The Fifth Sunday in Lent (RCL, Year B)
March 29, 2009
The Reverend Paul Abernathy
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I have spent a lifetime – to date and counting – getting to know myself. Yes, I still have moments when I, in the words of the Apostle Paul,
“look in a mirror dimly.”[1] When I don’t see my reflection clearly. When I’m not sure what I’m thinking or feeling
or why I’ve done or said something. Nevertheless, largely, I know myself fairly well. By “fairly,” I mean deeply, but not necessarily justly,
for I am not always kind to myself.
When I look at myself, my flaws and failings tend to loom large, making it difficult sometimes for me to behold and claim my virtues or to accept
graciously kind words from others. At times, it’s hard for me to hear when much of what I see is the worst of me. Therefore, at times, it’s hard
for me to be humble, by which I mean having an evenhanded perception of myself – the bad and the good, my weaknesses and my strengths – and
by faith being able to say “yes” to life, to move on, and not to be out of balance and immobilized.
All this comes up for me as I, this Lent, once again have taken a metaphorical page from Jesus’ travel journal, embarking on a wilderness journey,
entering my heart. Not merely the locale of my emotions, but rather, in the wonderfully comprehensive terms of Hebrew physiology, the inner
landscape of all of my constituent parts – my mind and my will, too.
When I enter my heart and open my eyes, I don’t always like what I see. There, I behold afresh the haunting memories of moments when I did not
do what I ought to have done and did what I ought not to have done. There, I see anew my heart’s still firm grasp on old hurts, old slights,
which I unflinchingly have not forgiven, even as I know that in my refusal to do so I am being eaten alive with bitterness. There, I pray that
my heart become a tablet on which a new script can be written.
“The days are surely coming, says the Lord…when I will write my law on the hearts of my people…and all shall know me.”[2]
This, for me, is one of the most beautiful passages in all of scripture. At a time of exile, displacement and abandonment, the people in the
wilderness bereft of God, God speaks a word of forgiveness, a word of reclamation and restoration. But even more, by putting the divine will,
the divine way of being, the way of love through which forgiveness comes – no longer out there, above and beyond, but rather – within, this
is a word of re-creation.
I long for this. A new script written on my heart.
And this morning, I thank Jeremiah who has helped me understand how this can become true for me. Jeremiah, as a prophet, proclaims God’s word
to the people who, having heard it, still must choose how to respond.
Formerly, whenever I read this passage, I interpreted it as descriptive of that which only God does. That which only God can do – write the
divine law or will on the human heart. But somehow, now, meditating on this word, I see that God may write, but I, in response to the prophetic
word, must allow it to be written. And by application and extension, you may speak a kind word to me, but I must open my ear to listen. You
may extend a gracious hand to me, but I must open my fist to receive it.
In coming to this re-realization – that I have a decided, unmistakable part to play without which nothing will happen, nothing can happen –
I also understand afresh that when I see only the worst of me it is precisely because I have looked only for the worst of me. And when I look
only for the worst of me, I now see that that is my law, my will, my way, for it serves the purpose of allowing me not, really, never to have
to change. Allowing me, therefore, to hold onto all the old hurts, all the old slights, refusing to forgive, refusing to love.
I want a new script and, truth is, I already know what it is. It’s whatever I’ve not been doing! And I have a choice. Question is, will I
allow God to write what God, in love and forgiveness, has already written? And having written, will I open my eyes to read it? Will I see
God, know God, and follow?
