A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent (Year B)
February 21, 2021
The Gospel: Mark 1:9-15
I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Two Sundays ago, on February 7th, the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., welcomed a guest preacher into their pulpit. The sermon that day was pre-recorded and offered by a man who some of you may have heard of before. His name is Max Lucado. Mr. Lucado is a very prolific author, and his writing is well-known among many people, especially those in the world of evangelical Christianity. He also serves as the pastor at a large, evangelical church in San Antonio, Texas.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never read a single word of Max Lucado’s writing. I don’t know what he’s written about in the past. I don’t know what he teaches or believes about God. The only reason I’m familiar with his name at all is because I’ve seen stacks of his books lining the shelves in various stores. So, I know that he’s fairly popular and that he sells a lot of books, and that’s about it.
When I first heard that the National Cathedral had extended an invitation for Mr. Lucado to preach, I was a little surprised. It seemed like an odd decision to invite an evangelical pastor to preach in an Episcopal cathedral. But, at the same time, I knew that the National Cathedral has a reputation for inviting preachers from other denominations to come and preach. They strive to be a “house of prayer for all people,” meaning that they seek to build bridges with people beyond the Episcopal Church, representing other faith traditions. So, I didn’t really think much more about it.
It wasn’t until later that I started seeing concerns from other people about the invitation and discovered a little bit more about Mr. Lucado and some of the things he’s said and written in the past concerning our brothers and sisters in the LGBTQ community.
Now, I want to stop for just a moment and tell you that my intention in today’s sermon isn’t to publicly criticize or chastise Max Lucado or to even comment on the things he’s said and done in the past. All I’ll say is that some of the things he’s written and said were extremely hurtful to a lot of people. You can decide on your own if you want to explore that further.
No, my intention today isn’t to criticize what one person has done. My intention is to talk about how we, as baptized Christians, are called to live our lives a particular way and to seek repentance when we’ve fallen short of God’s call. My intention is to bear witness to the transforming love of God and what can happen when we allow ourselves to experience true repentance.
Soon after the invitation to preach at the National Cathedral was extended to Mr. Lucado, people from all across the Episcopal Church began voicing their concerns. They wanted to know why an Episcopal cathedral would welcome someone into the pulpit who had written such hateful words about the LGBTQ community. They wanted to know how an Episcopal cathedral, a faith community that has worked for years to become a safe and inclusive space, could betray their trust in such a hurtful way.
I’ll admit that I shared their concerns and was very tempted to write a letter myself to the dean of the Cathedral. There are ways to have an honest and open dialogue and to build relationships with people who represent different theological opinions and beliefs, but in my opinion, the pulpit isn’t the place for that. The pulpit is the place where the love of God in Christ Jesus is proclaimed, and in the Episcopal Church, we trust that the message coming from the pulpit will be that God’s love is for all people and that every person, without exception, is wonderfully and beautifully made in the image of God.
The concerns and comments continued to mount over the days leading up to the service, and news outlets from across the Church covered the story as anxious people waited to hear how the Cathedral would respond. Unfortunately, very little was said. For the most part, the cries of anger and frustration over the Cathedral’s decision were ignored.
The day of the service arrived, and the sermon was preached, as scheduled. During the service, both the dean of the Cathedral, Randy Hollerith, and the celebrant for the day, Bishop Gene Robinson, gave brief remarks concerning the decision to invite Max Lucado to preach. Although the remarks were appreciated by some, many people were still very disappointed and hurt by the decision. Some even went as far to say that it was unforgivable, that they no longer felt welcome in the Episcopal Church.
I waited to see what would happen in the aftermath. I waited and wondered, “What will they do now?” “Now that the damage has been done, how will they respond?” Will they continue to ignore the hurt and the anger they’ve caused? Or, will they acknowledge what they’ve done and seek forgiveness?
In the week following the service, the dean of the Cathedral and the Bishop of Washington, Mariann Budde, expressed great remorse over their decision. Each of them released letters to the public, which have been posted on the home page of the cathedral’s website. Not only were they words seeking forgiveness, but they were also words seeking understanding. Not only did they apologize for their part in causing so much pain, but they also committed to doing better. Tonight, for example, the National Cathedral is hosting a listening session for anyone who would like to speak about their experiences in the Church as members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. Their hope is that this will be the first step in trying to make amends for the pain they’ve caused.
I think it’s important to acknowledge that the leaders of the Cathedral and the Diocese of Washington could’ve easily moved on from what happened without giving it much more thought. Sure, there would’ve been lots of hurt feelings for a while and the reputation of the cathedral might’ve been stained, at least for a short time. But, eventually things would go back to normal, and people would get over what happened once they had a chance to calm down.
That isn’t what happened, though. Rather than simply sweeping things under the rug, as we’ve witnessed churches do in the past, and denying any responsibility for what happened, the dean and the bishop both acknowledged their fault. They made their confession and began the process of trying to make things right, of trying to do better.
It isn’t easy to confess when you’ve done something wrong, and speaking from personal experience, it’s especially difficult when you’re in a position of authority. Leaders are expected to be strong and to have all the answers figured out, at least according to the world’s standards. Admitting when you’re wrong, showing remorse, vowing to make a change for the sake of others—all of these are seen as a sign of weakness.
But, not in God’s eyes. When we confess our sins to God for hurting others in ways that are known and unknown, we take the first step toward true repentance and amendment of life. Repentance is the way that we heal our broken relationship with God and each other. In the first words of his public ministry to the people of Galilee, which we heard in our Gospel lesson for this morning, Jesus says, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”
From the very beginning of his ministry, Jesus establishes for us a pattern of holy living. “Repent,” Jesus says, “and believe in the good news.” Why would we ever think that repentance is a bad thing or a sign of weakness when Jesus tells us otherwise? Jesus tells us that our place in God’s Kingdom is based on our willingness to repent—to turn back to God when we’ve fallen short of our call to love and serve others, to turn back to God when we’ve neglected to fulfill our baptismal vows.
We’re going to fall short. It’s part of what it means to be human. Every day, we’re faced with our own wilderness journey. We’re faced with a variety of temptations and choices to make, and sometimes, we’re just going to get it wrong. But, for every temptation we indulge in and every wrong choice we make, we’re also given the opportunity to make things right. By God’s grace, we’re given the opportunity each day to say, “I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better next time.” During the season of Lent, the Church invites us to practice saying these words so that our relationship with God might be strengthened and renewed. I hope you’ll take these words to heart as our journey through Lent continues.
Remember these words. Bring them with you into prayers. “I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better next time.”
These words aren’t a sign of weakness, and they aren’t a sign that God loves us any less. They’re a sign that God is working in us and calling us to come back home. Amen.
A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:24 mark.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 