I got into a little trouble a few years ago when my Catholic priest friend Tim asked me to preach at his church on a Sunday night during Lent. Before that night, some people thought I was a lost cause. Beard. Tattoos. Harley. Hate wearing ties. But then when I agreed to preach, some people interpreted it as wishing Godspeed to those dang Catholics. I interpreted it as preaching the Gospel wherever and whenever. So there. A legend in my own mind.
Actually, I do not mean to be so self-aggrandizing. My real point is about the way God seems to have a special place in God's heart for what the world calls "Lost Causes."
About six or seven years ago when I started getting a handle on Lent, I discovered a few things that I already knew. I did not remember that I knew them. But I did.
If you read yesterday's entry, you remember Norman, my Mexican-Catholic friend from grade school who gave up candy for Lent. Everything I needed to know about Lent I learned from Norman. Not only did he give up candy, but he replaced it with prayer.
My friend Fred reintroduced this practice to me in graduate school when he taught me basically the same thing. He talked about the original tradition of Lent, and how we are supposed to replace something ordinary with a virtue, a fruit of the Spirit. For example, one year I gave up the news in order to cultivate peace.
As I wrote yesterday, this year I am giving up bread. But I am giving it up in order to cultivate happiness. Not just happiness as fleeting laughter or fake smiling. But deep, heart-rooted happiness that depends on the eternal blessings of God. One of the reasons I can do that today is because of the experience of that Sunday night sermon.
So there I stood in the pulpit of this small Catholic church in East Texas. I still remember talking about the beauty of repentance as a celebration of God's grace. And while I do not pray to saints, and actually know very little about the tradition of saints, there was one in particular that grabbed my attention that I learned about in Israel from some Franciscan friends.
Saint Jude was one of the original twelve followers of Jesus. Not Judas, mind you, but the one sometimes called Thaddeus. While much of his story is the stuff of legend, he is purported to have travelled all around the Mediterranean, including Libya. (How's that for ironic?) He had a special place in his ministry for those others dismissed. Mother Teresa continued the tradition of the story of Saint Jude in her work in India.
I told the little Catholic church about how I grew up, and how God continued to shape my heart. Many times along the way, even my own family members wondered whether I would make it through adolescence. But somehow I knew deep down that God was there, and that God has hopes, even for us today.
Today. Well, today I will go to a worship service at the Episcopal church down the street, listen to Scripture, wear some ashes, hold hands with my wife, and stop eating bread for a while. I will thank God for faithfulness. I will thank God for never giving up on so many of us. I will thank God for difficult times in the past that helped build some of the character of the present. I will thank God for the happiness known in the Lord that goes beyond world-centered-so-called happiness.
Our oldest son died on Good Friday fourteen years ago. I thought about giving up on preaching. As I wrote last week, I was not sure I wanted to work for God any more. But how could I give up on a God who never gave up on me?
When Polycarp was killed by a Roman proconsul in c. 156, he was given the opportunity to live. He was told, "Take the oath, and I shall release you. Curse Christ." To which Polycarp replied, "Eighty-six years have I served him, and he never did me any wrong. How can I blaspheme my king who has saved me?" So they set him on fire.
Some days it feels like God asks too much. But on those days, I try to remember to pray. I try to find other brothers and sisters in Christ who do not feel the need to act like Christianity is a feel-good pseudo-spiritual psychotropic. I read Scripture. I write sermons that I hope meet people where they are. I try to treat others the way I want to be treated.
And every once in a while I thank God for the story of Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.
