Readings: Isaiah 58:5-9, and Luke 9:57-62.

When Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, future generations, over time, lost the certainty of the existence of God. For before the fall, heaven and earth met together, and God walked with us in the Garden (Genesis 3:8); after the fall, there was a veil until the Word rolled back the divide, resolving the transcendence of God and man in the person of Jesus Christ, fully God, fully man, whom we now believe in and depend on by faith. God never left us, but our sin caused a separation; it created a gap, an absence that needed our faith, always seeking, always knocking.

In these times, the troubles of the world seem many, and the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring comes by the changeable nature of a world marred by sin, the movement of humankind creating its own weather.

Sunshine and storms, rain and drought, from war and peace, insults or disinformation, to friendship, kindness, gentleness, and love—the busyness and drama of our human lives creating regions of hot and cold, driving the winds that have us navigating through turbulent times. Yet, it is as if we have learned nothing about the shortness of our days and the beautiful gift of being made to love, and for love.

“Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever,” (Ecclesiastes 1:4), words written approximately 2,500 years ago. Historical time, geological time, cosmological time, and the lifespan of a human being are all lenses with which we can look, perceive, learn, and inwardly digest our purpose and meaning, through what was, what is, and with hope for what might be. The history of humankind, and what it means to be human, is all there in the ancient scripture; the darkness and the light demonstrate the hard work of transformation is done within, inside our hearts.

Yet in all the days past, perhaps humankind has never been so richly steeped in the availability of information as it is now. We have moved into a new landscape of technological time, an age of information, being privy to discussions that would have been behind walls in times past, social media bringing down the divides as well as providing the stage upon which we experience many individuals from across the globe all having an influence beyond the bounds of a village, city, or nation like never before.

What has not changed is God. God is “the same yesterday, today, and forever,” (Hebrews 13:8). Our Creator set the universe in motion and now, over thirteen billion years later, here we are—you and me, with His angels in this place, and together with the Lord.

The Lord, who is slow to anger, patient, and forgiving, says every day to the world, like He did to the prophets long ago, “Return to me and I will return to you.” “Do not be like your ancestors, to whom the earlier prophets proclaimed: This is what the LORD Almighty says: ‘Turn from your evil ways and your evil practices.’ But they would not listen or pay attention to me,” (Zechariah 1:3-4).

In this time of Lent, we take the time to solemnly remember we are dust, to be humble, to exercise self-control, denying ourselves with fasting and almsgiving.

Yet, in our scripture, the Lord asks of His people, “Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,” just a day when the chosen are to conduct practices that are temporary because, like us, the time is set in a calendar, a set order to our days like in the lectionary?

God suggests that, like a reed that bows in the wind, the people move or react to the changes in weather—superficial movements. Like a leaf blown here and there, the people have their sight fixed in the dust of the earth; their trust is in the law, redemption in the works of their hands.

The law is an outward and visible sign of the covenant relationship with God—who is an invisible, yet ever-present reality—however, at this time, the people have come to trust in their works without seeking and depending upon what is above and heavenward.

Humility is not about virtue signalling, but about our being and our becoming—it is not for outward appearances, for the Lord, who has numbered our days, sees our hearts and weighs our souls.

“Return to me and I will return to you.” This movement, a coming close or coming together, is present in the Gospels. The ministry of Jesus is a time of gathering; the time of harvest has begun.

God declared that the fasting He chooses is, “to loose the chains of injustice, untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free,” which is seen in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Furthermore, the participation of Jesus with His people shows this movement or coming to gather; Jesus is the poor wanderer with no place to lay His head and is given shelter. Jesus is invited to eat in the houses of Matthew and Simon the Pharisee.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it,” (Hebrews 13:2).

In generosity and in providing hospitality, they have done what is pleasing to the Lord, for “whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother,” (Matthew 12:50). And it is written, “To all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God,” (John 1:12-13).

And Jesus, the light of the world, clothes the people in His light like a beautiful robe for the righteous, like the breaking of dawn’s light clothes the earth and its darkness is dispelled. For Jesus came to that which was his own, not turning away from His own flesh and blood. He came to Israel as a shepherd to seek and save the lost, to lead His flock, guiding them in the way, the truth, and the life.

God became man and dwelt among us; with a rod of iron He came, for a little while bound to the rules of space and time, bound to our nature and ruling over it, yet not of it.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light,” (Matthew 11:28-30).

Those that were given to Him, then and now, belong as a gathering of those born of the Spirit, children of God reborn and adopted into a new family. What Jesus said to the people who wished to turn back before following Him was a demonstration of this transcendent reality, a witness to those being like Lot’s wife who looked back and became a pillar of salt—salt being of great value in those days—they were not of God’s family with hearts oriented toward the earth, for they turned away. “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” (Matthew 6:21).

God said, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart,” (Jeremiah 1:5).

Christians have become, by faith, like those who wrestle with God, our feet on the ground, and our hearts in the sky. Though we are all sinners, we keep our gaze looking up at the stars, for we remember, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good,” (Genesis 1:31).

In this time of Lent, in our barren place, we remember Jesus’ temptation in the desert with nothing from the earth to satisfy physical need and comfort—no food, no water—Jesus is Himself the life; He is the way in the wilderness, giving us water in the wasteland (Isaiah 43:19-21). Just as the plants were made before the sun to depend on a spiritual light, a food we do not see (Genesis 1:11), so Jesus said to His disciples, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about,” (John 4:32). And we who eat His body and drink His blood in Holy Communion, so we freely have received; and freely now we are to give (Matthew 10:8).

“Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver,” (2 Corinthians 9:7).

We are blessed and loved more than we could ever know; heaven broke into this world with humility, gentleness, and littleness, with healing for a fallen humanity. Though the times are hard and often difficult, history shows us by repeating patterns there is nothing new under the sun, nothing that is now that has not been before, except that is for you—you are unique, more precious than any jewel, rarer than any diamond. Therefore, let us make the most of our days, as St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians, “redeeming the time, because the days are evil,” (5:16).

In this time now and until the end, may we continue to share the good news of Jesus Christ risen from the grave, sharing the beauty of His gift, that is our life, and the life of His Kingdom come.

Amen.