First Lent, March 5, 2006

     The Roman priest, the Jewish rabbi, and the Episcopal priest had served together for several years in the same town.  The custom had become a weekly meeting for breakfast and fellowship on Monday morning of each week.  They would talk about the common challenges and rewards of parish ministry.  Just prior to Lent one year they were talking about temptations.  The Roman priest said, “I have to confess to you that at times I’m tempted to violate my vow of celibacy.”

     The rabbi said, “Well, Father, I have trouble sometimes resisting that Smithfield ham you serve when I’m invited to the rectory for your Christmas Day lunch.”

     The Episcopal priest said, “Well, my dear friends, your temptations are only in your thoughts.  I was invited last week to a parishioner’s house for dinner and proceeded to eat the main course with my salad fork!  I’m sure I’m destined for hell.”

      So, we come to Lent and some of us may have more grievous sins to confess.  I remind you again of the Ten Commandments that remain in effect and of our need to prepare for the Lord’s resurrection by this season of penitence and fasting.  The ashes from Wednesday’s service remain on our foreheads and we remember that we are dust.

     Shirley and I have been on two whitewater adventures in the course of our married life.  Once was in a canoe in which we were pretty much on our own after some instruction on proper rowing techniques.  The other was time was in a large raft.  We were with six other people, plus a trained guide.  Before starting off down the river our guide simply said, “I’m in charge while you are in this raft.  Do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you, and we will be fine.  We will not have time for questions or discussions along the way.  Understand?”

     It did not take long to question our individual and collective sanity, wondering who might take Michele and Molly in.  It wasn’t too far down stream before we began to question how well our guide had been trained.  When we came to the first set of rapids the guide shouted above the roar, “Row hard!”  My first temptation was to stick the oar out and row hard back upstream.  But, somehow we made it through the rough water and the guide used that experience as a great teaching moment.  Rowing with the rushing water was much safer that attempting to fight it.  Striving to match the speed of the water kept the raft on an even keel.  At some point along the way it occurred to me that maybe the guide knew more than I thought.  Long hair, body piercing, and a large heart tattoo do not, in and off themselves, disqualify a person from knowing some important things.

     We have begun our annual observance of Lent.  Whether we realize it or not we are in a life raft.  We have a well-trained guide.  The simple advice we have heard is, “Listen to him!”  His appointment as guide on this expedition began in a much calmer stream, with water being poured over his head and beard, by his cousin John.  His preparation as leader was honed in the wilderness where he learned that rough waters demand that he “row hard!”  He faced the tempter who, in return for absolute obedience, promised to make the journey one of constant calm seas and smooth sailing.  Knowing that the tempter had already sunk the first life raft, our guide said, “No thanks, some great risk must be taken to undo the storm you unleashed by tempting the couple in the garden to think they could be like God.  And, besides, you always turn calm seas into violent storms when you lead anyone anywhere.”

     We, too, have been asked to accompany this guide as he leads us through rough waters.  We have had water poured over our heads in his name.  It helps to remember that whatever we face along the way he has already faced and charted a safe course around the trouble or through it.  That doesn’t mean we won’t face rapids and rough water; that’s never been his promise.  This guide simply says, “I’m in charge.  Do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you, and we will be fine.”

     We will face temptations along the way.  We may be tempted to think we know more about the journey and the river than he knows.  We may be reluctant to row hard when the rough times come.  We may even wish to turn around and head back upstream.  It will be easy, when the waves crash into the boat and the mist gets in our eyes, to lose sight of our fellow traveling companions and especially our guide.  In our panic we may fail to hear the still, steady voice of our guide saying, “Don’t be afraid.  I’m here.  I’ll never leave you.  I’m with you always.”

     If we resist the temptations to think we can find the safer route, or to bail out and swim for the nearest shore, or flail wildly against the current, we may well find ourselves in calmer waters, with life and limb intact.  No doubt, we will recall that heart-pounding moments, the adrenaline rush that comes from having made it through some harrowing rapid, perhaps even having a chuckle or two about the time we fell overboard and yelled out in despair, “Lord, save me!”  We may even offer a sincere prayer of gratitude that our guide did, in fact, reach over and drag us back, dripping wet and shivering, into the life raft.

     It will take us about 40 days to complete this journey.  We will meet together regularly during this time.  We will break bread together, reminding ourselves of the need for mutual support.  We will hear the record of whitewater adventures from the past; some of those whom our ancestors told us about.

     If we will trust our guide this trip will be an exhilarating, life-changing experience.  It will be the trip of a lifetime!  Come to think of it, it will be a trip that brings life.  Amen.