As I write this we are entering the final week of Lent, and
the promise of new life seems to be all around me.
The pair of mourning doves that in some summers nest in the
tree outside my office window have reappeared. At least I assume it is the same
pair—they act, to my eyes, like they’ve been here before. They poked through
the rain gutter on the roof of the porch, pausing to look around cautiously,
all the while making the gentle, low, drawn-out sound that seems like a gentle
lament (which you can hear here). I think of them as “my mourning doves,” but
nothing, of course, could be further from the truth.
Then this afternoon I walked into our back yard and a tiny
bird, the size of a chickadee was hopping in the grass. It was a species I have
never seen before in all the years we have lived here, a lovely pale green
tinge to its feathers, and remarkably a dot of bright red on the crown of its
head. It was not easily frightened, and when I quietly approached to look
closer it continued on pecking at the ground, staying just out of reach. We had
to look it up: a ruby crowned kinglet, apparently on its way to its summer
breeding grounds further north. It has a lovely song (which you can hear here).
Hopeful, lovely signs of goodness—but why should I be able
to enjoy them when so many in Japan are simply missing, and when so many others
have lost everything in the wake of the tsunami?
The puzzle deepens—as Lent is deigned to foster—when I pause
to look within. Each morning I awaken newly convinced I am the center of the
universe. “Our fallen human nature is incurably self-centered,” John Stott
says, “and pride is the elemental human sin, whether the form it takes is
self-importance, self-confidence, self-assertion or self-righteousness.” I
tried to honestly assess which form it takes in my case, but was stymied—apparently
all of them apply equally.
Even my faith is drawn into the vile mess, I’ve discovered.
“If we human beings were left to our own self-absorption,” Stott continues, “even
our religion would be pressed into the service of ourselves. Instead of being
the vehicle for the selfless adoration of God, our piety would become the base
on which we would presume to approach God and to attempt to establish a claim
on him. The ethnic religions all seem to degenerate thus, and so does Christianity.” If you doubt the truth of that, get to
know me better.
Last night I gave a lecture in St Paul, and as I was talking
I found myself inwardly wrestling. On the one hand I really did want to commend
the faith creatively. I really did want to be faithful so that God would be
glorified, so that his truth was honored and his reality demonstrated. On the
other hand I found myself yearning to look good, wanting to appear thoughtful
and cultured, well read and eloquent, creative, imaginative, a spokesman for
the gospel that stands out from the braying masses… and that’s only part of the
list.
Repentance would be more satisfying if it didn’t need to be
repeated so often.
Someday we will repent for the last time. That will be a
fine day to break to break our fast, and feast like there was no tomorrow.
Which there will be, world without end.
Holy Father.
Help us to show
kindness and unrivaled hospitality as the natural extension of our commitment
to you. Use us to bring hope and comfort to the abandoned and forsaken corners
of your creation.
Amen.
Source: The Message of Romans
by John Stott
(Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1994), p. 29. Prayer from Common Prayer
: A liturgy for ordinary
radicals by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, & Enuma Okoro
(Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan; 2010) p. 413.
by John Stott
(Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1994), p. 29. Prayer from Common Prayer: A liturgy for ordinary
radicals by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, & Enuma Okoro
(Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan; 2010) p. 413.
This entry was posted
at Saturday, April 16, 2011
and is filed under
Birds,
Hope,
Lent,
Pride,
Repentance
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