It's the second Sunday in Lent, and BAM! Here we are already face to face with the cross. Oh come on, you people who put the lectionary together. Couldn't we make this journey more slowly? Couldn't we at least wait until Holy Week for this truth? Couldn't we take our time, getting to the cross? Maybe take a few side trips, for instance, a trip to the Galilean seashore to relax and fish a bit? Couldn't we take the long route and have a little stopover in someplace, say like Samaria? Stay at a little inn, have a spiritual retreat soaking in more of Jesus' gentler teachings? But noooo. [Thanks, Obama.] Here we are smacked in the face on the second Sunday of Lent with Jesus talking about his death, and calling us to deny ourselves and take up the cross if we want to follow him.
And that's the thing. Whether we are at a remote retreat getting spiritually charged, or somewhere on a fishing vacation, or simply trudging through our everyday scenes, the call is always there. Because Jesus has given us life by his cross, we are called to give up our lives, in some way everyday so that others might live. But darn, we don't want to do that. We want to do our own thing, live for ourselves, make our own way and reap some benefits for ourselves.
Even though we have time and time again made the commitment to follow Jesus, if not in the way of the cross, at least trying to live with compassion, we have failed again and again. We have broken our commitments, even those that are most deeply felt cherished. But God does not break God's commitment to us. God has made an everlasting commitment to us and to the world: to be our God. And God keeps that commitment, even if it means the cross.
Maybe that's why this passion prediction and call to follow in Jesus' way comes so early in Lent. To help us face the reality of our self-serving natures, to once again give US the forgiveness of the cross, and to call us back on the Jesus journey instead of our own.
Our Father, we have wandered and hidden from your face;
in foolishness have squandered your legacy of grace.
But now, in exile dwelling, we rise with fear and shame,
as, distant but compelling, we hear you call our name.
And now at length discerning the evil that we do,
behold us, Lord, returning with hope and trust to you.
In haste you come to meet us and home rejoicing bring,
in gladness there to greet us with calf and robe and ring.
O Lord of all the living, both banished and restored,
compassionate, forgiving, and ever-caring Lord,
grant now that our transgressing, our faithlessness may cease.
Stretch out your hand in blessing, in pardon, and in peace.
Our Father, We Have Wandered Text: Kevin Nichols, 1929-2006
Text from Resource Collection of Hymns and Service Music for the Liturgy � 1981 International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Duplication in any form prohibited without permission or valid license from copyright administrator.