Two of the happiest days of my life were when my two daughters were married. That's to be expected, but what's funny is that two of the saddest days of my life were when my two daughters were married. It was a day of dancing of celebration and merry-making; it was a day of weeping and mourning. What's strange is that I didn't feel one followed by the other: I felt them both at the same time, crying for joy, crying for sorrow, crying for gain, crying for loss, crying, crying, crying; it was if I was crying sorrow out of the left eye and joy out of the right eye. It was like taking a bite of ice cream followed immediately with a chaser of scalding hot coffee. It was fasting; it was feasting.
In this evening's text, we have two groups of people: one fasting, the other feasting. John the Baptist's disciples are going without food, while Jesus' disciples are feasting on food. One group is engaged in deprivation and gravity, while the other is engaged in abundance and defying gravity. Jesus asks, "Why should the bridegroom's friends be sad? The groom is still with them. A time is coming when the groom and his bride will be going away. You can grieve over his absence when that happens. But as long as he's around, enjoy his company. Have another sandwich; raise another toast; another tiny sliver of cake isn't going to do anything to your waistline. Come on. Let's celebrate. Come on. Let's feast."
Lent, which begins today, is one of those conundrums we often hear about. Even though the emphasis always seems to be on the fasting--the doing without--there's a sense where Lent is a feast which is brought on by the doing without.
During the first year of seminary, we lived on-campus on the third floor of an apartment building. Pittsburgh Theological Seminary is located in a busy urban area, and it means that sometimes the closest place I could park was two blocks away. I will always remember carrying groceries home. By the time I got to the courtyard, the groceries felt like concrete. By the time I got to the third floor, the groceries felt like I was carrying the entire apartment building up those stairs. But I will always remember the joy that came right after laying my burden down. It felt SO GOOD to not have that weight around me.
And, in its own way, Lent is like that: it's giving up something, but the feeling of not having to carry it around is a gain all by itself.
The Jewish Hasidic tradition teaches that everyone should have two pockets in their coats with two slips of paper. One slip says: "I am only dust and ashes." The other slip says, "For me the entire universe was created." Sometimes we need to remember that first slip of paper, as we do this evening by commemorating Ash Wednesday. Sometimes we need to remember that second slip of paper, as every person really ought to remember for every day of life God gives you.
Tonight we remember that we are only dust and ashes; tonight we remember that the entire universe was created just for us.
During Lent we remember the sacrifice that the Lord Jesus Christ made for us on this crude, cruel wooden tree. But this season prepares us for Easter, when we remember that His sacrifice won the war over sin and death. And because of these two unalterable facts, we know that as we die with Him in Lent, we will also rise with Him at Easter.
Fasting and feasting, feasting and fasting. It's possible to do both at the same time. Here are some fasts and feasts we can do concurrently:
Fast from worry by feasting on God's trustworthiness.
Fast from complaining on the few things that are truly worth griping over by feasting on the many more things for which we can appreciate.
Fast from negatives by feasting on the affirmatives.
Fast from these powderkeg pressures by feasting on unceasing prayer.
Fast from hostility by feasting on tenderness.
Fast from bitterness by feasting on forgiveness.
Fast from self-absorption by feasting on meeting the needs of others.
Fast from the shadows of sorrow by feasting on the sunlight of serenity.
Fast from tongue-wagging by feasting on silence.
Fast from gossiping behind the backs of people by feasting on affirming them to their faces.
Fast from judging others by feasting on the Christ who dwells within them.
Fast from emphasis on differences by feasting on the unity of life.
Fast from darkness real and imagined by feasting on the reality of light.
Fast from thoughts of illness by feasting on God's healing power.
Fast from words that pollute by feasting on the phrases that purify.
Fast from discontent by feasting on gratitude.
Fast from anger by feasting on hopefulness.
Fast from personal anxiety by feasting on God's eternal truth.
Fast from discouragement by feasting on hope.
Fast from facts that weigh you down by feasting on truths that uplift.
Fast from lethargy by feasting on enthusiasm.
Fast from suspicion by feasting on truth.
Fast from thoughts that weaken by feasting on promises that inspire.
Fast from problems that overwhelm by feasting on prayer that builds up.
St. John Chrysostom, who shares the same birthday with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, once wrote these words concerning fasting: "Do you fast? Give me proof of it by your works. If you see a poor man, practice compassion on him. If you see a friend being honored, do not envy him. Do not let only your mouth fast, but also the eye and the ear and the feet and the hands and all the members of our bodies.
For what good is it if we abstain from birds and fishes, but bite and devour our brothers?"
Welcome to the season of Lent, where sorrow and joy exist side by side, where gain is accomplished by loss, where strength is achieved by letting go, where victory is won through sacrifice, and where life procured by death. Amen and amen.
© Rev. Duane Brown, 2005 e-mail Rev. Brown