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We are deep within the Lenten season, slowly moving through the quiet darkness that we entered into on Ash Wednesday. The ashen crosses smudged
on our foreheads are long gone but remain a powerful symbol that we each are weighted down by the stark reality of our pending death. This is a
reality that we cannot escape and part of the human condition we all share. This is our journey. We are born, live and then we die. This
reminds me of Peggy Lee’s song that was popular several years ago, “Is That All There Is?” a refrain that used to run through my mind at times
when life seemed a futile struggle with little joy.
No, I believe that there is something more to our lives than simply living and dying. At various points in our life journey, we may encounter
a moment in time when this journey becomes a pilgrimage. Somewhere, somehow we make choices where we find ourselves traveling toward a sacred
space, a holy place that is full of light, liberation and love. This may be the “eternal life” that Jesus speaks of; a life anchored in love
that is both imminently within us and transcendently around us. Paradoxically, it is this same journey which promises abundant and abounding
love which leads to the foot of the Cross. It is a journey that promises deep suffering, crushing disappointments and broken hearts along
the way. This is the way of the Cross. And, like Christ, we are called to journey through the darkness and solitude of the desert as we travel
toward Jerusalem for the last time.
I will never forget the day I met Rose. I was a chaplain at Yale-New Haven Hospital and near the end of my shift when a nurse paged me to
visit an elderly woman. I walked into Rose’s room and was struck by the calm and serenity on her face. I sat down and we began to talk.
Within minutes Rose was holding my hand and telling me her life story. She and her husband raised a family and ran a small business. In
time she was her husband’s caretaker before he died. There was nothing remarkable about Rose’s life. But, Rose was anything but ordinary.
Rose was diagnosed with a terminal illness a few months before we met. There was no treatment for her. Rose was dying. She was going home
to be with her family. Rose wanted and needed to talk about her pending since her family was not able to do so. She said she felt she was
part of the cycle of God’s creation, which included being born into this life and dying into the next. Rose believed that death was as much
a part of this cycle as life and not to be feared because she knew God was with us, both in the living and the dying.
Whether or not you agree with her theology, Rose lived her life with profound joy and anticipated her death with remarkable grace.
The Israelites knew the harshness of life in the desert. Today we hear the strange story about how they are overcome with rage about their
plight, railing against God and Moses, even complaining about the grace-filled manna that fills their growling stomachs. We read of an angry
God who lashes back by infesting their camps with a scourge of deadly snakes, striking and killing their victims as they rush about the camp
in a frenzy of panic and fear. These poisonous serpents become a graphic metaphor for the toxicity of self-righteousness, self-absorption,
and sense of entitlement that has infested the Israelites as they make their way through the desert.
Overwhelmed and burdened down by their fear of death the Israelites are derailed from their journey out of Egypt. Their fear reduces them
to a crazed mob that are biting and infecting each other with their venomous wrath against the very God who promises to lead them to a new
life of freedom. They have lost their way. Anger begets anger. Fear begets fear. In the midst of this mass hysteria, this mercurial
God seems to have a change of heart and instructs Moses to erect a bronzed snake on a pole in the middle of the camp, with the instruction
that those who look upon the bronzed serpent will be saved. The snake in ancient times was a symbol for fertility, life and healing,
capable of giving both death and life.[1]
Paradoxically, the Israelites are saved by confronting the very thing that is killing them. In their willingness to confront their own
fears, taking responsibility for their own actions and looking beyond their self-absorbed behavior, they are no longer held captive by
their fear of death. In their act of staring death in the face, they are liberated. They are free to continue their journey through
the desert toward the promise of a new and abundant life.
John tells the story of Nicodemous, a Pharisee and member of the Sanhedrin court, who is also held captive of fear. He senses something
in Jesus’ presence and seeks him out under the cover of darkness to learn more. Nicodemus lurks in the shadows fearful that exposure of
his contact with Jesus would label him a traitor. Jesus, impatient in knowing that his time is growing short, tells him that just as
Moses raised the bronzed serpent up so that the Israelites might find true life, he too will be lifted up, giving eternal life to all
who believe in him (John 3:14). “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not
perish but may have eternal life” (John 3:16).
Nicodemus has no idea what Jesus is talking about. And things have not changed much since that initial exchange between Jesus and
Nicodemus. Many of us are mystified by this saying. Even though it is one of the most frequently quoted verses in the Bible (look
the end zone of any football game) it is one of the most abused, misused and misunderstood. When taken literally, it assumes a
rigidity that justifies intolerance and exclusion of the Other. It puts a self-righteous mask on the fearful response we harbor for death.
There is another way to view this passage. Jesus uses the word believe as a verb; an action word that means actively responding to God’s
overpowering love that goes far beyond the cognitive response of faith. To believe in God is a way of being, doing and living in the
world, actively engaged in relationship with the Other that is grounded in Love. Those who actively respond to God’s Love will experience
life abundantly. God actively pours out love by the selfless giving of his Son to the entire world, without exception, in the hope and
expectation that the people of his creation would respond in kind, living lives of love, justice and compassion.[2]
To have “eternal life” is to live a life that is bigger than our individual selves. It is living a life that is liberated from this crippling
fear. When we risk it all and look up to the bronzed serpent, we see not only death, but we also see ourselves. We look up and we see Christ
crucified on the cross. Finally, we look up and we see ourselves, crucified. We look up to Christ on the Cross…in faith and in time so
doubt…longing for the tiniest thread of faith in our darkest hours.
Paul reminds us that we are “made alive together with Christ” (Eph.2:1-10). For we were made, as was Jesus Christ, to do the good works
that have been set before us, as the way to be with each other in this world. This is our vocation, our calling, our identity as Christians;
to face our fears, and in the process of doing so, we die to our selves. It is in our dying that we are born a new to a bigger, fuller
life. Our hearts are broken open in the process, making us vulnerable to the transformative power of love. Our hearts are stretched,
emptied out, making room for the Divine’s overwhelming love, compassion to overflow into our lives.
Because we are human, we also possess the free will to say no to this journey to the Cross. We can hang on to our fear, like the Israelites,
overwhelmed with the prospect of certain death, loosing our way as we wander aimlessly in the desert. We can remain like Nicodemus, lurking
in the shadows, afraid to show ourselves in the light, claiming who we really are as children of the living God.
If we choose to follow the path to the Cross, we need not do it alone and we cannot do it alone. Part of our inheritance as a Christian
community is the knowledge that we need and love one another. This doesn’t mean that we don’t experience sharp elbows and tender sides
from time to time. That is part of being in community. A significant part of our pilgrimage is reflected in how we are actively engaged
with each other, both in and outside the walls of St. Mark’s. Our spiritual journey is a process that actively engages each one of us
with the world. In the process we experience a transformation in our own lives as well as in the lives we touch. Through our works of
love, compassion and justice we become part of the living Body of Christ.
Here on Capitol Hill St. Mark’s is involved in many outreach activities locally and abroad. We are meeting and working with Capitol Hill
Group Ministries on a regular basis to addresses the rising levels of hunger and homelessness that haunt our community outside this door.
Part of this involvement also includes planning the upcoming interfaith Yom Hashoa Memorial service planned for next month. This is an
effort of local congregations to actively engage in interfaith dialogue about specific concerns we share as a wider community. For all
that we are doing, much more needs to be done. As the economy continues its free fall, our vocations as Christians is to discern how
and where our pilgrimage takes us. To discern how to be in community that we are called to be:
Recent statistics show that the HIV/AIDS pandemic is on the rise in Washington DC, especially among African-American males, at an alarming
rate of ___%.
Rising rate of homelessness and agencies that are running out of funds to help (SC article, gov. worker gave her own $$ to a woman seeking
aid and facing homelessness)
This is the path we are walking this Lenten season, the path that leads to the cross on Golgotha. This is were we find our true identity
and claim the vocation for which we are each destined, “to love God with all our heart and to love our neighbors as ourselves.” These are
the good works God has prepared for us to do. (Eph.2:1-10).
Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
[2] Jouette M. Bassler, Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Vol. 2, Lent through Eastertide. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 119-121.
