Lent isn't simply a season. It's the Christian life in microcosm.
Many of us have made the Lenten journey so many times that it can become routine. No matter how familiar, however, Christ's passion, our repentance, and God's forgiveness never grow stale. Lent isn't simply a season. It's the Christian life in microcosm. It's a time to be renewed in faith, hope, and love as we see God's promises fulfilled, the door to heaven swung open, and grace on full display.
Lent is a season of repentance, but repentance is a continuous part of the Christian life. When Lutherans gather for the Divine Service, they stand accused. We hear who we are, the baptized, as God's name is spoken over us, but then we confess our unworthiness. We tell God that we've sadly come once again as we first came to him as sinners. And we know what sinners deserve. The wages of sin is death, and so we declare a verdict upon ourselves when we confess. We deserve to die now and in eternity.
Repentance, however, doesn't end with sorrow. God speaks a word through his pastors, and it's not a divine "It's ok," and it doesn't come with a wink and a nod, but with the sign of God's mercy traced with fingers. God speaks a costly word. God speaks an absolution. He does this because we don't stand alone before him when we confess in faith. We stand with one who has become our brother, our advocate, and our friend. God's messengers declare us not guilty on account of what we observe this Lent: what took place at the end of the road to Holy Week. We are innocent for Christ's sake – not our own – and so those fit for death receive life.
We don't stand alone before him when we confess in faith. We stand with one who has become our brother, our advocate, and our friend.
As Luke prepares for his account of Holy Week in his Gospel, he peppers us with warnings from Jesus about readiness and encouragement against anxiety. Jesus spoke to those who should have welcomed his coming and known what it meant. We also are those who should welcome his coming and know what it means. Do we, though? Have we been calm where we should be calm and ready for that for which we should be ready?
Jesus tells us to enter by the narrow door in Luke 13:22-30. He explains that many will claim to know him only to be shut out. They will use their mouths but not their hearts. They will know him as an idea but not as a friend. They will be like those in a crowd in a packed stadium, heading out after the game. They won't see the doors, but they will go with the flow of traffic, assuming that will lead them where they hope to go. That must not be us, however. We are called to fix our eyes on the narrow door, on Christ. This often means swimming against the current, even against our very selves.
Remember that some who had Jesus crucified did so because they wagered it was better for them and for others temporally, here and now. They didn't want to rock the boat. They didn't want to risk unwanted hardship. This is why Dante gives Caiaphas a special place in hell in his famous Inferno. Do you remember Caiaphas' counsel that it was better for one man to die than for the nation to perish? Perhaps we've not placed that bet, but how many such bets haven't we placed, compromising our faith for earthly convenience or fear? A wise friend once told me to follow someone's fear to find his idol. What have our idols been? Where have our fears led us?
Historically, Lent is a season of fasting, of giving things up. In Lent, we are reminded of what Jesus gave up for us: his very life. And yet we are also reminded of what he didn't give up: you and me. Like a mother hen, he spread wide his wings in love on the cross. We have been gathered within them by our baptisms (Luke 13:34b). And so we give up our sin to him and take up his righteousness through faith.
Jesus alludes to Palm Sunday in Luke 13:31-35. Many Christians commemorate Palm Sunday every Sunday. Christians celebrate it in the historic liturgy every time we celebrate his supper. We sing, "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord." We sing "Hosanna," Lord save us. And he did, and he does, and he will. He is the object of our faith, the basis of our hope, and the source of our love. He has redeemed us—heart, soul, and mind—that they may be one, we may be one, and he may be one with us, now and forever.
We do well, then, to hear Jesus' warnings and remember his promises this Lent. We do well to be ready and yet calm because while the end approaches, for us, the end brings only a new beginning, one already settled. He who opened his arms for us hasn't closed them, so draw near to him now where he has promised to be, in Word and sacrament, and draw near to him then when he calls you to his eternal kingdom. Find refuge in his wings, spread wide to take hold of you.
