For Me

I pondered this anew this past week when an email from Sojourners arrived, describing such a surprising transformation.  Sojourners is a monthly Christian journal published by evangelical social-activist and social commentator Jim Wallis.  I’ve been fascinated for years by the journal’s unusual editorial mix:  theologically conservative but politically liberal.  Sojourners is also the name of the Christian community that Wallis and others established decades ago in a dangerous, despairing, run-down ghetto in Washington, DC supports the magazine. They live their faith.  The Sojourners community isn’t Methodist, but it nevertheless embodies the Wesleyan ideals of personal scriptural holiness and social scriptural justice for the least, the last, and the lost of all of God’s children. 

So I was taken aback by an article in their email newsletter.  Under a general subtitle:  “Bipartisan Breakthrough,” the headline read:  “Rush Limbaugh to Speak at Sojourners’ Mobilization to End Poverty.” I skimmed the articles description of Limbaugh’s surprising late-night repentance, his new faith. I thought to myself, “No way.”  But then I realized that the email arrived last Wednesday, and I read the end of the story:  “Okay, as you may have already guessed – April Fools.”

The whimsical look at Limbaugh’s imaginary transformation reminded me that I believe in God’s power and grace to work change in human lives.  I believe that this kind of repentance happens when we face the truth about ourselves.  I believe in repentance because the Bible teaches it, and my own experience in the ministry and in practicing the faith confirms it. Repentance comes in the holy “teachable” moment.  Remember the old joke, “How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb?”  The answer:  “Only one, but the light bulb has to REALLY want to be changed.” For the most hardened sinner, of course, change is possible.  We come here week after week, because we believe redemption is real.

Here we are today, at the close of Lent, and today’s long passion story from the gospel of Mark invites us to see ourselves anew, to see ourselves in need, to see ourselves in sin.  This story calls us to courage, to see truth of our very own presence with those who led Jesus to the cross.  If so, then the miraculous transformation playfully imagined for Rush, our brother in sin, can happen instead for each of us.

For here’s the truth:  we all need that transformation.  Oh, we like to think more highly of ourselves, so we blame others for Jesus’ death on the cross.   We take some comfort that he lesson implicates the Jews, with whom Mark’s community had issues.  And our lesson indicts the Romans, who put Jesus on the cross and with whom most of its subject people had issues, including Mark’s community.  But here’s another truth:  the lesson doesn’t point to them alone.  It points to all of us.  It was our human sin that put Jesus on the cross.  Our sin, if we can face it, offers this faint but significant hope:  if we are honest about our need, God’s graceful forgiveness awaits.  We, too, depend on repentance.  We desperately need to see ourselves for the sinners that we are.

Pilate, another sinner, condemned Jesus to the cross. He acted in his role as dispenser of political and military might.  But, with Pilate, we worship politics and might.  Pilate spoke, but in truth he spoke for all of us.  We put Jesus on the cross. 

The religious orthodox put Jesus on the cross, as well.  Of course.  But we live our religion much the same.  Quite often our lives are rigidly controlled rather than lovingly faithful.  We put Jesus on that hill between two thieves.

The crowd became a mob, shouting, “Crucify him!” Yes.  But we, too, let our fears and our prejudices lead us, rather than let our lives be shaped by God’s love.  We bow to injustice, and to greed.  We put the nails in the soldiers’ hands.

The disciples betrayed him, clearly showing that they hoped for more integrity, more support, more courage, from Jesus than they were willing to give to him.  We are no different.  We ask God to do for us, rather than giving ourselves to God’s will.  We leave Jesus alone on that lonely tree.

In truth, we see others at the cross, but in each of them, we meet ourselves.  Our hands are marked with the blood of Christ.  Facing that truth, there’s little for us to do but wait, fearful, alone, but with the fragile hope in life itself.  Perhaps the dawn will come again, and with it, new life for him, and, just maybe, for us, too.