember.

Do you remember the first house you lived in as a child? I remember ours - at 35 Calumet Avenue. A small Cape Cod style house that was always painted more than one color. That's because my dad would begin the annual house-painting project every Fall. We would put up ladders against the house and start the work, all the while listening to Holy Cross football games on the radio. Soon, my dad couldn't take it anymore. "Let's go to the game," he'd say. And we would, arriving by halftime. By the time football season was over, it was too cold to finish painting. And so with one side of the house white and three sides red, we'd quit for another year! It took us four years to paint that house!

What do you remember about your first house? And about your life as a child?

It is good, it seems to me, for those of us who have grown into positions of importance in life - able to say to others, "Do this! and they do it! - to remember the days when we didn't give the orders, but received them at the hands of a mother or father who had their ways of making sure we complied. You and I weren't always the big boss, though we might like to think we were.

And do you remember the times when there was no money? When Sandy and I were married in 1970 - during the summer between my Junior and Senior year in college - both our parents were not all that enthusiastic. They were delighted we had each other, but thought we should be a little more settled before we tied the knot. Meaning one of us ought to have a job! They used to say, "You know, you can't live on love!" But they underestimated the fact that Sandy would finish her training as a lab technician that Fall, and that I had secured a $50 a week summer job to hold us over in the meantime. And that's what we lived on. Our apartment was a big three story brick tenement building in the inner city of Springfield, Mass. Where you didn't want to go walking at night because of the crime. Our car was a yellow 1964 Ford Fairlane whose exhaust system and other components kept falling off and that proved a great source of wealth to every automobile mechanic we took it to. And we didn't know much about marriage in those days - I was 21 and Sandy was only 19. Just a couple of kids. Boy, today, with me being 51 and Sandy being 30, we sure have come a long way!

Do you remember how it used to be?

There's something important about the gift of memory! Somehow, it puts us in touch with things that can empower our lives today.

This morning is the first Sunday in the season of Lent. Lent is a season for remembering.

We remember a birth. A life. An arrest. A trial. A cross. A crucifixion. A death. We remember Jesus giving his life for us. And we remember how far we've come as a result!

Lent is a season for remembering.

The Deuteronomy passage shows us why remembering is so very important. What an incredible feeling it must have been for the people to gaze out across the Jordan River and at long last see the land they had only dreamed about. Moses, their leader, knows that soon each family will be settled into its own home and its own life. For many, there will be joy that they have finally arrived!

So, in his farewell speech on the other side of the Jordan, Moses tells the people to do something important: when you're finally settled into your life in the Promised Land, take some of the first things you grow, and bring them to the Temple as an offering to the Lord. And while you are there, holding the things you have created, say these words:

"A wandering Aramean was my ancestor. He went down to Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders. And he brought us into this place, and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me."

In the midst of our achievement and success, Moses tells us to remember who we are and where we come from!

Why did Moses say that? Why is this so important?

Well, for one thing, remembering our roots and how far we've come helps us to have compassion and understanding for those who are still on the way toward the Promised Land.

There's something about success that spoils us. We can easily begin to think that we have always been here in the Promised Land, and forget that we ever dwelled in the desert. And when we no longer remember the streets of San Antonio, or Worcester, or Springfield, or wherever, we lose touch with the very core of our own humanity, and our very ability to love others. That's why rich people criticize poor people, you know. Because we've forgotten what it's like. That's why people who think they're righteous are always judging people who aren't. We've forgotten where we've come from.

So remembering levels the playing field, and puts us into relationship with all sorts of other people for whom we can have compassion and to whom we can give understanding and support.

Another thing remembering does is to help us appreciate our own vulnerability. I will never forget the day many years ago when I visited a church member in the hospital. He was an imposing figure - very successful, very powerful, very prominent in the community. When he came to church on Sunday, he even looked the part. He was so well dressed and groomed that you just knew this was a man who stood apart from the crowd.

But that day in the hospital, I was surprised by what I saw. Laying there in a hospital bed, with the back of his johnny wide open, his rear-end flapping in the breeze, tubes in his body, teeth in a glass by the bedside, hair rumpled, complexion pale, he was no longer the man we saw on Sunday morning. He was his true self - a frail human being who gets sick and dies - as he did a few days later - just like the rest of us.

You haven't forgotten who you are, have you?

So as Lent begins today, let me invite you to remember:

We are sinners saved by the grace of God. Human beings who rely upon God for our next breath.

Personally, I find it easy to forget that. Who I am. Where I come from. And that's why Lent is so important for Christians. It simply asks us to remember!

And then, to respond.

For the ancient Israelites, this meant taking some of the good produce they were able to grow, and remembering that it was made possible by the grace of God, offering it to the Lord's service. In our day, it applies differently. It would mean offering to God the use of the success you've achieved, or the healing you've received, or your marriage, or your money, or the free time you now have, or your new home, or the skills you've acquired. It would mean offering to God some of the forgiveness you've received as forgiveness to another. It would mean taking the friendship Jesus has built in your life, and going to share it with others.

For whenever we turn our gifts into God's service - whatever they are - we are remembering who we are, and where we come from.

One day, long ago, I sat all alone in a church sanctuary. I was feeling kind of down, and a little confused. The burdens of life had sort of caught up with me. I was hoping God would speak to me - out loud - telling me what to do, or giving me some insight. But God wasn't speaking that night.

As I sat in the silence there, I found my attention drawn to the old rugged cross hanging from the front wall of the chancel. I looked at the cross for a long, long time, and as I did, I remembered a Friday long ago. I could almost hear the beating of the drum, and the pounding of the nails. I could almost see the suffering in the look upon his face. But most especially, my mind noticed his eyes. They were the most loving eyes I've ever seen. And they were looking right at me.

And in remembering Him, I remembered who I was, and I knew what I must go and do.

As Lent begins this year, I hope you'll remember too!