Second Lent

          March 4, 2007

A well-known art collector was strolling through the art colony neighborhood of a city and noticed a stray, malnourished cat lapping milk from a saucer in the doorway of a shop.  Many people, with a less well-trained eye, might have ignored the scene.  Almost immediately the art collector recognized the saucer as an extremely old and very valuable piece of porcelain, so he decided to see if he might buy it from the unsuspecting shop owner.

     Casually, he walked into the shop and up to the store owner, and he offered to buy the cat for two dollars.

     “I’m sorry, but the cat isn’t for sale,” the shop owner said.

     “Please, I need a cat around the house to catch mice.  I’ll give you twenty dollars for the cat,” the collector said.

     The owner looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Sold.”

     After the art collector had received the cat in a cardboard box, he said to the owner, “Hey, for the twenty bucks I wonder if you could throw in that old saucer.  The cat’s used to it and it’ll save me from having to buy a dish.”

     The shop owner said, “I’m sorry sir, but that’s my lucky saucer.  So far this week I sold thirty-five cats.”

      It may well be the case that sometimes we don’t know what we have.  Those valuable things we keep on display shelves and show to visitors may not be as valuable as those we take for granted.  Many of them wind up in estate sales; our heirs don’t attach the same significance to them as we might think.  No matter what those things are and no matter how valuable they might be, we will leave them all behind.

     We cannot enter the narrow door with packed bags or pulling an over-stuffed wagon.  The Lord of this life and the life that is to come very often reminded his hearers that we can take absolutely nothing with us when we leave.  As resurrection people that fact should not frighten us, but help us keep a proper perspective on material things.

     In the Gospel for today Jesus gives an answer to the question, “Will those who are saved be few?”  His answer deals with striving and the theme of the warnings center around presumptiveness.  Many in that first audience understood the Kingdom as something having easy access.  Physical decent in the elected lineage put them on “easy street.” 

     “No, indeed,” Jesus said to them.  “It is not an open, broad street, but a narrow door that leads to God’s Kingdom.”  The presumption of ease is still with us.  It is most clearly seen in what might be called “social Christianity.”  Some consider their names on the membership roles, making an appearance at baptisms, wedding, and funerals, with occasional attendance at Christmas and Easter and a token monetary gift as all that is necessary to insure a place in the Kingdom.  That sort of “cheap grace” evangelism feeds into modern new age thinking that portrays God as the kindly, old, white-haired gentleman, sitting far away and aloof, who is all-forgiving, never-demanding, and looking the other way. 

     The presumption of ease is present wherever there is a view of salvation apart from commitment, costly discipleship, and striving to walk with Jesus the Christ.  It is the striving that he admires most and that is what he asks of those who would be his followers.

     There is also the presumption of time.  Jesus warned his hearers that many will arrive at the door too late.  They will bang their hands bloody attempting to gain entry, but to no avail.  They are the ones guilty of the presumption that there is always time.  The truth, physically, emotionally, and spiritually speaking, is that today is the only time we have.  Whatever it is that God in Christ has lain on our hearts to do needs to be done this day.  A more opportune time may never come.  It is particularly heart-breaking to be with family members when death comes to a loved one and hear the “I wishes.”  “I wish I had told (dad, mom, sister, brother, friend, neighbor) how much I loved them.”  “I wish I had asked for their forgiveness.”  “I wish I had told them I forgave them.”  “I wish….”  I can simply advise that you do that today.

     Finally, there is the presumption of familiarity.  These were fellow townspeople.  They had spoken to him in the streets, had listened to him as he taught in the synagogue, and had even eaten meals with him.  They knew him well and assumed that qualified them as his guests.  What they failed to see was that familiarity with him is not the same thing as commitment to him.

     The same level of commitment is required of us, whether we like it or not.  The key factor is commitment and the fruits that produce in the life of the believer.  No doubt, we are saved by grace through faith, but works matter!  They matter greatly to God; precisely because every person matters to God.  Those denied entry were familiar with the Lord but their behavior denied any genuine commitment.  All authentic commitment involved familiarity with the one who alone has the word of life. 

      But, familiarity without commitment is useless.  Apparently, from the words of Jesus himself, it can be fatal.  I would suggest that makes this that most dangerous presumption of all.

     Strive this day, by the grace of God, to enter the narrow door.  Remember to leave your baggage behind.  Stand on the promises; don’t just occasionally sit on the premises.  Stop the presumptions of ease, of time, and of familiarity and allow the Lord of this life and the life that is to come to gather us under his wings.  Amen.