Lent V, Year B
Jeremiah, 31:31-34
Hebrews, 5:1-10
John, 12:20-33
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
RECENTLY I got a postcard from South Africa. It shows Nelson Mandela's cell on Robben Island, South Africa's Alcatraz for leaders of the anti-apartheid movement in the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s. The tiny cell may be fifty square feet, with a bucket in the corner and next to it, neatly rolled up, a thin straw mat to use for sleeping on the concrete floor. That was Mandela's home for 19 of the 27 years he spent in prison.
Most of us generally assume that horror and suffering harden souls, and understandably so. In most places, the response to violence and oppression is revenge and more suffering, a cycle of retribution – think of Ireland, the Balkans, the Middle East, Rwanda. Mandela, however, broke the cycle. He could have exacted just about any kind of retribution on his oppressors, but he rose above them and promoted forgiveness and reconciliation.
Numerous others did so as well. Another anti-apartheid leader, Malusi Mpluana, an Anglican priest, was jailed and tortured. His torments included the ‘helicopter,' that is being spun in circles while hanging horizontally from the ceiling with his hands shackled behind him to his ankles. While enduring the ‘helicopter,' Malusi was converted to nonviolence. Incomprehensible? Not if you are a Christian.
South Africa's incredible transformation is the power of forgiveness; it shows the practicality and sanity of Christian mercy, not covering up truth, but exposing truth, being honest about evil, and then forgiving. Archbishop Desmond Tutu developed this theme in his book No Future Without Forgiveness.1 He tells the story of the Americans Peter and Linda Biehl. Their daughter Amy, a Fulbright scholar and longtime anti-apartheid activist, was stoned to death while giving fellow students a ride home to a black township. She was tragically killed, Tutu writes, ‘by the people whose cause she espoused.' The Biehls attended the amnesty application hearing of their daughter's killers, where [the Biehls] embraced the families of the murderers. With exceptional largesse, [the Biehls] later established a foundation to aid young people in the town where Amy was killed.2
That's love breaking the cycle of revenge and retribution. Incomprehensible? Outrageous? Unjust? Absurd? Or Christian? Jesus teaches us, "Love your enemies," a radical, dangerous command that challenges and offends every one of us. S. Peter asked, "Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?" And Jesus replied, "I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven." (Mt. 18:21-22) In other words, forgive continuously. Forgiveness must always abide in our hearts, because forgiveness is always in the divine heart.
When we hold grudges against other people, it destroys us – makes us small, mean, unpleasant, unhappy people. If nothing else, we ought to forgive others for our own spiritual health and well-being, for our own freedom and liberation. We should forgive out of selfishness if nothing else. But we often like grudges against other people. It makes us feel superior, morally more advanced. We feel holier than thou. So we can even begin to cherish having been wronged, or at least the feeling of having been wronged. This hardens our souls. Jesus says, "Let go of it. Try to reconcile with people." On the cross, Jesus prayed for his murderers. He called for mercy on them.
Many times a day we pray "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Forgiving other people, maturing spiritually, becomes easier when we look honestly at ourselves. We recognize our common humanity, that we all have failings and weaknesses, that we all are broken and not what we should be.
Focusing on the reality of our sin, the evil we've done, and do, is what Lent is for, and it's one of the reasons we so dread Lent. But it's an opportunity, an opportunity to grow in forgiveness, to grow in love and compassion, to grow in gratitude. That begins by acknowledging some unpleasant truths about ourselves; that begins by cultivating a contrite heart.
Today is the third high mass this Lent where we've heard Psalm 51, the quintessential penitential psalm. It should shape the way we approach and deal with sin. The psalm begins with a plea for mercy and cleansing. Then there's a confession of sin, an acknowledgment that every rotten thing we do messes up our relationship with God. What we have done and what we have left undone doesn't only hurt other people. It hurts God. Every person bears the image of God; every person is a tabernacle of the Holy Spirit. Our sins against other people are sins against God.
The psalmist recognizes that sin is part of the human condition, and he pleas for transformation: "make me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." He wants mercy and also the joy and gladness of a renewed, improved relationship with God, of a deeper intimacy with God. He vows to teach others the ways of God, to witness to God's goodness, and to offer praise – "my tongue shall sing of [thee]."
Finally, the psalmist declares that what God wants most of all is "a broken and contrite heart." For when our hearts are broken, when our hearts are contrite, God begins to re-create us, then he can renew us. Then he can fulfil his promise to Jeremiah to transform us, to stamp our hearts with his name. When we are contrite, God forgives us. He writes on our hearts, "I am yours, and you are mine." That's why we can love Lent. It's about letting God more fully into our lives to change our lives.
I got an email a few weeks ago from a priest friend, now in the Roman Church. He's been sent on some kind of ministerial junket, and for the last couple of months has been living quite well – some meetings and preaching, but a lot of traveling and partying, warm beaches and good wine – the cliches of the good life. He wrote in his email, "As you can see Lent isn't biting too much!" And he quoted another priest, a "late, lamented, friend" who used to say every Ash Wednesday – "So it's Lent again, and I expect we shall eat and drink ourselves silly till Easter!"
If we're feeling like the great opportunity of Lent has slipped us by, it's not too late to have a holy Lent, a life-changing Lent. I guarantee three things will make for a holy Lent, three things that it's not too late to do. First, invite someone to church, especially someone who doesn't go to church, someone feeling cut off from God, but curious, open, looking for more in life. That's one of the holiest and best things we would do all year. It's a holy act, a good work, to invite someone to church. It far more than atones for eating and drinking yourself silly in Lent.
Second, resolve to be here in Holy Week – not only the fanfare of Palm Sunday and Easter morning, but for the real guts: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. That is the heart of our religion, that experience brings us more deeply into Jesus' passion, death, and resurrection than anything else. It has everything to do with getting our relationship right with God. Holy Week is more than worth every inconvenience it causes.
Third, do an examination of conscience. We set aside some time, at least half an hour, and no more than an hour and a half, to be alone and to pray about our life. We ask the Holy Spirit to give us the courage to look honestly at ourselves, at our story, and to admit our fault, our shame, our sin. We think of our relationships – with God, with other people (family, friends, strangers), with ourselves – and, without equivocation or self-justification, we write down the hurt and damage we've caused, where we have not been charitable, loving, merciful.
It can be a painful spiritual exercise, but it is life-changing, opening our hearts, nurturing our growth. It's a way to know that God loves you. It's a way to know that God forgives you. It's a way to let God minister to you. I urge each of us to do this, to face our reality, even if we can't bring ourselves to talk about it in the sacrament of reconciliation. We write down our sins, ask for God's mercy, and know that God forgives.
If you want to make a confession, if you can summon the courage, every priest is willing to be your friend, to be absolutely discrete and confidential, to hear without judgment or astonishment, because every priest is a penitent and because every priest knows that we're all in this together, that God gives his mercy to all who ask for it and we all need it. We are blessed in this parish with tender-hearted priests, and they will hear your confession, and I also heartily commend Fr. Sloane and Fr. Humphrey at S. Paul's.
The last thing to be mindful about a examination of conscience is that sin is not our whole truth. It's a part of us, but the whole point of confronting sin is so that it does not define us, so that it's not part of our identity. We want God to define us. We want Jesus to be our identity. We want to grow so that we can be capable of the kind of profound forgiving we see in the stories of Mandela and the Biehls, so that we, too, can be profoundly inspiring people. And I assure you that many such inspiring people are not sitting far from you this very moment!
A holy Lent: invite someone to church, come to Holy Week, examine your conscience. That means sharing the good news, being prayerfully present with Christ, cultivating mercy. And we'll find God writing in our hearts, "I am yours, and you are mine."
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
1. Drew Christiansen, ‘Putting It
Together,’ America, 18 March 2000. Review of Demond Tutu’s
No Future Without Forgiveness.
2. Ibid.
© 2006 Lane John Davenport
