Lent 2024: God's Rennovation

It was there one day, all but gone the next. One of the finest homes in our neighborhood was purchased by a family with infinite means, and the wrecking crew arrived within minutes of the closing. They (supposedly) hadn’t told their intentions to a soul. It needed too much work, the owners later explained to our local paper. It was easier to start over.

As devastating as it’s been for our town, it’s also seared a lesson into my soul - one particularly fitting as we approach the final days of Lent.

Lent is a season designed by the Church to allow followers to dig deep and address unhealthy spiritual issues as we prepare for Easter. Whether it be greed, jealousy, or some other character defect (as they are called in 12-step recovery circles) or deadly sins (as the Church calls them), Lent is the season to go inside and look at such things. The work is as important, as it is difficult. A person can become overwhelmed and want to quit, but the torn down house down the street has reminded me of a more excellent way.

Yes, there are things within that need repair, but the house is structurally sound. Regardless of all the ways we fall short of who we think we ought to be, the psalmist reminds us we are marvelously made. Being human means we’re imperfect, but it doesn’t mean there’s nothing good in us, nothing God can’t use, nothing He can’t redeem . . . if we let Him.

More than once in my life, I’ve wanted to quit. I’ve wanted to call the wrecking crew and be done with it all, but that’s the easy way out. God’s more interested in renovation than destruction, and we need to be sure we “don’t leave before the miracle happens,” as my friends in recovery circles often chant.

We’re on a journey, and we need to see it through. The end is not a cross; it’s an empty tomb. It’s not death; it’s a renovated, or resurrected, life.

Lent 2024: Ten Steps

A friend recently told me about something a legendary golfer does when he hits a bad shot. He allows himself ten steps to think about the shot, then thinks of it no more. This ten-step approach to dealing with bad shots is so simple, and yet it’s enormously difficult to do - in golf and in life.

I can’t begin to tell you how often I’ve hit bad golf shots. Unlike the wise golfer who only stews over his bad shot for ten steps, I’ve thought about mine for days and ruined wonderful days on beautiful courses. To learn the ten-step rule would be a significant improvement in my game. It would improve the way I live my life.

When I look back, I can see countless mistakes I’ve made over my life. Some have cost me dearly. But what I mourn almost as much as the mistakes themselves is how long I’ve thought about them. I have used those mistakes to bludgeon myself over and over again. Had I learned the ten-step rule when I was young, maybe I’d have used those ten steps to think about my mistakes and then move on. Instead, I’ve carried those mistakes with me and missed much of the joy of other “shots.”

Some people decide they’d rather carry the mistakes of others than their own. They do so long past the ten-step limit. Stewing in the waters of resentment and rage, they miss the freedom of letting things go and getting on with this game called “life.”

It’s time to try something new.

In Lent, we’ve looked at our lives - our fears, wounds, and mistakes. It’s time to practice the ten-step rule and let our mistakes, and the mistakes of others, go.

There’s a happy, joyous, and free life waiting for us all. It only takes ten steps to get there.

Lent 2024: A much-needed sermon.

Sometimes the best sermons are found in the pews.

The family processed down the aisle in various shades of black and took their places in the front row. A family of five, the parents strategically sat where each child had a parent beside. The church was bright, but the sadness dark. The death was unexpected, so bewilderment swirled with the candle smoke along with sadness and anger.

Through it all, the parents held their children. One arm wrapped around her son’s shoulder, the other linked between her other son’s arm. The dad clung to his daughter, occasionally tilting his head to meet hers in the middle.

Stirring hymns were sung, wonderful reflections shared, and the minister said something, but I was too busy listening to the sermon in front of me. I thought about the time I sat in the front pew, when death’s cruelty overwhelmed me, but I also thought about all the other kinds of struggles we face just making our way through this thing called “life.” They leave us bewildered, sad, and maybe angry, but watching the parents sitting beside their children, I couldn’t help but imagine God sitting beside us. With an arm wrapped around our shoulder, with His head leaning in, somehow, I think God sits beside each of us. It doesn’t take away the pain, but it transforms it.

During this season of Lent, we’ve looked into dark places – places of sadness and pain – but it’s important to remember there’s someone sitting beside us. There’s an arm wrapped around us. It doesn’t take away the difficult soul-work we’ve been doing, but it transforms it.

One might say it doesn’t take away the tomb, it’ll just empties it.