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Jeremiah 20.10-13

For I hear many whispering: “Terror is all around! Denounce him! Let us denounce him!” All my close friends are watching for me to stumble. “Perhaps he can be enticed, and we can prevail against him, and take our revenge on him.” But the Lord is with me like a dread warrior; therefore my persecutors will stumble, and they will not prevail. They will be greatly shamed, for they will not succeed. Their eternal dishonor will never be forgotten. O Lord of hosts, you test the righteous, you see the heart and the mind; let me see your retribution upon them, for to you I have committed my cause. Sing to the Lord; praise the Lord! For he has delivered the life of the needy from the hands of evildoers.

As a Harry Potter fan, I’ve always loved the line that the wand chooses the wizard. Perhaps in this time of Lent, the passage chooses the Lenten Reflector, as this passage from Jeremiah seemed to call out directly to me.

Growing up as a gay Christian in the time of the Westboro Baptist church, I learned early to tune out the all too frequent recitations of Leviticus in favor of passages such as Matthew 7:2 “For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” We learn to tune out the denouncements with the fervent belief that God knows what is in our hearts and minds and that our persecutors will stumble. We remain committed to singing God’s praise and walking the path of righteousness knowing that God will settle the score on our behalf in the end.

Jeremiah also whisks me back to the halcyon days of summer 2016 when Michelle Obama reminded us all that “when they go low, we go high.” The test of that faith surely landed hard upon many of us in November 2016, a mere few months later, when we had to channel Jeremiah in recognition of a new administration bent on terror and denouncement. I’ve spent a lot of days since then listening to some gospel music to remind myself that “God’s gonna set this world on fire one of these days, hallelujah and I’m gonna sit at the welcome table.”

Truth be told, I feel like Jeremiah has spent many years whispering in my ears reminding me that few people look back over a lifetime and regret the respect and the kindness they gave even when it was not always reciprocated or even deserved. I just know at the end of the day that God has my back just as He had Jeremiah’s so very long ago.

You can listen to the reading and reflection by clicking here.

Hebrews 10.4-10

For it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. Consequently, when Christ came into the world, he said, “Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me; in burnt offerings and sin offerings you have taken no pleasure.

Then I said, ‘See, God, I have come to do your will, O God’ (in the scroll of the book it is written of me).” When he said above, “You have neither desired nor taken pleasure in sacrifices and offerings and burnt offerings and sin offerings” (these are offered according to the law), then he added, “See, I have come to do your will.” He abolishes the first in order to establish the second. And it is by God’s will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.

The message in this passage is straightforward. Paul is making the point that the traditional Jewish practice, or law, of sacrificing animals is no longer enough to take away sins. Jesus has come and replaced this by offering his body, as is God’s will, as the final sacrifice to sanctify us. Paul uses Jesus’s own words to make his point.

Having grown up in the Christian church, the idea of animal sacrifices seems foreign and shocking. I can’t imagine going to a temple and either bringing an animal or buying one there, solely for the purpose of killing it to be absolved of some of my sins. I have many questions - would I be the one to actually kill the animal? How? Was the inside of the temple a bloody gruesome mess?

As we head through Lent we are getting closer to commemorating Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross, I feel the need to have even more shock than I do about the animals. But this story is so familiar, as I have heard it every year since i can remember. I have become so used to the image of Jesus hanging from a cross.

So I need to step back and reexamine what I know, and then it is shocking. Jesus hangs there, dead. God had sent him as his son, a human, to be our teacher. Ultimately we turn on this teacher and kill him. Then God forgives us for this act, and I am forgiven of all of my sins, forever.

That is powerful. And, as I’m viewing the stations of the cross this year on Good Friday, I will try not to let the familiar dilute the awe and shock of what actually occurred.

You can listen to the reading and reflection by clicking here.

Romans 10:14-21

But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’ But not all have obeyed the good news;* for Isaiah says, ‘Lord, who has believed our message?’ So faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ.*
But I ask, have they not heard? Indeed they have; for
‘Their voice has gone out to all the earth,
and their words to the ends of the world.’
Again I ask, did Israel not understand? First Moses says,
‘I will make you jealous of those who are not a nation;
with a foolish nation I will make you angry.’
Then Isaiah is so bold as to say,
‘I have been found by those who did not seek me;
I have shown myself to those who did not ask for me.’
But of Israel he says, ‘All day long I have held out my hands to a disobedient and contrary people.’

I have gone back and forth with these verses for about a week now, feeling both overwhelmed with things to say and unsure of how to put them. I grew up very religious in a fundamentalist Christian church, but I really only think of my current spiritual development as starting a year and a half ago, when I started attending Holy Apostles with my family. It has been a process of both learning what I truly believe about God and Christ, as well as identifying and unlearning harmful ideas I carried with me from my earliest church experiences.

This process has also been very difficult to explain, both to myself and my friends. I cannot really enunciate why I wanted to come back to Christianity, and many of my friends who have traumatic memories of their own associated with Christianity have been perplexed and, sometimes, hurt. And I can’t help but think, when I find scriptures difficult to understand or infuriating, and when prayer isn’t doing anything, that things might be a lot easier if I just didn’t think about this stuff, like I did for so many years.

In the poet and theologian Christian Wiman’s memoir of faith, My Bright Abyss, he writes:

If God is a salve applied to unbearable psychic wounds, or a dream figure conjured out of memory and mortal terror, or an escape from a life that has become either too appalling or too banal to bear, then I have to admit: it is not working for me.

I laughed out loud reading this, because in the purely instrumental sense Christianity is not working for me. I am not necessarily happier, I am not more at peace. I feel as broken and anxious as I did two years ago, now I am just anxious about this.

With this in mind, I don’t know how to explain why I am a Christian, much less how to proclaim Christ, and in a world where mainstream white Christianity has hurt so many people - when the motivations behind a recent mass shooting have been characterized, offhand, as inspired by the murderer’s “Christian faith,” when Christianity in the public space is characterized by inequality and war and injustice, and when every year we must become more aware of the past atrocities that have used Christianity as justification - it feels impossible.

When I was a kid, I was told that everyone who did not belong to our incredibly tiny sect of Christianity was bound for an eternity of suffering. This horrified me beyond words. I couldn’t sleep at night; thinking about billions of people in pain forever while I would hypothetically be in heaven with my co-congregants, who I didn’t even like, made me feel sick, and it caused me to recoil from the people at my church who didn’t seem bothered by this prospect but actively enjoyed it. I don’t believe this anymore - I can’t - but if I can’t promise any benefit in this life or salvation in the next, what good news am I sharing?

But maybe, for me at least, that isn’t the point. Just existing in our society, I am constantly bombarded by messages about all of the different things I can do to make myself “better” - thinner, calmer, more effective - from standing desks to the pomodoro method psychedelic therapy. Maybe God is not a new meditation app for me to use to fix myself. Maybe being a Christian isn’t a magic wand but a calling, something I will struggle with every day but which will structure my life.

And maybe being honest about this - that I can be depressed and feel broken and be totally infuriated by the Bible and alienated in prayer - is a proclamation of Christ I can make. I can share the things that I love about my church community and the things I love about the Bible and even the things I struggle with in the Bible, with my friends within the church and outside of it. Maybe that can be beautiful news in and of itself.