Full of Compassion & Mercy: A Sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent
One thing that has struck me differently this year during this season in Lent has been how much we have been hearing about God’s mercy and grace. Of course, the predominant theological theme that we all have come to anticipate as Lent approaches is sin. And Ash Wednesday, The Great Litany, the Exhortation and the Lenten Collects of are all liturgical means for drawing attention to our sin-sick souls, and our desperate need for redemption. And the remarkable story of the grace-filled, merciful redemption in Jesus Christ is what we anticipate as we move through Lent towards Holy Week and Easter.
But just recently I have noticed and appreciated that there is every bit as much emphasis on mercy and grace as there is on sin in the liturgies of Lent. We don’t have to add it in to try to the “lighten the mood.” The very first words I say each week in our worship service for the Call to Worship during Lent are “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.” So, whatever we hear later in the service, we must remember that it is framed by our belief in a compassionate and merciful God.
Our opening acclamation is more of the same. I say, “Bless the Lord, who forgiveth all our sins,” to which your reply is “His mercy endures forever.” Again, the idea is that whatever comes next – whether it be in our scripture lessons, homily, hymns, or prayers – we must always remember that this God who we are speaking of is a God whose forgiveness and mercy endures forever. These opening sentences serve as a fundamental reminder of who we believe God to be.
Today’s scripture lessons point to a God whose mercy, grace, and compassion are overflowing in abundance. As I was preparing for today’s worship this week, I was struck by how uplifting and hopeful it all felt to me…right smack dab in the middle of Lent. And it made me wonder if, in our literal and figurative practice of burying the alleluias during Lent – we run the risk of burying God’s mercy and grace along with it. We must remember that in Christ, our relationship with him doesn’t end with him declaring that we are sinners, and leaving us to fend for ourselves. Actually, it is the exact opposite – our relationship with him begins with our brokenness and ends with our healing in Christ. Christ didn’t come to affirm us for who we already are – he came to save us.
In our Exodus reading, Moses and the Israelites are journeying in the wilderness, and they are tired, angry, and dying of thirst. Kind of like how we might begin to feel as Lent wears on, and we grow weary of our fasting. So, in a fit of desperation and angst, they lashed out in anger at their leader, Moses. And Moses then did the same to God. What did God do for his moody, temperamental, faithless followers? In an act of compassion and mercy, He sent them to a rock in Horeb that would overflow with an abundance of water to quench their thirst. God was not rewarding their steadfast faith and perseverance. God was not rewarding their good behavior or eloquent prayers. They did nothing to deserve the living water that flowed from that rock. But that is who God is and the sort of thing our grace-filled God does.
The living water theme carries over into our Gospel lesson today, where we hear the magnificent story of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. In this conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, we learn that the abundant mercy, compassion, and grace of the kingdom of heaven will extend far and wide – much more so that God’s people could wrap their heads and hearts around. Even Samaritans – even this Samaritan woman with her checkered past – will have citizenship in God’s kingdom being ushered in by Jesus the Messiah.
But I think that they key to interpreting these two stories from Exodus and John lies in our lesson from Paul’s letter to the Romans. As I mentioned last week, I will always prefer a good story – like the ones we heard from Exodus and John this morning – to a sound bite. So how does God respond to my opinion on sound bites? God sends me one of the Bible’s greatest sound bites! This one is from the Apostle Paul, and it helps crystallize today’s incredible stories about God’s saving grace.
In this letter Paul proclaims to the Christians in Rome that “Christ died for the ungodly.” When we hear that, we might say, of course! That’s why we love Jesus so much. He died for the ungodly – like the moody, complaining Jews in the wilderness who grumbled at God who had previously rescued them from slavery in Egypt. Or the Samaritan woman at the well with the checkered past. Or the former prostitutes and drug addicts from Becca Stevens’ Thistle Farms ministry whose stories we heard last week at our diocesan convention. We have a God who is so grace-filled and merciful that he would die for ungodly folks like that.
But guess what, my friends? We too, are the ungodly for whom Christ died. You and I are among the ungodly who need God’s grace, mercy, compassion, and forgiveness every bit as much as the disobedient Jews, the wayward Samaritans, prostitutes in Nashville, or the death row inmate we spoke to on the phone in Sandefur Hall a couple weeks ago.
And I know that for us well put-together, law-abiding, church-going Episcopalians, that can be sound like pure nonsense. And in this age when people come to church wanting to be affirmed about how ok we really are, being reminded that we are among the ungodly can be a tough pill to swallow. But I’m here to tell you this morning, that for much of my life, when Paul was speaking of the ungodly, I assumed he wasn’t speaking about me. And when I fall back into that space, it robs me of the depth and breadth of the scandalous Good News that “while we still were sinners Christ died for us...For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” How is that Good News for me if, deep down, I feel like it I really don’t need Christ’s saving grace because I’m already a pretty good person? Was Christ’s salvation only intended for those who hit rock-bottom in their lives? Is my vocation simply to try to help Christ in his mission to the ungodly? Not hardly. Until we experience the radical power of Christ’s saving grace for ourselves, it will be difficult for us to share it with others with any sort of authenticity or integrity.
Our Collect of the Day says that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves. The multi-billion-dollar Self-Help industry believes otherwise. But I have recently experienced some incredible moments of grace when I have finally been able to simply rest peacefully in the grace-filled Good News that I don’t have the power in myself to help myself. It is incredibly liberating for me when I remember that God is actually better at fixing things and people than I am. And it is incredibly liberating for me when I am able to remember that there is nothing I can do to make God love me any more or any less than the most “ungodly” person I can think of.
What if all of us ungodly folks were able to simply recognize that our ungodliness is the one thing that we all share, and rejoice and be glad that we have a God who loved us enough to “reconcile [us to him] through the death of his Son?” It can be quite liberating, and the story of Samaritan woman at the well is a great illustration of what that liberating, life-giving grace can feel like. She could finally rest in her salvation. Her past didn’t change. Her ethnicity didn’t change. But her heart and mind changed after her encounter with Jesus. The burden of all the regrets she had from the past had been lifted. And she could simply rest in God’s Good News.
Marking a season to examine ourselves, our lives, our relationships, and our priorities is one of the great gifts of the Christian tradition. I think that is why I love Lent so much. It draws me in to a place where can take an honest look at myself, and do the difficult work of staring my own sin and ungodliness in the face. But I can do this with the assurance that God has already stared at my sin and my ungodliness. And God didn’t blink or turn away. God, in his grace, compassion and mercy, while I was still a sinner, sent Christ to die for me. And God did the same for the disobedient Jews in the wilderness, the Samaritan woman at the well, and countless others, including you.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: come let us adore him.