Why We Fast: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 - Ash Wednesday

 ¹Blow the trumpet in Zion;   sound the alarm on my holy mountain!
 Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble,
  for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near—
 ²a day of darkness and gloom,
  a day of clouds and thick darkness!
 Like blackness spread upon the mountains
  a great and powerful army comes;
 their like has never been from of old,
  nor will be again after them
  in ages to come.

 ¹²Yet even now, says the Lord,
  return to me with all your heart,
 with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
  ¹³rend your hearts and not your clothing.
 Return to the Lord, your God,
  for he is gracious and merciful,
 slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,
  and relents from punishing.
 ¹⁴Who knows whether he will not turn and relent,
  and leave a blessing behind him,
 a grain offering and a drink offering
  for the Lord, your God?

 ¹⁵Blow the trumpet in Zion;
  sanctify a fast;
 call a solemn assembly;
  ¹⁶gather the people.
 Sanctify the congregation;
  assemble the aged;
 gather the children,
  even infants at the breast.
 Let the bridegroom leave his room,
  and the bride her canopy.

 ¹⁷Between the vestibule and the altar
  let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep.
 Let them say, “Spare your people, O Lord,
  and do not make your heritage a mockery,
  a byword among the nations.
 Why should it be said among the peoples,
  ‘Where is their God?’ ”

Ash Wednesday by Lawrence OP.  Creative Commons image on flickr

Just in time for Lent, the doctor told me: "you need to change your diet."

My cholesterol was up, and I had to make a choice: either change my diet and lower it, or go on medication. 

I don't like the second option one bit.  So I chose the first option—though I hardly consider it better… 

Within minutes of leaving the doctor’s, my stomach began gurgling for all the foods I have to give up (all of which happen to taste great): pizza, burgers, Chinese food, fried chicken.  For days, I wallowed in self-pity, because I could no longer indulge in these pleasures.

That was two weeks ago. 

Needless to say, I know what I'll be giving up for Lent this year.

But why do we even talk about giving things up for Lent?  As Lutherans, we’re not under ecclesiastical obligation to abstain from eating meat on Fridays or do any kind of fasting.  Diets are bad enough as it is. That deprivation is enough to make you miserable.

With Lent, however, the very act of giving something up reminds you of how sinful you are and how mortal you are.  It is supposed to be a reminder of Jesus death on the cross—hardly a pleasant subject, to say the least. 

Put it all together, and this is hardly a time to look forward to. 

No we could just forget all about this Lent stuff and continue on as usual.  Sure, we’ll come to church, deck the halls with purple paraments (because they're pretty), and eat, drink, and be merry all the way to Easter.

The reason is this: we all have to face reality sooner or later.  Ignoring the truth won’t make it go away. Lent is the time that we as a Church do that. 

The truth is, we’re sinners.  It is in sin that we reach for and cling to whatever we believe will make us happy.  We make ourselves out to be gods and count our needs and wants as sacred.  Viciously, we trample over others to achieve success and security. 

What’s more is that we sin at a communal and national levels—meaning that we all participate in political, social, economic, and even religious systems that benefit us, but push others into poverties of food, shelter, health, opportunity, and even basic human dignity.

Another truth: we’re mortal.  Our time on this earth is limited.  Our minds are weak; our hearts are broken; our bodies are fragile.  Pain and suffering will visit all of us sooner or later.

A third truth: Jesus died.  God’s only Son was crucified.  And anyone who commits sin, whether knowingly or unknowingly, is guilty of driving the nails into his hands.  What’s more is that the cruelty of the cross reveals the depth of the cruelty we commit against our neighbors.

Lent is a time in which we grieve these truths.  But we also grieve our neighbors’ suffering; much of it created by our own hands, and ignored by our own will…. 

But there’s another truth we need to face, too: the cross, where we the bitter cruelty of our sin meets the greater love and mercy of our God.  We see that we’re not rejected for our guilt, but are unconditionally loved and warmly embraced by Jesus’ nailed-open arms. 

It’s not enough merely to look at the cross or think about it.  This is too great a truth; too great a gift to simply go on business as usual.  We have to do it.  We have to participate in it. 

This is also why we fast: to become one with Jesus in his living, his giving, and his dying. We fast to immerse ourselves in Jesus’ worship of and obedience to his Father.  As the Body of Christ, God’s Spirit is upon us to extend our hands in love to those who daily suffer pain and deprivation, and raise them up into new life. 

We fast not because we have to—but because we need to.  In other words, we fast because Christ has something greater in store for us to both give and receive.

So tonight, as we begin our Lenten journey to the cross, we simultaneously begin a journey into the heart of Christ.  The journey will take us through the darkness of our sin and through the pains of death, but it will also lead to resurrection.  We give ourselves away as bread for the hungry and feast on a greater bread and rich wine that at comes only from the God who made us and loves us.

This is the reason for the season.