This post is being written partway through the season of the
Lent in 2016. For many people, Lent, the
liturgical season before Holy and Week and Easter is a time for establishing a
personal discipline. Following the
ancient tradition of fasting, it is common to give something up for the
season. Chocolate, soda and other types
of junk food are common. I once had a
friend who gave up money for Lent. She
was a college student on a university food plan and living in a dorm room so
food and shelter were not an issue. She
took out $100 from the ATM at the beginning of the season in case of emergency
but then attempted to go through the 40 days without buying anything extra, though
mooching off others was not out of the question in her discipline.
There is
no issue with trying to be more disciplined.
I admit being impressed by those who seem to have better self-control,
running the marathon, doing the crunches, eating unprocessed, low sugar foods,
foods that offer a culinary joy that seems akin to reading the privacy
information policy that the bank keeps sending.
As I have said to my congregation, it is not that I want another donut,
I just keep finding myself in situations where I happen to have another donut. I have often tried, failed and tried again to
establish some personal disciplines.
My
question is, does Jesus care? Does Jesus
care if I give up chocolate for 40 days?
Does Jesus care if I eat only tofu in his name? Does Jesus care if I eat the last cookie in
the box? Some people may feel very
strongly that Jesus does care because, after all, these disciplines are being
carried out as a sign of respect and honor.
I just
wonder if we are honoring Jesus with gifts that he didn’t ask for, the
religious equivalent of sending an ill-fitting sweater to your cousin in
Florida, a gift that will be examined quizzically and lost in a deep
closet. Jesus asks for love, kindness
and compassion and we offer touchdowns, chocolate and the last cookie. And it is not that Jesus won’t accept these
gifts. He will receive them with a smile
and a nod and the hope that next time we will pay more attention to the
registry.
This is a
nagging feeling that also follows me to worship. As a pastor, I think about the time and effort
we give to the Sunday morning hour, an event that is often at the heart of
religious experience, that frequently defines the pastoral role, and yet is
something that Jesus does not ask for.
There is tension about worship in the scriptures. The faithful are called on to praise God and
worship. Paul assumes that the early
church will be singing hymns and sharing the Lord’s Supper. At the same time the prophets critique that
worship. Amos speaks for God saying, “I
hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn
assemblies…Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the
melody of your harps. But let justice
roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” It might be said that because we proclaim
Jesus as divine and fully God, the calls to worship that come out of Hebrew
scripture also apply to Jesus; we worship Jesus as God. My point is that Jesus himself never asks to
be worshiped. He never asks for
buildings or organs or praise bands, ecstatic hand-clapping or stolid liturgy. He asks to be followed. “Take up your cross and follow me,” he says.
I suspect
if our focus on proper worship or dedicated touchdowns or the last cookie are
really distractions from the hard work of following, of learning to welcome and
love the stranger, of standing with those in need, or struggling to love the
enemy. I’m sure Jesus smiles and nods at
much of our worship, accepts our Lenten fasts, even accepts our gift of the
last cookie in the box, but perhaps we should intentionally seek to offer that
for which Jesus asks, our love, our kindness, our compassion, the very gifts
that he has first given to us.
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