Third Sunday of Lent B

Image: Jesus' cleansing of the temple, 
Cathedrale d'Amiens 
from Art in the Christian Tradition, 
a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, 
Nashville, TN.

March 8, 2015

Click here for scripture readings.

One foggy, stormy night at sea, a ship's captain caught sight of what looked like the lights of another ship heading straight toward him.

He ordered his signalman to relay a message to the oncoming ship: "Change your course ten degrees to the south."

Immediately came the reply, "Change your course ten degrees to the north."

The lights were getting closer, so the captain responded firmly, "I'm a captain. Change your course south."

But the reply was equally firm, "I'm a seaman first class. Change your course north."

Outraged at such insolence as the lights loomed nearer and nearer, the captain fired back the mes­sage, "You idiot! I'm giving you one last chance to change your course south. I'm on a battleship!"

To which he received the cool reply,

"I'm giving you one last chance to change your course north. I'm in a lighthouse."

How easy it is to misunderstand or ignore what is right in front of us.

How easy it is to ignore the "lighthouses" in our lives.

Today's Gospel ends with some chilling words on this very matter: "Jesus needed no one to give him testimony about human nature.

For he was well aware of what was in the human heart." Do those words make us a little nervous?

They should. And if they don't, we really ought to be worried, because that's a pretty sure sign that we haven't yet seen a good photo of our innards.

So let's think about the dark side of our inner selves for a mo­ment.

What would Jesus see - what does he see ­there at the core of our insides?

An awful lot and a lot that's awful.

We started sinning young - was it fighting over toys or hating a new sibling or trying to manipulate the family with tantrums?

Who can even remember where we started.

But with the passage of time, we all developed our own particular specialties, truly rotten habits, stupid, mean, faithless, hateful things we could do regularly without even thinking about them.

And every time we made a mean or faithless choice, a little dose of spiritual poison was released into our system and headed straight for our hearts.

That has occurred many times over, day in day out, year after year, up to this moment.

The result is the damaged and wounded heart that Jesus sees this morning with perfect clarity.

So why didn't Jesus just wash his hands of the whole lot of us long ago?

Why was he willing to die on our behalf when he knew what was in us?

Because, in seeing our hearts with perfect clarity, Jesus saw more than the damage and rubble left by our sins.

He also saw our striving, our hungering for what is true and good, our longing for wholeness, our willingness to start over again and again, even though we know in advance that our greatest successes will be mixed with failures.

And seeing all that, he took pity on us.

He took us into his heart and encircled us with his compassion. We didn't earn any part of that; it's all a free gift!

What does he ask in return for such a gift?

Only that we tell ourselves the truth about all this.

 And the truth is that without his gift of compassion we would die.

If we have understood that inside, our hearts will have to soften and we will have to give the same compassion as freely as we have received it.

Compassion is not optional.

We owe it without any charge because we have been given it freely and without charge.

Compassion is not a burden but a unique opportunity.

It's the one chance we have to say, "Thanks, Lord, for the gift of life and for that very long line of second chances that stretches back to childhood and that reaches forward all the way to the end."

So let us begin now to speak with our deeds as well as our words.

May every day of ours - every act and every choice - speak loud and clear:

Thank you, Lord. Thank you very much!