Spiritual Amnesia

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 25, 2007
Fifth Sunday in Lent
Reaffirmation of the Baptismal Covenant

Spiritual Amnesia
Exodus 24:1-8
Ephesians 4:1-6

Who remembers his or her baptism?
I certainly do not.
Mine was a half-century ago, on a December morning
at the marble font in the front of the Sanctuary of
Westminster Presbyterian Church in Buffalo, New York.
I was all of four months old at the time.

The pastor who baptized me was Dr. Albert Butzer.
I am guessing that he did as most pastors do:
took me from my parents arms,
cradled me in his left arm,
and with his right hand, poured a bit of water
on my head three times,
saying the words, “I baptize you
in the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit,
Amen”

He probably said a little prayer over me,
and then introduced me to the congregation,
all my new brothers and sisters in Christ.
My mother has confirmed that I did not embarrass her
or my father, or the rest of the Ferguson clan
watching from pew 148.
Apparently at age 4 months, I understood Paul’s
directive to us to do all things “decently and in order.”

Over the years I have watched baptism after baptism,
but I never paid much attention to the liturgy,
to the words that were being said
in the course of the service.
Before going to seminary, I was like most of us,
my focus firmly on the baby:
how adorable the child was,
or how much noise could come from someone so small!

Once I got to Seminary, my focus did change,
but not to the liturgy itself as much as I watched the
various pastors: how they handled baptisms --
How much water did they use?
How did they handle a wailing child?
How quickly did they hand the child back the parents?
And did they remember not to dry
their hands on their robes?

It was only when I began doing baptisms
that I began to pay attention to the liturgy,
to the words,
to the promises made to us in baptism:
“In baptism, God claims us
and seals us to show that we belong to God.
God frees us from sin and death,
uniting us with Jesus Christ in his death and resurrection.
By water and the Holy Spirit,
we are made members of the church,
the Body of Christ,
and joined to Christ’s ministry of love, peace, and justice.”

These are the words you hear me say
with each baptism,
these are the promises made to each of us
in our own baptisms.
We are claimed by God,
sealed by the covenantal act of baptism
to show to all the world that we belong to God,
that we belong to Christ.

We are united with Christ in his death and his resurrection.
The symbolic act that’s happening in baptism
is our going under the water and dying to the old ways,
and coming up out of the water,
born to new life in Jesus Christ.

We are washed clean: that’s the very meaning of the word.
Clean of sin,
as we are promised forgiveness in Jesus Christ.

And we become part of the holy catholic church of Jesus Christ,
holy catholic, with a small “c”,
the church universal.
All those who profess faith in Jesus Christ,
regardless of denomination,
are our brothers and sisters in faith.
It is why we baptize only once,
and recognize baptism from virtually any other church.

Our Book of Order captures Baptism this way:
“Baptism signifies the beginning of life in Christ,
not its completion…” (W-2.3007)
Professor Laurence Stookey, has written that in Baptism
we are reminded that “we are between the river of Eden
and the river of the heavenly city at the end of time”;
That we are headed somewhere,
guided by God through the Holy Spirit.
(Stookey, 18)

Baptism is the first sign of God’s faithfulness.
God’s faithfulness, of course, never needs renewing,
but because we struggle with a sort of “spiritual amnesia”,
(Stookey)
it is very appropriate for us to have a service like this:
a service that does not rebaptize,
but simply reaffirms for us the covenant of baptism.
An opportunity for us to remember the promises
made in our own baptism.

As we go through the litany,
pay attention to the words;
listen to the them,
think about what you are saying and why.
Baptism is something we do in community
but the litany is quite personal;
you will have the opportunity you probably did not have
when you were baptized: to speak for yourself.

When you come up in a few minutes,
feel the water: the water that gives life
the water that washes you clean,
the water from which you have been given new life
in Jesus Christ.

Have you noticed:
We’ve been putting water in the font each Sunday
and we will continue to do so every Sunday
at the beginning of worship
to help us remember this covenant.

Thank God for the water.
Thank God for your life.
Thank God for calling you to faith.
Thank God for filling you with the Holy Spirit,
Ask God’s forgiveness for your spiritual amnesia,
for not remembering the promises made in your baptism,
for not working harder to live up to your end of the covenant,
God’s sure and faithful covenant made to you
in your baptism.

And then keep that stone as a symbol
of our Lord Jesus Christ,
“the foundation stone, a tested stone,
a precious cornerstone,
a sure foundation” (Isaiah 28:7)
for through him,
we have been given new life.

Praise Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
Amen.

Coming Home

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 18, 2007
Fourth Sunday in Lent

Coming Home
Luke 15:11-32
2 Cor. 5:16-21

There was a man who had two sons.
The younger of them said to his father,
“Father, give me the share of the property
that will belong to me.”
So the father divided his property between them.
A few days later the younger son gathered all he had
and traveled to a distant country,
and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.

Let’s stop right there and look at this young man.
In less than fifty words, Jesus tells us so much,
and yet leaves so much unsaid.
The young man demands his inheritance from his father;
Demands it.
Demands it there and then.
No discussions, no conversation.
The father’s wealth consisted of goats, sheep,
camels and cows.
It was not money in the bank, not retirement accounts,
not even a home.
It consisted of things all around him.
But this young man wasn’t interested in being a farmer,
he wasn’t interested in looking after flocks or herds.
He was after a good time, and so he wanted money,
cash: silver and gold.

The very act of demanding his inheritance was so callous, so cold.
He was wishing his father dead, saying to him in effect,
“I don’t have the patience to wait for you to die,
give me what will be mine,
give it to me now,
and give it to me in cash.”

What was driving this young man?
Why was he doing this?
Did he hate family?
Did he look to the future and see such bleakness
that he shuddered with fear?
He must have felt so completely stultified,
so desperate to get out, get away.
Perhaps he was filled with a powerful urge
to experience life at its fullest,
like “those who go down to the sea in ships” (Psalm 107:23)
Whatever his motives, he was willing to leave his family,
his home,
everything;
And he didn’t care who he hurt in the process.

But of course, when a person of any age acts rashly,
acts purely from emotion,
acts without thinking through the consequences,
trouble usually looms on the horizon.

When he had spent everything,
a severe famine took place throughout the country,
and he began to be in need.
So he went and hired himself out
to one of the citizens of the country,
who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs.
He would gladly have filled himself with the pods
that the pigs were eating;
and no one gave him anything.

The young man went to work, hired himself out,
hired himself out for the only work he could find,
work that was degrading:
a Hebrew looking after pigs,
animals considered to be unclean.
But it was work, and a starving person
will do just about anything to fill his belly.
He was so hungry that he was tempted to eat
the food given the pigs.

But when he came to himself, he said,
“How many of my father’s hired hands
have bread enough and to spare,
but here I am dying of hunger!
I will get up and go to my father,
and I will say to him,
'Father, I have sinned against heaven
and before you;
I am no longer worthy to be called your son;
treat me like one of your hired hands.'”
So he set off and went to his father.

He “came to himself”.
He woke up; the scales fell from his eyes.
He understood what he had done.
In coming to himself, the young man “repented”,
to use a word we hear a lot during Lent.
The word “repent” simply means
to turn from one way to another,
to turn from the life one is leading to a different life.
The old ways have passed and a new life has begun.
He had had enough of his prodigal ways,
his wild life.
He was ready to go home;
He was ready to go home even if it meant he would no longer
have a place of honor as the second son.
He was willing to go back, even if it was as a servant.

Can you picture the young man at this point:
gaunt from hunger,
his skin burned from the sun,
his clothes filthy and tattered,
his sandals falling apart from wear.

It is this figure that approached his father;
after an absence of ….how long?
Had it been months, or had it been years?
How long he had been away did not matter.
All that mattered was that
he was coming home
coming home, repentant,
seeking forgiveness.

But while he was still far off, his father saw him
and was filled with compassion;
he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.
Then the son said to him,
“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;
I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”

“I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”
Just words?
Was the young man trying to “spin” his image,
to use today’s terminology?
I don’t think so; I think this was genuine.
Rembrandt’s magnificent painting of this scene
portrays the young man on his knees before his father
his face buried in his father’s robe
as his father embraced him with
a sense of tenderness that you can feel.

… the father said to his slaves,
“Quickly, bring out a robe – the best one –and put it on him;
put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.
And get the fatted calf and kill it,
and let us eat and celebrate;
for this son of mine was dead and is alive again;
he was lost and is found!”
And they began to celebrate.

There was joy in the house,
joy in the father’s heart,
for his son had come home.
The father who had lost his son found him.
Yet how easy it would have been for the father to have said,
“You are no longer my son. Leave and don’t ever come back!”
He could have said, “You hurt me so deeply
that I am not sure I can forgive you.”
He could have said, “Explain yourself first,
and then perhaps we’ll talk about forgiveness.”

But the father said nothing;
he just embraced his son, enveloping him in love,
as he welcomed him home.
Unconditional acceptance,
unconditional love,
unconditional forgiveness.

But of course, that’s not the end of the story.
The man had two sons,
and Jesus turns our attention to the older son,
the one who remained at home,
the one who had always been faithful.

Now [the] elder son was in the field,
and when he came and approached the house,
he heard music and dancing.
He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on.
The slave replied, “Your brother has come,
and your father has killed the fatted calf,
because he has got him back safe and sound.”
Then the elder son became angry and refused to go in.
His father came out and began to plead with him.
But he answered his father,
“Listen! For these years, I have been working like a slave for you,
and I have never disobeyed your command;
yet you have never given me even a young goat
so that I might celebrate with my friends.
But when this son of yours came back
who has devoured your property with prostitutes,
you killed the fatted calf for him!”

The older son was filled with bitterness and resentment,
fueled each day as he worked under the hot sun,
harvesting crops and tending animals.
The older son had been the dutiful son,
mindful of his responsibilities to his father,
and to his name.
The law assured him that he would inherit a “double portion”
of his father’s estate as the firstborn son. (Deut. 21:17)
But the wealth came with a price:
it came with responsibility,
duty, obligation.
The very idea that he might venture out
was never an option for the older son.

Yet how many times, do you suppose,
did the older brother’s mind
turn to the younger brother,
envious thoughts filling him
as he thought about what the
younger brother was doing,
the parties, the women, the wine:
all the fun the older brother
imagined his younger brother was having.
With each day resentment grew,
bitterness increased,
anger boiling over, aimed less and less at the brother,
and more and more at the father.
Thoughts filling his head:
“Where has my faithfulness got me?
What is my reward for having been obedient all these years?”

But the father responded so gently to the son:
“Son, you are always with me,
and all that is mine is yours.
But we had to celebrate and rejoice
because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life;
he was lost and has been found.”

We don’t know how the older son reacted to those words,
but probably not well;
He probably dismissed his father’s words
and went off to his room angry, brooding, sulking.
Did he hear “all that is mine is yours”?
If he had, it probably wasn’t good enough.
He wanted to be rewarded for his faithfulness,
for his obedience.
Just one goat for a party with his friends:
was that too much to ask of his father?

This story has become known as the
“return of the prodigal son.”
But it is much more than that.
It is the story of two brothers,
and in reality it is our story,
for there is a little of each brother in each of us.

We all have a bit of the younger brother in us,
the one who longs to break out and experience life to the fullest.
Don't we all think, from time to time,
that the grass looks considerably greener
in another person's yard?
It was Henry David Thoreau who wrote those famous lines
from his experience on Walden Pond:
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential facts of life,
and see if I could not learn what it had to teach,
and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. …
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”
(Walden, 96-97)

And at the same time we all have some of the older son in us, too:
we have our responsibilities, our obligations, our duties
to families, friends, to this community,
to the world at large.

It wasn't just the younger who was lost;
both sons were lost.
The older was as lost as the younger.
He was caught up in his responsibilities and duties,
caught up in envy
caught up in anger,
caught up in resentment.
and more than a little self-righteousness.

The difference between the two is, of course,
that the younger recognized that he was lost,
recognized that he needed to turn away
from how he was living his life,
recognized that he needed to look to new life.

Only the younger one repented.
And through repentance,
only the younger one was able to experience
the amazing grace that comes through forgiveness
and redemption.

The father extended amazing grace to both his sons,
but only the younger son recognized it and accepted it.
and felt it and knew it.
And because he repented,
because he received forgiveness,
because he knew the promise of redemption,
his old life was gone,
a new life had begun.

A life that would make him more like his father
with each passing year.
Having received grace,
he could offer grace;
Having received forgiveness,
he could offer forgiveness;
Having received redemption,
he could offer redemption.

The writer Henri Nouwen once said,
“As long as we belong to the world,
we will remain subject to its ways
and expect to be rewarded for all the good we do.
But when we belong to God,
who loves us without conditions,
we can live as he does.” (Return of the Prodigal, 125)

To live as God lives;
to live as Christ lives:
Offering mercy
offering grace,
offering forgiveness
offering love.
Unconditional
unconditionally.

That's crossing the threshold
and coming home,
to a place where the old ways have passed
and new life has begun.

Amen

There’s Always Next Sunday

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 11, 2007
Third Sunday in Lent

There’s Always Next Sunday
Luke 13:1-9
Isaiah 55:1-9

Everybody got out their brooms this past week, right?
You have been sweeping, cleaning,
scrubbing, washing;
Layers of dirt gone,
junk and clutter tossed out.
Fresh air infused with the Holy Spirit blowing through you.
Right?

Or perhaps not.
Perhaps you thought it about, but then things got in the way:
demands at work, from family, from school,
things kept popping up, the telephone kept ringing,
life kept interrupting.
Your intentions were good,
but you just ran out of week,
And of course, we had one less hour this week,
and that unexpected snow day.
This coming week probably looks better anyway;
the calendar is not so full;
Not as many places to be, not as many things to do.
We will be back to the full complement of 168 hours,
and we have probably closed the door on winter.

It was Scarlet O’Hara who said of her problems
at the end of “Gone with the Wind”:
“I won’t think about them today.
I’ll think about them tomorrow,
for tomorrow is another day.”
There’s always tomorrow, isn’t there?
Always another Sunday
when we can begin our spiritual housecleaning.

Or is there?
Can we be sure about tomorrow?
Can we be sure that there will always be next Sunday?
Uh oh: the preacher’s walking onto thin ice:
Guilt must be waiting in the wings about to make
its annual Lenten appearance.
We might even be about to talk about end times;
“Repent, sinners, for the end is near!”

You won’t hear me say,
“repent, for the end is near”,
But eschatologically speaking,
-- and you remember that word: eschatology,
it refers to the end times --
the one thing we know for sure
is that the end will come… sometime,
it will come whenever God determines it will come.
But we don’t need eschatology to remind us
of the reality that tomorrow might not be another day.
Next Sunday may simply not come.

The reality of life is that
things happen in life we don’t plan on.
A call comes from the personnel office
and thirty minutes later you struggle with the news
that your job has been eliminated.
A routine physical at the doctor leads to the ominous words,
“I think we need to run a few more tests.”
A car runs a red light, or crosses the double-yellow line.

None of us wants to think about things like that,
which is probably why Presbyterian churches,
including our own, are so thinly attended
on Ash Wednesday,
that day when we talk about our mortality:
“from dust we came, and to dust we shall return.”

Don’t worry: I won’t ask you to think of such things.
No, I will leave that to our Lord Jesus Christ,
because that is just what he is doing in our gospel lesson.
Even as he preached a message of grace, mercy,
forgiveness and love
he also tried to bring a sense of urgency to his message:
that the time for repentance was not, is not, next Sunday,
not even tomorrow, but here, now.

Jesus is the one who reminds us that we don’t know for sure
what tomorrow will bring.
How often does he say that no one knows
when the Son of Man will come again,
that he will come like a thief in the night?
In our lesson, he reminds us that even if we put aside eschatology,
the ugly reality of life has a nasty habit of showing up
when least expected,
as it did for the Galileans who were victims
of Pilate’s psychotic bloodthirstiness.

Most of us have had the awful experience of standardized tests,
the tests that require a half-dozen number 2 pencils,
the tests that always seem to have more questions to answer
than time permits.
Most of us have known how frustrating it is
when the proctor calls time and we are not yet done:
“Put your pencils down and close your book.”
The time is up; the responses you have given
are the responses that will determine your grade.
There are no further options for changes.
No one will hear your plea for more time.
There is no grace to go back to change an answer that
you realized was wrong
as soon as you put your pencil down.

Our Mediator, our Savior, our redeemer,
wants us to have no illusions about time;
Every one of us will be told at some point,
“time’s up,
put your pencils down,
and close your book.”
Our Savior, our Teacher wants us to be prepared and ready
for that day, whenever it comes.
Our Savior wants us not to wait until next week,
not to think that there will always be next Sunday;
He wants us to start now, preparing for that day.

Our Savior asks each of us: why we would wait until Spring
to do our spiritual housecleaning?
Why wouldn’t we be actively engaged
in spiritual housecleaning all year round?
Always ready.

The question Jesus puts squarely before each of us:
“Are you ready to stand before the Lord?”
Right now, before we leave here,
before we sing the next hymn,
before I even finish this sermon.
Are you ready to stand before the Lord?
Now, this very moment?

Jesus reminds us that we may not have the time that
we want to think we are going to have.
Jesus calls us to live our lives as if
there will not be a next Sunday,
not even a tomorrow.
Jesus calls us to bear fruit,
to bear fruit today, not next week; NOW.
And Jesus isn’t subtle about the fate that awaits us
if we don’t bear fruit.
Off in the distance is the sound of a grinding wheel,
the blade of an axe held tightly against it,
sparks flying as the edge is honed.

Now wait a minute.
Isn’t this all too dreary, all too weighty,
even for Lent?
After all, can’t we rely on “grace”?
Isn’t that what Reformed Theology is all about?
And if we have grace, then do we really need to talk
about sin, repentance,
penitence, guilt, or any of those dreadful subjects?

In his letter to the Romans, Paul asks just this question.
If the grace of God is evident in sin,
doesn’t that mean that grace abounds all the more
when we sin all the more?
Paul answers with his signature phrase,
“By no means!” (Romans 6:1-2)
Or put another way,
“don’t be ridiculous. Of course not!”

Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and gifted writer,
encourages us to confront our sin, talk about sin,
not run from the word, but embrace it.
“Sin is our only hope,” she writes,
“because the recognition that something is wrong
is the first step toward setting it right again.
There is no help for those who admit no need of help.”
(Speaking of Sin, 59)

In her book, "Speaking of Sin", she helps us
to reflect on the reality that there is a gap
between each of us and God,
a yawning distance that we make,
a yawning distance we add to by our sins,
each time we do something,
each time we say something
that turns us from God,
each time we don’t do something that God
commands us to do,
each time we do something
Jesus teaches us not to do.
We expand the distance.
We stretch it, adding a bit here, a bit there.

And then in our self-absorption
when troubles come we cry out,
“God, why are you so far away?”
overlooking the fact that God is not the one who moved;
it’s each of us, each time we sin.

When we recognize our sins,
recognize those things that add to the distance,
we can begin to close the gap,
and draw closer to God.
Taylor writes that sin is a wake-up call,
sin is what opens our eyes:
“When we see how we have turned away from God,
then and only then do we have what we need
to begin turning back” (Taylor, 67)
Then and only then can we live the lives Christ calls us to:
transformational lives.

This is not easy to do; it’s hard work.
It is much easier to think that
the grace of God through Jesus Christ
puts us in a no-fault place,
where coming to church is like going through the car wash,
the week’s dirt washed clean from us,
so we are each good to go for another week.

But do you recall what Jesus said to the adulterous woman
even as he forgave her sin?
“Sin no more”.
In other words: “change;
Don’t do it again;
take a different path learn, grow,
be transformed.”
Stop treating grace as a free pass,
a coupon good for another run through the wash.

Lent encourages us to look at our lives,
to be reflective, introspective;
Look at the gap you have created between you and God.
Acknowledge it; don’t deny it.
Measure its distance.
Then ask yourself,
How can you live with it?
That’s the beginning of repentance.
(Taylor, 62)

It is easier to live with guilt.
Easier to say, “‘I feel really, really awful
about what I have done,’
than actually start doing things differently.”
(Taylor, 66)
But don’t you see what you are doing
when you take that approach?
You are setting yourself up for the axe,
for what John the Baptist warned:
“Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees;
every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit
is cut down and thrown into the fire.” (Matthew 3:10)

Jesus used strong language from time to time,
but when he used such language
it was not to frighten us;
he spoke strongly and urgently
to move us from our apathy
because what God wants for us
is to know the truly rich and abundant life that can be ours
by living as his faithful children.

That’s what God was teaching through the prophet Isaiah:
“Come, you who have no money,
come buy and eat,
come buy wine and milk without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Incline your ear, and listen to me;
listen so that you will live”
(Isaiah 55:1ff)

This is God’s invitation that comes to us
through the love of God that is Jesus Christ,
through the grace of God that is Jesus Christ.
But: it is an offer with an expiration date on it,
which is why Jesus is so passionate about our taking it now.

Tomorrow may not be another day.
There may not be another Sunday.
Repent now,
bear fruit, now.
Don’t wait. Not another minute.
Not my words to you,
but the word of the Lord to us,
his beloved children.
Amen

A Clean Sweep

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 4, 2007
Second Sunday in Lent

A Clean Sweep
Luke 4:1-13
1 John 1:5-10

A broom.
An ordinary broom.
I think the best symbol for Lent is an ordinary broom.
I don’t think ashes capture Lent as well as a broom;
I don’t think giving up French Fries or ice cream
captures Lent as well as a broom.
A broom is the ideal symbol for Lent,
for Lent is the perfect time of year
to do some house cleaning,
some spiritual housecleaning.

The word “Lent” comes from an old English word
that means “Spring”,
and when we think about the word “Spring”,
we tend to think about Spring cleaning.
Try as we might to keep our houses clean and tidy during the year,
clutter accumulates,
dust bunnies propagate and send their children off
to live in every corner of the house;
kitchen drawers can’t be opened for the stuff that piles up;
closets bulge with clothes that we promise ourselves
we will wear again just as soon as we lose a few pounds;
Garages overflow with things we thought we had to have,
but which we haven’t used in months.

When the first fresh breeze of springtime blows in,
as it did this past week,
we clean out, air out,
move out, and throw out.
Everyone gets involved:
each child is assigned a room,
husbands are sent to garages,
and even the youngest can pick up sticks in the backyard.
We attack our homes, our apartments, our condos
with vigor, passion, and energy.

Why would we not take the same approach to our Spiritual homes?
Why would we not want to do some spiritual housecleaning,
and do it with the same vigor, the same passion, the same energy?

Over the course of the year,
our spiritual lives get covered with dust and dirt;
junk accumulates that gets in the way of a fresh and vibrant faith;
staleness descends upon us like a heavy gray cloud,
leaving us slothful, tired, and dull.

There is dirt and dust even in the deepest corners of our lives,
dirt and dust we need to clean out.
Dirt and dust that accumulates, a little here, a little there;
dirt and dust that accumulates
every time we give in to temptation:
little temptations here and there,
and it is the little temptations
that trip us up far more often
than bigger temptations.

We give in to temptation every time we give in to
anger,
to envy,
to contempt, to judgment,
to pride, to selfishness;
we give in to temptation when we tell
even the tiniest of fibs.

It was in the sixth century that Pope Gregory
made his list of what we now refer to as the Seven Deadly Sins:
Lust, greed,
gluttony, sloth,
wrath, envy,
and pride.
Dante turned those seven sins into his seven levels of Purgatory
in his “Divine Comedy”.
The list is certainly not exhaustive:
we are much too creative and clever to be limited to seven sins!
But we are all guilty of every one of those sins on Gregory’s list,
and each time we succumb,
each time we give in to temptation,
each time we choose to turn from God,
another layer of dust and dirt coats us.

No one likes to acknowledge his or her sins.
It is so much easier to rationalize our sins:
We think our sins aren’t so bad compared with those of others:
“I’m not much of a sinner, especially when I compare
myself with the two people sitting right behind me.”
But sins are not relative;
your own sin belongs to you.
God does not compare your sins
with the sins of anyone else.
God is interested in your sins, and your sins alone.

What God wants from you, me, each of us
is to acknowledge our sins,
acknowledge them so we can learn from them,
as we are forgiven by God’s love in Jesus Christ.
That’s the first step in our spiritual housecleaning.
Acknowledging our sin, taking ownership of it,
standing before God and saying, “yes, I turned from you,
yes, I did wrong. I do not deny. I confess.”
It’s a hard thing to do,
But it’s the first step to coming clean.

Still, who wants to think of himself as greedy?
Who wants to acknowledge herself a liar?
Who wants to look in the mirror and see the reflection
of someone who has repeatedly given in
to one temptation after another,
who has run through every sin on Gregory’s list,
broken too many Commandments,
and ignored too many of Christ’s teachings?

We live in an era in which no one wants to take
responsibility for himself or herself.
Have you ever noticed when a prominent figure
apologizes for something,
he or she rarely says, “I am sorry I did that.”
They usually couch their words,
“I am sorry if anyone found
what I did or said offensive”,
as though the problem is with us
for finding the behavior or words offensive.

It’s why a few years back I wrote in an article
for the Christian Century a prayer of confession
that reflects our times:
"Almighty God, I may or may not need your mercy,
for I am neither admitting nor denying that I have transgressed.
For I would come to you with a penitent and contrite heart,
if I were guilty of sin, which I am not saying I am,
and I am not saying that I am not.
For all those sins which I may or may not have committed,
forgive me, even as I deny any specific need for forgiveness.
Wash me clean and restore in me a right spirit,
notwithstanding the fact that my present spirit may require
neither washing nor restoration. Amen"

But didn’t John remind us in our first lesson,
“If we say we have no sin,
we deceive ourselves
and the truth is not in us.” (1 John 1:8)
If we deny our sin,
even if we try to minimize our sin,
aren’t we guilty of giving in to the temptation of lying?
Aren't we guilty of giving in to the sin of pride,
that somehow what we have done is not that
bad when compared with others?
We all need to come clean before the Lord.

So we need to get out the spiritual brooms
and look into all those parts of our lives that need cleaning:
dig into the corners, open up the closets,
pull out the drawers, throw open the windows:
Clean out the dirt, scrub ourselves clean.

Start with the layer of dirt that has built up
over the past year,
that accumulation of dust and dirt that covers every one of us.
Then turn your attention to all the junk
you’ve accumulated over the last year:
the clutter that fills up your life that distracts you,
and pulls you away from Christ.
Acknowledge the clutter. What is it?
Too much time in front of the television?
Too much of an obsession with celebrities or sports?
Too much time worrying?
Too much of a focus on accumulating things?
(that wonderful phrase, “retail therapy”.)
Too much time spent complaining?
Too much time gossiping about other people?
Too much time text messaging or IMing.
Too much indulgence in food or alcohol?
Too much time doing things that don’t lead to growth,
healthy spiritual growth?

What is cluttering up your life
that keeps you from praying each day?
"I meant to, but I was busy all day."
What gets in the way of your reading the Bible each day?
"I had planned to, but something else came up."
What clutter causes you to fit worship
into your other Sunday plans,
rather than fitting your other Sunday plans
into how you keep the Sabbath?

Sweep it all out!
throw it all out!
all in the trash, all the dirt,
all the clutter, all the junk,
everything out,
gone!
Give meaning to the words of the Psalmist:
“create in me a clean heart,
and put a new and right spirit within me.”

Now, the dilemma we have with our houses is that
it seems that no sooner do we clean out
cupboards, closets, basements, and garages,
than we start filling them up again with a new collection of stuff.
And we tend to do the same thing with our spiritual households.
What we need to do, though,
is to fill those newly cleaned spaces with good things,
healthy things,
things that will enrich and strengthen your spiritual homes.
Things like a more disciplined prayer life;
A greater familiarity with Christ’s teachings;
More knowledge of God’s words that come to us in the Bible.

Fill up those newly cleaned spaces with
a greater willingness to forgive;
a stronger commitment to reaching out to those in need;
a greater sense of awareness that we are all God’s children
and all of us created in God’s image;
a greater commitment to being a better caretaker
of this creation God has entrusted to us.

As you come to the Lord’s Table
I encourage you to think about
where you will start with your spiritual housecleaning.
Not when: start today
We’re ten days into Lent,
but we still have 35 days until Easter Sunday
so we have plenty of time to do some spiritual scrubbing,
to put out the trash and get rid of the clutter.

You will have help:
As John reminds us,
“he who is faithful and just will…cleanse us
from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9);
The Holy Spirit will give you the energy;
and God will be delighted in your newly cleaned house.

AMEN