Yesterday morning when I came out of my office, Rosemary asked me a very important question. Knowing that I was working on my sermon, she asked me, “Daddy, how do you write a sermon?”
It’s an important question, because I think a lot of people have a certain idea about sermon preparation that’s actually a good bit different from what happens. (At least for me.)
I’ll pull the curtain back a bit and fill you in on my process. First, I pray. Then I read the lectionary readings for the week. Then, I pray again. Then I stare out the window. I wait for the Holy Spirit to give me a faint starting idea. Then, I write and listen. So often, the place I’m taken by the end of the sermon is very different from what I’d have expected. So often, there’s something in the reading I hadn’t noticed before. More often than not, conversations and readings from the last several weeks come into focus and I realize that God was preparing my sermon for me weeks in advance.
Thankfully, this is one of those weeks. Because, there’s a lot going on in our readings this morning. Jesus is tempted in the desert by the Devil, God promises salvation to all who call on the name of Jesus in Romans, Psalm 91 tells us that God will protect and provide for his people through all dangers, and in Deuteronomy Israel is called to remember the Exodus; God’s great rescue from slavery and total domination. It’s hard to know where to start and what to talk on with so many choices!
To be a priest, is to have your finger on the pulse of the anxieties and fears of the people in the Church; especially in your littler corner of the Church. As an elder millennial, I am among the cohort of American Christians who began questioning American Folk Christianity in the early 2000s. We were the young, restless, and reformed; the neo traditionalists; those reviving the Latin Mass, reading dead theologians, and unironically reading the King James Bible. In the unstable, post 9/11 world and after decades of bland globalism, we sought stability and tradition.
The trend of young, American Christians becoming Anglican, Lutheran, Eastern, or Roman has not slowed down in the last twenty years. If anything, trends show us that it is growing.
If you visit parishes across our province, you’ll find a large group of these neo-traditionalists. They’ve all come to the Tradition to grow closer to God and to find a firm foundation to raise their families upon and to grow in holiness before the Lord. Many have done this at great cost: personally, relationally, and professionally.
I know many in this room vividly remember those times of the late 90s and early 2000s when everything seemed to be falling apart. Our churches went crazy. Our government couldn’t protect us anymore. We had bishops who wouldn’t even affirm the literal resurrection of our Lord!
So many parishes like St. Andrew’s across the ACNA and traditional parishes in the Roman church are here because of the bold and brave action of faithful saints who stood up against the desert times and took bold action to preserve the Church.
Me and thousands of other Christians are so thankful for this bold faithfulness to Christ. It’s the actions of parishes like St. Andrew’s that assured there was a remnant of English Christianity for me to find in my 20s. A place to faithfully seek the Lord, to be married, and to raise a family.
Now, as I said, a great blessing of being a priest is having your finger on the pulse of the Church. People share their worries and concerns with you. And, I can say, for the last several years many Christians with young families are concerned. In the last five years especially, we’ve seen parishes in our province fall to the Zeitgeist; unable (or unwilling) to continue to hold the line on doctrines of faith. For so many of us, the very institutions we ran to to be a foundation for raising our families are crumbling right underneath us in the exact moment we need them to just work.
I say all of this to setup an example of real, complex fear and anxiety. I’ve just covered a fear of those I’m around. I’m sure many in this room are in communities and families with different, but nonetheless important fears and anxieties. I think today’s readings, the season of Lent, and ultimately Jesus are the answer to this anxiety.
Anxiety is a fear of the future. It is a fear of the unknowm future that’s outside of our control. As finite, powerless creatures it’s only natural that we’d experience anxiety in this uncontrollable, wild world. We don’t know what’ll happen in the future. We’ve seen institutions fall, wars lost, sudden death, and a whole host of experiences that reinforce our understanding of the cold reality of the world.
But, we must remember that this is not our natural state. God placed us in a garden. It was a garden where we saw Him and talked with Him, face-to-face. A garden where He provided for us and protected us. In the garden we had no wants, no fears, and no anxieties.
Our first parents opened the door for the Devil to put fear, anxiety, danger, and death into the world. Like with Jesus in the desert, Satan is good at coming up with terrifying situations and worries. He’s also good at devising real and actual terrors like hundreds of years of Egyptian slavery and the Holocaust.
Today, we are reminded, though, that Jesus has got this. He has withstood every temptation. He has borne the weight of slavery, hunger, beatings, and death. He has declared salvation, safety, love, and a future for all who call on His name. He has declared that the gates of Hell cannot prevail against His church.
My friends, anxiety is real. It is a natural reaction to the actually pretty awful situation we’re in since the fall. It is a natural reaction to the brokenness of our bodies that are now imperfectly connected to the source of all life and health. The future is actually pretty bleak. In our natural state, we’ve nothing to look forward to but death and the total destruction of the world. Our bodies feel the weight of this death and despair and react as they should.
But, this weight and darkness points us to our need for the Light; for the Word of Truth. It’s the anxiety that reminds us that we need a savior. It’s the anxiety that tells us we must look outside of ourselves to find the light.
In the dark despair of toiling deep inside Pharoh’s pyramid, we can know we are seen and loved. In the fears of what will happen to the Church, if she can withstand the temptations of a culture that no longer sees value in the reality of human bodies — we can trust in the Lord who has promised to never leave His bride.
Anxiety is real. Anxiety is a sane reaction to the world we’re in. Trying harder will not make the anxiety go away. Ignoring it will do us no good. However, we can embrace it. We can look it straight in the face, name it, and declare it the lie that is it.
Our hope is in Christ alone.
“every one who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved”, Paul tells us in Romans.
God says in the Psalm that “Because [we] cleave to [Him] in love, [He] will deliver [us]; [He] will protect [us], because [we] know [His] name.
Luke tells us that, “when the devil had ended every temptation, he departed from [Jesus].”
We can have hope in the coming reign of Christ and our everlasting life with Him in His kingdom. We can trust that Jesus saves; that He will preserve His Church; that while pain, death, fear, sorrow, and troubles surround us — He will return to trample Satan under His feet and will build His eternal kingdom of life, light, and love.
Hope is the antidote to anxiety. Hope in the God who saves. Hope in the God who will come. Hope in the Savior who bled and died for us. The Jesus who gives us everything — His very body! — to heal us and make us whole.
This Lent, reflect on your sins, your fears, your anxieties; the places where the brokenness of the world weighs heaviest upon you. Give those things to Jesus. Declare your inability to save yourself. Embrace your total reliance on Christ. He alone saves. He alone heals.
Parishes rise and fall. Great men are led astray. Nations crumble. But, our hope in Jesus is never in vain. Jesus remains, unchanged by the culture, the politics, or anything else. He remains true and steady. We can look to Him. We can trust in Him.
On Wednesday Fr. Dan reminded us that we all have a throne in our heart. It is a throne that cannot not be empty. We can fill it with idols, fears, anxieties, and pleasures — or it can be for Jesus.
The Devil showed Jesus all the riches, powers, and pleasures of the world. Jesus looked upon all of these things and decided you were worth more. There is no other who loves you more than Jesus. May the Holy Spirit work on our hearts this Lent, may He sanctify us, and make us holy. May we freely let Him into the throne room of our heart to clear it for the only name worthy of such a throne; Jesus.
