“Denying, Taking, Losing,
Saving”
A Communion Meditation for the
Second Sunday in Lent Preached by
The Rev. Jean Niven Lenk
Sunday, March 4,
2012
First Congregational Church of Stoughton,
United Church of Christ
Text: Mark 8:31-35
If you are or have
been in the past both a parent and a pet owner, chances are that you have had
to explain the death of your beloved dog or cat or hamster to your little
one.
I had this talk with
my son Ian when he was five years old when we had to put our beloved cat
Sweetie Pie to sleep. When it was time
for me to bring Sweetie to the vet for the last time, Ian asked to come with me
because he didn’t want me to be alone.
And the conversation that ensued became a teachable moment.
“Why does Sweetie
have to die?” he asked.
“Every living thing
has to die some time,” I responded.
“It’s not fair,” Ian
declared.
“Well, Sweetie has
had a wonderful life, and he’s old and sick,” I explained. “It doesn’t seem fair when someone dies too
young, but this is the right time for Sweetie.”
I think I was trying to convince myself as much as I was Ian.
“Will Grandma and
Grandpa die?” Ian asked.
“Yes, when it’s
their time.”
“Will you die,
Mummy?” he asked me, wide-eyed.
“Someday, yes, but
hopefully not until I’ve seen your grandchildren!”
And then a shadow of
fear passed over my son’s face. “Will I die?”
“Yes, honey, but not
for a very, very long time, not until you’re very very old.”
“But I don’t want to
die!” he wailed, and his face crumpled into tears as he faced his own mortality
for the first time.
People – and pets –
don’t die until they are very, very old.
That’s what I assured my son, although I knew it wasn’t always true, and
so did he – his Daddy died at age 44, when Ian was only eight months old.
But I wanted my
little boy to believe -- at least for a few more years -- that the world was
fair, that nice people live until they’re very very old, and that bad things
don’t happen to good people. I wanted my
son to think that, because I knew that someday he would learn the truth: that
you can do everything right and still get hurt, that you can be good and still
suffer pain, that people -- nice people – can die when they’re much too young.
And if life teaches
us that the world is not fair, our faith confirms it. Jesus was as good as you can get – and yet,
he died much too young. But despite what
Scripture teaches us, despite daily events to the contrary, most of us still
cling to our own version of the truth: namely, that if we are very, very good,
God won’t let anything bad happen to us.
It is not a biblical
response, but certainly a very human one, as human as Peter’s reaction when Jesus
breaks the news to his disciples that he will soon suffer a bloody, humiliating
death. In this morning’s Gospel lesson
from Mark, Jesus begins to teach his disciples that he must undergo great
suffering, and be rejected, and be killed…
And when Peter hears this, he takes Jesus aside and begins to rebuke
him. In Matthew, Peter says, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!”
Certainly, Peter’s
angry outcry is prompted by his love for Jesus.
But anger if often rooted in fear – and no doubt, Peter’s response is
also prompted by fear – fear of losing Jesus, yes, but perhaps ever more so,
fear of his own death. “God forbid it,
Lord! This must never happen to
you!” Why? Because if it can happen to you, it can
happen to me. If Jesus was vulnerable,
then so was everyone else.
If Peter and the
other disciples weren’t already afraid of death – Jesus’ or their own – all
they had to do was walk the road to Jerusalem.
It was lined with crosses, each of them bearing the dead or dying body
of someone whose public execution was meant to scare everyone who saw it. And no one who saw those crosses and their
human toll could doubt that death was the most awful, most frightening thing in
the world.
Jesus was not spared
from such fear. In the garden of Gethsemane,
knowing what lay in store, he prayed to God, “Father, if it is possible, let
this cup pass from me…” And yet, God
enabled him to see something beyond the pain of his own death. The light of eternal life shown through the
dark vision of death, and Jesus knew his job was to take up his wooden cross
and carry it toward Golgotha.
It has been said
that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to act in the face of
it. And so, my question to you on this
Second Sunday of Lent is what frightens you to death? Because that is your cross. Jesus tells us to stop denying our fear, to
stop pretending those crosses are not there, lying at our feet. Instead, we are to reach down and pick the
wretched things up, to get hold of them so we can find out for ourselves that
there is more to life than being afraid.
What is your
cross? What frightens you to death? For some it is the fear of admitting an
addiction that is eating away at their life.
Maybe it is the fear of your next doctor’s appointment, when you might
get the diagnosis you’ve been dreading. Maybe
it is the fear of going into work tomorrow morning to find out you’ve lost your
job. Maybe it is the fear of too many
bills, and not enough money; the fear of dying too soon, or living too long.
Whatever it is that
terrifies you – that is your cross. You
may think you are saving your life by not dealing with it. But in fact, by denying your cross, you will
be slowing losing your life, because it will have the power to paralyze you and
destroy your soul. And you will be
preventing God from showing you that right there in the midst of your worst
fear, Jesus is waiting to envelope you in his unconditional, life-giving love –
his perfect love which casts out fear.
Stop running from
your cross, Jesus says. Reach down and
pick it up – it won’t be nearly as scary once you get your hands on it, and you
won’t be handling it alone. All you have
to do is believe in God more than you believe in your fear.
“Be not afraid, for
I am with you.” That Voice, through the
ages, has told people who were frightened that they had nothing to fear, for
God was with them. That Voice has never
promised safety, but it has always promised life. It doesn’t offer freedom from pain, but it
does offer freedom from fear.
And that gentle
Voice tells each one of us on this Second Sunday of Lent, “Take up your cross
and follow me. For those who want to
save their life will lose it. And those
who lose their life for my sake will save it.”
Amen.
