A Few Misconceptions about Repentance

Because we heard the Parable Commonly Known As "The Prodigal Son" this weekend, I've been thinking about repentance more than I usually do.  Especially I've been thinking about the whole argument about whether the younger son was "repentant" or not, when he returned home.  So, I thought I'd clear up a few common misconceptions  about repentance.

1.  Repentance is primarily about how you feel.

Actually, the word repentance means "to change your mind."  It doesn't mean "to feel really sorry or guilty."  Certainly, we may experience a deep sorry associated with the act of repentance.  There also might be a deep joy about it.  But what's more important is change.  To repent is to change your mind, to change your direction, to turn around.  A lot of the conversation about whether the younger son "repented" or not has to do with whether he turned around and went home out of genuine sorrow, or if he was just hungry and thought he would get a better deal from dad.  Was the big speech he practiced the way he really felt, or was he just reciting a speech?

What if it's not that important how he felt?  What if what's most important is that he just went home?


2.  Repentance is a dramatic, life-changing event.

You know, it's the one moment, when your whole life turned around and you saw things differently and you were never the same again, ever, after that.  It's like conversion, similar to a conversion experience.

We like to think that life works that way.  It would be simple if there was one flash of insight, one moment where we turned around, and then, after that, everything was different, forever and ever.  amen.  But actually, repentance is a daily event, at least, in Lutheran terms.  Martin Luther, in the small catechism, called repentance a daily return to our baptism, a daily dying to sin and rising to new life.  Daily we turn away from sin, from our illusions that we can make it on our own, from our self-absorption.  Daily we rise to trust the promises of God, and the identity that God has given us.  If there is one moment, it is the moment that God claimed us, the moment God threw his arms around us, not the moment we saw the light.  Because the truth is, we need to see the light again, and again, and again.

So, it matters more what happens every day after the younger son returns home, and learns to live in his father's house than what happened in that one moment.  Every day does he return to that moment when his father embraced him?


3.  You have to repent in order to get forgiven.

If this statement were true, the relationship between God and us would be a transaction.  If you repent, then you will be forgiven.  Those are the rules.

Instead, the opposite is true.  We repent because we have been forgiven.  When we hear God's words of forgiveness, and new life, we turn toward that promise, and at the same time turn away from the old life.  God has already promised to set us free, to give us life, to feed us, to heal us, to never let us go.  Again and again we turn toward this promise.

I'm thinking about the two sons again:  the prodigal and his bitter older brother.  We know the prodigal returned home, whether he "felt sorry" or not.  He went in to the party prepared for him, where day after day he would experience the presence of his father.  If the older son did, finally, decide to take his father's invitation and come to the party, maybe he would come in grudgingly.  Maybe he would come in to the party with a chip on his shoulder, saying, "dad always liked you best."  But still, he would be in his father's presence, and maybe that's the point.

Maybe it is really true, after all, that we are being changed, from one degree of glory into another.  We are turning, and turning around, daily astonished by the love of God, happy and sad and amazed all at the same time.

Halloween and The Church

On Sunday night, the night before Halloween, we were invited to participate in a Halloween experience different than any other we had encountered.  Younger stepson was a part of an orchestra for an event that took place the two weekends before Halloween.  We were told that this was the 18th year since its inception.  It was the Annual Halloween Extravaganza of the local  BareBones Productions.

So we set out for a park near the Mississippi River, eventually becoming one of a long line of cars on our way to this experience.  When we got there, it was dark and cold and a young woman was orienting us to the story.  It had something to do with the Book of the Dead, and death taking a holiday.  There was humor and pathos.  There was music, acrobats, puppets, people walking on stilts, choreography, lights.  There were some elaborate sets.  There most moving moment for me was when a line of people entered the outdoor stage, singing the chorus of Laurie Lewis' song, "Here Today."  "We're here today/and then we're gone/Our lives are short/Just like a song."  There was a story, but I confess that I didn't quite get it. 

As we were walking back to our car in the darkness, I couldn't help considering the implications for the church (yes, I think there are some.)

1.  We possibly put way too much emphasis on "understanding."  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about 'faith seeking understanding; I'm not giving up on knowing what and why I believe for a kind of fuzzy-mindedness.  But there's also a place for mystery, which I think we sometimes flatten out.  Whether it's our attempts to make Christianity "practical", or figure out once and for all what Jesus actually said, sometimes all  we end up doing is reinforcing the idea that God is less than the sum of our ideas.  Leave room for mystery.

2.  The theme was an adult one:    Simply, as much as I could get, it was "The meaning of life, and the reality of death."  Yet, people brought their children.  Possibly, this was because you could dress up in costumes.  I don't know.  What it means to me is that people are interested in grappling with hard, theological questions.  The church tends to hook adults through their children.  What if we hooked children through their parents?
Leave room for questions.

3.  People will invest a lot of time, energy and creativity in something they are passionate about.  There were a lot of people (many of them young people) who gave hundreds of volunteer hours to make this happen.  From Notre Dame to the St. John's Bible, from storytelling to poetry, from gregorian chant to Amazing Grace, creative endeavors are a powerful vehicle for truth.  Leave room for creativity.

4.  And don't minimize the appeal of standing outside in the dark, wearing costumes, and not knowing exactly what will happen next.  Especially wearing costumes.  There's something about wearing costumes that appeals to people.  There's something about being someone else, whether that someone else is a monster or a queen, someone beautiful or scary, Superman or a bum.  Maybe it's as simple as considering what it means to "put on Christ."  Leave room  for playing Christ.

5.  People are hungry for mystery.  They want to ask, and wrestle with the big questions.   The question is:  will we leave room?

things that make you go hmmmm....

Before I posted a couple of Mondays ago about the ELCA's policy regarding gay and lesbian clergy, I had 73 followers in Google Reader.

The day after I posted, I had 72.

It's not a big deal, it's only one Reader, but still, it gave me pause.

It's February here. Still. Which means that even though it was slushy and warmish for a few days last week, it has dipped below zero again and will be cold all week. I don't know why I am always fooled by the early thaw, but I am. And the older I get, the less patient I am. I want it to be Spring.

We saw a lot of birds yesterday. I didn't get a close look, but I think they might have been mallard ducks. Also, our dog's hair is coming out in tufts. So there are two sure signs that spring will come.

In a couple of weeks, we'll be going to Arizona. In the middle of Lent. I can't believe that I'm doing this. But, I kind of like it.

I have a lot on my mind lately. I want to post more often here, and more deeply, but I often feel that I can't quite get my whole mind around my thoughts.

Here are some of the things I've been thinking about lately:
1. Being in the desert during Lent.
2. The Centered Life- our Lenten Wednesday series.
3. What does it really mean to have a Passionate Spirituality, a la the "Natural Church Development" definition?
4. Why conservatives and liberals prefer to hold on to pre-conceived prejudices rather than talk to each other.
5. just how brilliant Jesus' answers to the devil really were....
6. the big political battle between the governor and the legislature in my state over General Medical Assistance for Poor people. I am wondering if people in other states are following this at all....

The Light Shines in the Darkness

I'm working on a sermon today, on Jesus and Nicodemus, the curious man. I found this stained glass window fascinating, and am meditating on it as I prepare.

I'd love your thoughts, today.

Leafy Greens for Lent

One year as a young adult, I decided I was going to give up one meal a day for Lent. It seemed right and pious to me at the time, to eat a little less for the sake of the greater glory of God. I wasn't that experienced in Lenten fasting. I didn't grow up with the tradition of self-denial, although some years there was a cardboard church on our dinner table during Lent: our almsgiving. To be truthful, I'm not sure what I expected to gain by losing my one meal a day, either: I don't remember thinking that I would set aside the savings, and give to a particular cause.

I was visiting a friend in Chicago during my "fast," and mentioned to her what I was doing. Her only comment was: "I hope you are getting enough leafy greens!" She wasn't impressed at all.

I still have trouble figuring out what to give up for Lent. I figure it should not be something too easy to do without. I don't drink much soda; I like chocolate but I'm not addicted to it; Potato chips would probably be a greater temptation. One of my friends gave up gourmet coffee for Lent one year. She had a cup every morning, and I think she really missed it, so that worked for her.

One year I gave up buying books for Lent. Not reading, like Lauren Winner did one year. Just buying books. That was actually the tougher temptation to resist, tougher actually than reading. I think that has been my best idea so far.

If giving up something for Lent makes me feel as if I am making a Small Improvement in my life, then it is a mistake. If giving up something for Lent makes me feel as if I am moving along in this life of faith, then it is a misbegotten endeavor. If giving up something for Lent only makes me feel healthier, slimmer, or more in control, then it feeds an illusion.

I think that the best Lenten fasts are the ones that leave a hole, a hunger and a thirst. The best Lenten fasts are the ones that make me realize the holes in my life, that I have been trying to fill with potato chips, leafy greens, books, or blogging, even. The best Lenten fasts make me realize that only God can fill the hole, quench my thirst, give me bread. Only God.

Ash Wednesday

I wrote this a long time ago, while I was studying at Seminary, and also working at a Domestic Violence Center.

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

We laughed that morning because she had a bruise on her forehead where the ashes should be. How convenient! On any other day her injury would be more conspicuous. Today it would appear pious. Today she could even skip church, and no one would be the wiser, thinking her already marked. Already marked.

A garish cross I painted on each forehead with my finger. From the very young to old stooped-over ones, I drew them all: some cockeyed, askew: not straight. I drew with my finger, saying: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." It was the first year that I had actually participated in an Ash Wednesday service as a worship leader, and it seemed strange, rubbing those ashen crosses on foreheads young and smooth, old and wrinkled, pious eyes downturned, young curious eyes upturned. I marked them all with the mark of ashes: the mark of mortality, the mark of sin? I marked them all without thinking, without wondering: are the word, and the sign, judging or comforting? Are they liberating or confining? Or both? What does it mean to mark someone, and what does it mean to be marked?

This year she does not need a cross, for she is already marked: on her forehead bruised, on her forearm numbered, on her breast pocket stitched a star of David. This year there are red marks on her arms and bruises on her legs, and her heart, having heard threats, is dust and ashes. This year she knows all too well that she is dust, and she doubts that she can rise from those ashes.

Trace gently, then, the cross upon her bruised forehead, and speak gently the fierce words to that ashen soul. Do not bear down on her, but bear down on all that beats her ashen soul into the dust. Do not kill what has already died, but bring to life the new and liberated one. (Does that cross hide or expose the evil done to her?) Expose it. Expose the truth of dust and ashes and bruises. Lift high the cross, and do not hide behind it.


A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice." --Isaiah 42:3

Acclimated

(this post will be printed in a somewhat shorter form in our church newsletter)

This morning I was out in the just before dawn walking my dog. I was wearing my coat, my scarf, my boots, my mittens, my earmuffs, the whole armor of God, so to speak. And I was thinking, that aside from the snow and the ice, it felt, well, almost pleasant. I can do this, I was thinking, as I watched the darkness begin to give way to light. It's not so bad.

It was 21 degrees.

Now, the last I heard, 21 degrees was still considered well below freezing. It's colder than my refrigerator, in fact. I think all will agree that it is a cold temperature. And back in November, when the temperature dipped to 21, it was a major catastrophe. It was unbearable. It was almost the end of the world. Today, it's a veritable heat wave. Or, at least I can stand it. I can deal with it. So what changed?

I got acclimated.

Now I suppose that we as a species would not survive if we didn't learn to acclimate. This is especially true in extreme climates, like Minnesota -- and Arizona. My sister tells me that something similar happens where she lives. We visited once in the middle of July, and whined and complained the whole time. "How can you stand it?" we asked. "It's not any different than the cold in Minnesota, she informed us, a hint irritated. "In fact, it's easier than Minnesota."

But, it got me thinking today: there are some things we need to get acclimated to, the things we can't do anything about, like the weather. But often we learn to live with things we should, instead, be trying to change, things we should care about.

I think the prophets got angry because the people of Israel got too acclimated to the presence of the poor and needy among them. Instead of working for justice for their neighbor, they looked the other way.

Sometimes we get acclimated to injustice against ourselves. I think of women or children who are abused and who learn to believe that this is normal, that this is the way it is supposed to be. Or countries that live with war for so many years they no longer remember what peace is like.

The people of God can't afford to get too acclimated to injustice in the world. We are called to be salt and light, not only to seek justice for ourselves, but for other children of God as well. As the apostle Paul wrote: Do not be conformed to the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. (Romans 12:2) In other words, don't get too acclimated.

In the meantime, we have the coat, the scarf, the boots and mittens, the whole armor of God. We need to feel the pain of injustice, of grief, of sorrow, but we can't let it stop us from going out into the world. After all, it's cold out there.