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chrishansenhomeSermon delivered at St. Matthew’s Church, Ash Wednesday, March 1, 1995
IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE ONE, THE UNDIVIDED TRINITY. AMEN.
When I was a young kid, I was always extremely upset at the prospect of Lent. My mother, and the nuns in Sunday School, would begin on me a few weeks before Lent began, on those Sundays with the exotic Latin names: Septuagesima, Quinquagesima, Quadragesima. “What are you giving up for Lent?” they’d ask, looking down at my ample stomach. I was ample-stomached even then, I’m afraid. The implication was clear: Kid, you’d better give up sweets.
My mother, I’m sure, wanted me to give them up for the best of motives, as she saw it. I could get holy during Lent by doing a penance, and lose a few pounds at the same time. I’d get two benefits for just one price: good value for penance, she would have said.
The nuns, too, in their way, thought that by giving up something which every young child loved, those children would somehow draw closer to the passion of Christ on the cross. Self-denial would be good for their souls, the nuns believed.
You know, I’m sure, how each Lent turned out. We Roman Catholic children would begin very well, and piously keep away from Ma Toff’s sweet shop, down by the railroad station. She had sweeties which cost a penny, or even half a penny. For those who were really big spenders, there were chocolate bars for the princely sum of 5 cents. (they’ve now gone up by 700%; much more than the rate of inflation since the 1950’s). A real den of iniquity for holy kids trying to do their penances in Lent.
Ma Toff disliked Lent—her business always suffered those first few weeks. She was a patient soul, however, and she just waited behind her deserted counter. After the first few weeks kids began to slink into the store by ones and twos to furtively buy their malted milk balls, or chocolate bars, or packs of gum. As we succumbed, one by one, to the temptations within this Paradise of Sweets, most of us forgot our fervent vows to give up sweets for Lent. We could hardly look Sister in the eye (not that we ever did look her in the eye very much¼it was too scary a prospect to contemplate.)
And when my mother found out that I was back on sweets, as she always did, she’d scold me a little bit, not because I was breaking my promise to do penance in Lent, but because I was eating sweets and gaining weight again.
After my college years, I worked for a while and then entered a Roman Catholic seminary. The moral theology professor was the closest thing to a nicotine fiend I had ever met (and I grew up in a household headed by two very avid smokers indeed). He smoked three or more packs of cigarettes a day.
In my first year, when Ash Wednesday rolled around, the professor gave up smoking for Lent. In my smug innocence I proclaimed this to be a good thing. But the students a year ahead of me said, “Just you wait; he’ll start again right after the Easter Vigil.” Sure enough, after the procession left the chapel on Easter morning, the professor stepped out to the cloister and lit up a cigarette gratefully. I was astonished that anyone who had given up such a nasty habit for 40 days and 40 (even more difficult) nights would voluntarily take it up again.
Oddly enough, the moral theology professor was much closer to the penitential spirit of Lent than the nuns, or my mother (God rest her soul) was.
Rumer Godden, a British author who is now in her late 80’s, wrote a book called In This House of Brede about cloistered nuns. In it, the Abbess says to one of her nuns who asked permission to take even harsher penances than the Rule required, “Penance isn’t designed to gain a victory. It’s to force a surrender.”
If you’ve decided to give up smoking for Lent, because smoking is bad for your health and the comfort of those around you: keep smoking! If you need to lose a few pounds, and you’ve decided to keep away from sweets, or biscuits, or red meat during Lent: pig out! Eat those chocolates and tuck into that steak.
What does penance really mean to us today in the Elephant? We get an inkling from the reading from Isaiah: “At the same time as you fast, you pursue your own interests and oppress your workers…Do you think I will be pleased with that? The kind of fasting I want is this: Remove the chains of oppression and the yoke of injustice, and let the oppressed go free. Share your food with the hungry and open your homes to the homeless poor. Give clothes to those who have nothing to wear, and do not refuse to help your own relatives.”
The plain truth is this: any penance which brings us even a tiny personal benefit isn’t what God wants! God doesn’t want you to celebrate a personal victory on Easter Day. If you successfully give up sweets for Lent, and lose a stone and can fit into that dress you gave up wearing a while ago, that’s all well and good. But, what penance is that? You should be losing weight not for God, but for your own health and for proper stewardship of the body God’s given you.
If you successfully give up smoking for Lent, because you know it’s a nasty habit and one which might kill you, that’s not giving up smoking for God, it’s giving up smoking for you. I encourage you to give up now, but don’t consider that your Lenten penance.
God wants us to surrender to the divine will as our Lenten discipline. God’s will for all of us is that we should share the gifts given to us with out neighbours. Come to the Friday drop-in and volunteer to cook for a week or two. If you see someone who needs a coat, and you have a spare one, give it to him or her. When Tesco’s reopens in the Elephant, buy an extra roll from the gleaming new bakery they’ve promised us and give it to one of the poor people who beg in the subways. And do this every time you shop. If there’s a young boy or girl who is in trouble, or who needs help in school, then give them humble advice, or help them with their homework..
Children, don’t let people con you into giving up sweets for Lent. Giving up sweets for the good of your souls isn’t what God wants you to do, either. Perhaps you could be obedient to your parents and teachers; try a little harder in school; do some shopping for the elderly woman who lives next door, or for your mother.
Doing something for other people is the best penance we can do, because it doesn’t gain us a victory—it forces us to surrender—surrender our wills to the will of God. You can’t beat sin out of yourself—goodness knows, enough people have tried that. You can’t starve sin out of yourself—that’s been tried too. All that punishment and fasting to excess do is make us quarrelsome, according to Isaiah.
If you offer your sinfulness to God, and resolve to do better, God promises that “my favour will shine on you like the morning sun, and your wounds will be quickly healed. I will always be with you to save you, my presence will protect you on every side.”
I don’t smoke, of course, and I don’t eat many sweet things anymore—I’m not allowed to. If I could eat sweets, though, I’d set myself this Lenten discipline: Meditate each day on the Scriptures, do something useful each day for the community, and eat one chocolate bar each week, slowly, savouring every bite. With God’s help, we can achieve not a victory, but a surrender to God’s will for us. And God’s will is everlasting, unlike a youthful waistline, and sweeter than any chocolate bar ever made. AMEN.
IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE ONE, THE UNDIVIDED TRINITY. AMEN.
When I was a young kid, I was always extremely upset at the prospect of Lent. My mother, and the nuns in Sunday School, would begin on me a few weeks before Lent began, on those Sundays with the exotic Latin names: Septuagesima, Quinquagesima, Quadragesima. “What are you giving up for Lent?” they’d ask, looking down at my ample stomach. I was ample-stomached even then, I’m afraid. The implication was clear: Kid, you’d better give up sweets.
My mother, I’m sure, wanted me to give them up for the best of motives, as she saw it. I could get holy during Lent by doing a penance, and lose a few pounds at the same time. I’d get two benefits for just one price: good value for penance, she would have said.
The nuns, too, in their way, thought that by giving up something which every young child loved, those children would somehow draw closer to the passion of Christ on the cross. Self-denial would be good for their souls, the nuns believed.
You know, I’m sure, how each Lent turned out. We Roman Catholic children would begin very well, and piously keep away from Ma Toff’s sweet shop, down by the railroad station. She had sweeties which cost a penny, or even half a penny. For those who were really big spenders, there were chocolate bars for the princely sum of 5 cents. (they’ve now gone up by 700%; much more than the rate of inflation since the 1950’s). A real den of iniquity for holy kids trying to do their penances in Lent.
Ma Toff disliked Lent—her business always suffered those first few weeks. She was a patient soul, however, and she just waited behind her deserted counter. After the first few weeks kids began to slink into the store by ones and twos to furtively buy their malted milk balls, or chocolate bars, or packs of gum. As we succumbed, one by one, to the temptations within this Paradise of Sweets, most of us forgot our fervent vows to give up sweets for Lent. We could hardly look Sister in the eye (not that we ever did look her in the eye very much¼it was too scary a prospect to contemplate.)
And when my mother found out that I was back on sweets, as she always did, she’d scold me a little bit, not because I was breaking my promise to do penance in Lent, but because I was eating sweets and gaining weight again.
After my college years, I worked for a while and then entered a Roman Catholic seminary. The moral theology professor was the closest thing to a nicotine fiend I had ever met (and I grew up in a household headed by two very avid smokers indeed). He smoked three or more packs of cigarettes a day.
In my first year, when Ash Wednesday rolled around, the professor gave up smoking for Lent. In my smug innocence I proclaimed this to be a good thing. But the students a year ahead of me said, “Just you wait; he’ll start again right after the Easter Vigil.” Sure enough, after the procession left the chapel on Easter morning, the professor stepped out to the cloister and lit up a cigarette gratefully. I was astonished that anyone who had given up such a nasty habit for 40 days and 40 (even more difficult) nights would voluntarily take it up again.
Oddly enough, the moral theology professor was much closer to the penitential spirit of Lent than the nuns, or my mother (God rest her soul) was.
Rumer Godden, a British author who is now in her late 80’s, wrote a book called In This House of Brede about cloistered nuns. In it, the Abbess says to one of her nuns who asked permission to take even harsher penances than the Rule required, “Penance isn’t designed to gain a victory. It’s to force a surrender.”
If you’ve decided to give up smoking for Lent, because smoking is bad for your health and the comfort of those around you: keep smoking! If you need to lose a few pounds, and you’ve decided to keep away from sweets, or biscuits, or red meat during Lent: pig out! Eat those chocolates and tuck into that steak.
What does penance really mean to us today in the Elephant? We get an inkling from the reading from Isaiah: “At the same time as you fast, you pursue your own interests and oppress your workers…Do you think I will be pleased with that? The kind of fasting I want is this: Remove the chains of oppression and the yoke of injustice, and let the oppressed go free. Share your food with the hungry and open your homes to the homeless poor. Give clothes to those who have nothing to wear, and do not refuse to help your own relatives.”
The plain truth is this: any penance which brings us even a tiny personal benefit isn’t what God wants! God doesn’t want you to celebrate a personal victory on Easter Day. If you successfully give up sweets for Lent, and lose a stone and can fit into that dress you gave up wearing a while ago, that’s all well and good. But, what penance is that? You should be losing weight not for God, but for your own health and for proper stewardship of the body God’s given you.
If you successfully give up smoking for Lent, because you know it’s a nasty habit and one which might kill you, that’s not giving up smoking for God, it’s giving up smoking for you. I encourage you to give up now, but don’t consider that your Lenten penance.
God wants us to surrender to the divine will as our Lenten discipline. God’s will for all of us is that we should share the gifts given to us with out neighbours. Come to the Friday drop-in and volunteer to cook for a week or two. If you see someone who needs a coat, and you have a spare one, give it to him or her. When Tesco’s reopens in the Elephant, buy an extra roll from the gleaming new bakery they’ve promised us and give it to one of the poor people who beg in the subways. And do this every time you shop. If there’s a young boy or girl who is in trouble, or who needs help in school, then give them humble advice, or help them with their homework..
Children, don’t let people con you into giving up sweets for Lent. Giving up sweets for the good of your souls isn’t what God wants you to do, either. Perhaps you could be obedient to your parents and teachers; try a little harder in school; do some shopping for the elderly woman who lives next door, or for your mother.
Doing something for other people is the best penance we can do, because it doesn’t gain us a victory—it forces us to surrender—surrender our wills to the will of God. You can’t beat sin out of yourself—goodness knows, enough people have tried that. You can’t starve sin out of yourself—that’s been tried too. All that punishment and fasting to excess do is make us quarrelsome, according to Isaiah.
If you offer your sinfulness to God, and resolve to do better, God promises that “my favour will shine on you like the morning sun, and your wounds will be quickly healed. I will always be with you to save you, my presence will protect you on every side.”
I don’t smoke, of course, and I don’t eat many sweet things anymore—I’m not allowed to. If I could eat sweets, though, I’d set myself this Lenten discipline: Meditate each day on the Scriptures, do something useful each day for the community, and eat one chocolate bar each week, slowly, savouring every bite. With God’s help, we can achieve not a victory, but a surrender to God’s will for us. And God’s will is everlasting, unlike a youthful waistline, and sweeter than any chocolate bar ever made. AMEN.
