 Rev. Carl Thomas Gladstone |
Whirlwinds
of Justice
Sermon:
Scriptures: |
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Driving
from Albion, Michigan to Bridgeport, Texas is a tragically
boring endeavor. Trust me, no matter how much you think you’ll enjoy
“seeing the country,” you are never prepared for just how
much “country” there really is between here…and there!
The polished and colorful skyline of each big city goes by in
a blink as hours of endlessly drab fields full of dirt pile up
on your brain. And Kansas? Forget about it! The
monotony of it all trains your brain to find entertainment and
engagement with the most mundane occurrences. Tractor-trailers
with numerous license plates, “This vehicle makes wide right
turns” and “How’s my driving” signs, provide
interesting reading material. Sometimes the interstate
commission throws in a “Deer Crossing” sign to get you all
excited. But every once in a while you are treated to a
beautiful sideshow just beyond the white line and the gravel
shoulder, and into one of those endless fields. When the wind
is just right and it hasn’t rained in a while, you get
whirlwinds. You’ve
seen them. They are like little baby tornados, wispy and soft
looking. And even though they are made up of dust and dirt,
their uneven spinning movement is beautiful. In brief little
episodes, modest piles of dust and dirt become performers. The
wind twists above them, they shoot into the air, twirling and
hopping around the field. If the newly-animated piles had
voices, I’m sure they would be saying, “Look, Ma, I’m a
whirlwind, I’m a whirlwind!!!” But as quickly as their
dancing begins, they are set back down as dirt drifts in some
new row of cabbage. I
can’t help but think of these whirlwinds when we get to Ash
Wednesday. In a little while, when we receive the ashes,
we’ll be reminded that, like these whirlwinds, it is from
dust we come and to dust we shall return. But tonight we will
also hear of the brief dancing that we do when, through
repentance, we are caught up in God’s holy breath, the
living Spirit. Tonight
we usher in the season of Lent. Historically it has been a
period of preparation and “making oneself right with God”
before the pain of Good Friday and the glory of Easter. But in
many ways, this forty days has become a time of deadening
stillness. We give up sweet things and television. We become
serious and quiet. We hang our heads and sit guilty before
God. After all, the cross is up ahead, and doesn’t that
deserve a little respect? But
neither of the scriptures today suggests that this
repentance-time is reserved for such quiet reverence or
pietous inactivity. In Matthew we read about how to pray, and
how to fast, and how to give money rightly. All of these are
actions. [Read Matt 6:2, 5, 16] Certainly they are humble acts
and the scripture warns against boasting in them. But they are
anything but inactive! This season of Lent is, on the
other hand, a time of intimate connection and intentional
reflection with the Lord. Matthew uses the term “secret”
to describe this interaction. It is not a loud conversation
with God so that others may know how repentant you are. It is
instead a focused asking for forgiveness and reassurance of
God’s grace, accompanied by acts that store treasures in
heaven, and not on earth. The
Isaiah passage then complements Matthew. Through the words of
the prophet, God warns about how easily fasting and other
repentant acts do become focused on the humbling of oneself.
[Read Isaiah 58:5] Perhaps Isaiah suggests that giving
something up for Lent is the wrong way to go; instead, we
should be giving something up for God. We should be
careful to note that this fasting is not a non-act. I’ll say
that again, fasting is not a non-act. When we
fast from food, we are committing an intentional act of
deprivation. This, then, is the fast that God chooses for our
repentance—that we should deprive our communities of
injustice, bondage, oppression, hunger, homelessness, and
poverty. Then our “light will break forth like the
dawn, and healing will spring up quickly.” Then we
will “call and the Lord will answer, we will cry for help
and God will say, ‘Here I am.’” Isaiah builds on the
personal interaction and repentance of Matthew and expands it.
The prophet invites each of us into a whirlwind of justice
with God, making right things that were wrong, freeing each
other from bonds of hate and divisiveness. Together we will
perform with God, and those passing by will be in awe at the
beauty of our participation in God’s just repentance. The
season of Lent, then, is not some stifling time of guilt and
immobility. It is a freeing time, a time when serious
consideration and ownership of our own sins can enable us to
get caught up in God’s direction for repentance. As each
particle of dirt in those fields has the opportunity to get
caught up by the swirling wind, so too do each of us have the
opportunity to get caught up in God’s living Spirit. Matthew
affirms how intimate this experience is. Rewards go to those
focused on God through the repentant acts of praying, fasting,
and giving. Rewards go to those who participate in such acts
without calling attention to themselves or boasting in their
righteousness. Isaiah then takes that intimacy and blows it
out and around, so that our personal repentance also becomes
the repentance of the community. Repentance is an intense
activity in response to God’s grace and presence. Repentance
exposes and deconstructs temples of sin that we have built
together in our sinfulness. Put together, we know God’s
repentance as the movement of God’s people in a whirlwind of
holy living and holy healing. We
are dust, and to dust we shall return. But in these brief
moments when we allow our souls to be caught up with God, when
we claim our mortality and our sinfulness and commit ourselves
back to the movement of the Spirit—we can dance beautifully
with God. Soon, in death, we will return to dust, but in these
days, let us repent and pray that God will spin our mundane
and mortal lives into whirlwinds of grace, and healing and
wholeness. Amen.
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