Blog: Random Thoughts on Sunday's Sermon

Books on atheism are a hot topic these days, and the trend has been to combine one’s lack of belief in God with an extreme disdain for religion. It is not enough to express one’s disbelief; one must also be clear how deluded any follower of religion is. The good news is that atheism 2.0 has arrived, and it has a kinder, gentler front man in Alain de Botton. Unlike the caustic criticism of recent atheists, de Botton leaves open the possibility that people may be able to learn something from religion, even if one lacks a belief in God. To be clear, he is not saying he wants to pick and choose the doctrines he likes from the world’s religions. They hold little value to him. But he does see merit in the way religion organizes itself. To me, this openness bears more intellectual integrity and a desire to learn. Otherwise we are in an endless cycle of only wanting to know what we already know!

This started me thinking about Easter and the Resurrection. I know the connection is not clear, so allow me to explain. There are many who are dismissive of the Resurrection because it does not square with a scientific worldview. Sure, the teachings and example of Jesus are inspiring, but “let’s not push the “Big R” on people,” some say. I wonder what we miss as people of faith if we categorically reject the Resurrection? Even for us skeptical, scientific moderns, could there not be something there that can guide and inspire us? After all, generations across two millennia have found hope in the Resurrection. And though there has certainly been disagreement about how it is to be understood, it has always found a way to form and fashion Christian identity. It seems if we summarily dismiss it, we fall into the cycle of only wanting to know what we already know. My hope is that the startling message of Easter reminds us to be open to what we do not know—and to be ready for some surprises! Otherwise, God is confined to the limits of our preexisting thoughts.

Mother Nature is a powerful force. She has the power to destruct and she has the power to give new life. What fascinates me are the situations in nature when death and life are of the same event. Here I am thinking of the forest fires in Yellowstone National Park. Most of us would consider that forest fires are harmful and produce nothing but death, but in fact that is not entirely true. When fire consumes the above-ground plant-life, the roots remain unharmed and actually increase the productivity of new life after a fire has done its damage. In fact there are specific pine cones in Yellowstone that are sealed by resin and the only way for the cone to release its seal is by the heat of the fire. Thus the seeds are released into the ground allowing for new life to sprout. For years people resisted the fire and tried to master Mother Nature’s ways but it wasn’t until the 1940s when ecologists realized that fire was actually a primary agent of new life. Mother Nature teaches us that at times some things must die in order for new life to blossom.

I have returned to this poem numerous times during Lent. It is not a typical Lenten poem that is shrouded in lamentation. Instead the author invites us to posture our hearts toward “the graced wings of desire” so that we may experience God more fully.  As we approach the final weeks of Lent I am still ruminating on this poem in conjunction with the Psalm this Sunday. The Psalmist writes in chapter 51 “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence and take not your Holy Spirit from me.”  Both the poem and the Psalm express the posture of humility that propels the writers, not to self-flagellation, but instead into desire. That is my prayer for all of us that in our confessions we know we approach a God who never stops welcoming us in love. We are welcomed to die to persistent feelings of unworthiness and instead soar on the graced wings of desire for our God.

Lent 2001 by Joyce Rupp

The cosmos dreams in me
while I wait in stillness,
ready to lean a little further
into the heart of the Holy.

I, a little blip of life,
a wisp of unassuming love,
a quickly passing breeze,
come once more into Lent.

No need to sign me
with the black bleeding ash
of palms, fried and baked.
I know my humus place.

This Lent I will sail
on the graced wings of desire,
yearning to go deeper
to the place where
I am one in the One.

Oh, may I go there soon,
in the same breath
that takes me to the stars
when the cosmos dreams in me.

Lent can feel like another season in which God makes more demands. In this case, the demand is to be penitential. It seems God always wants something from us! Yesterday I came across a quote in the Huffington Post by Annie Dillard, the Pulitzer Prize winning author, that prompted me to see Lent—and God—differently. She wrote “God asks nothing, and demands nothing, like the stars. It is a life with God which demands these things. You do not have to do these things unless you want to know God. They work on you not on him ... you do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.”

Prayer, fasting, generosity, forgiveness—these are not things that God demands. These are things we do when we want to know God. They emanate from our yearning for something more; not from God demanding we do more. Lent is not another spiritual duty. It is an invitation to know God.