Let The Shofar Sound!
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series III, Cycle B
The school bell rings. The noonday siren sounds. The church bells call the faithful to worship. In the fifties, the wail of the sirens urged American citizenry to take cover from a potential imminent atomic attack; children took position beneath their desks and those at home headed to the bomb shelter in the basement.
The book of the prophet Joel urges the trumpeter to sound the shofar, translated "trumpet," (v. 1) to warn that "... the day of the Lord is coming, it is near...." The "shofar" was usually a ram's horn but it could be the horn of any clean animal except that of a cow. It was used in the feast prescribed in Numbers 29:1, the feast of New Year's Day, "Rosh Hashanah." The shofar, sounding mornings and evenings except on the sabbath, called the faithful to prayerful preparation for the great feast.
Most experts agree that Joel was a cult prophet who felt himself aligned to the postexilic temple rebuilt in the Persian period, probably between 400-350 BC. A plague of locusts and drought are signs pointing to the imminent catastrophe. The day of the Lord will hardly occur unnoticed. God's judgment will be accompanied by an army that will "scorch the earth" (2:3-9) following earthquakes below and chaos in heaven above (2:10). Jewish scriptural tradition pointed to a time between the present era and the era to come. At that "kairos" point, "the sun shall be turned to darkness, and the moon to blood" (2:31). Joel's warning is mirrored in Isaiah (13:10, 13) and the prophet Zephaniah accentuates Joel's gloom-and-doom message with distress, anguish, ruin, and devastation (1:14-18).
Modern disaster films do a good job at communicating Joel's point. Joel's day of the Lord is in our time heralded by the shofar sounding an all-out nuclear war, a global warming catastrophe, or a meteor heading straight for New York City. Today's shofars are sounding in the Middle East, in pest and genocide-ridden Africa, and in the crime-infested dark ghetto corners of American cities. For some reason, Joel assumes that his people can hear the shofar. The glitz and glamour, the fast pace driven by cell phone communication, and the violence and hedonism promoted by television and film make it difficult for Americans to hear the blast of the shofar.
Ash Wednesday is the moment to turn up the shofar's volume. The noise and rush of Shrove Tuesday is over. The day that begins the journey of Lent has begun. The excess of Mardi Gras is silenced. The day to clean up the party trash left on the carnival streets has come. It's time to begin the shadowy and solemn walk through the dark streets of Jerusalem to the place of death and execution. The shofar sounds the wake-up call. It's time to get down to the serious business of repentance, fasting, penance, confession, and amends. The shofar sounds the beginning of the march to the hangman's noose. It's not a pretty picture.
However, the shofar sounds again! It has a different ring, a different tone! Oh yes, the terrible day of the Lord is coming! There is no escape! Now the shofar strikes a new note: "Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning! ... Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing" (Joel 2:12-14). Hear the new song! Your God relents from punishing!
Whether symbolically or actually, Ash Wednesday is the day to place the ashes upon our foreheads. Symbolically or actually, we step forward to the altar to confess our repentance and our desire to show God and our communities that we are willing to have our hearts cleansed.
First of all, we confess that we really want to be better human beings, that we want to love God and love our neighbors. We would gladly rend our garments if that would do any good but, more importantly, we are willing to rend our hearts. Our desire must be sincere. The road to a broken marriage is usually paved with insincere promises.
A pastor once visited a parishioner just returned home from the hospital. He noticed a picture on her wall. "I know that young man," he said. "He's a bagger at the supermarket. He always has a smile on his face and he is friendly and courteous to all of the customers." The parishioner replied, "That's my nephew, Andrew. He's in a heap of trouble. He was caught three times in three different towns driving under the influence of alcohol and in possession of illegal drugs. He's in a halfway house now awaiting sentencing. Pastor, would you mind visiting him?"
When the pastor arrived at the halfway house, Andrew was sitting outside in the garden on a bench with his head held low. The pastor wondered about the reception he would get. Had the aunt alerted Andrew about the visit? The pastor walked up and started, "Hello, Andrew, your aunt asked me to visit you...." Andrew sprung to his feet and wrapped his arms around the visitor. He sobbed and heaved without apology. Without the need for Andrew to verbalize his intentions, the pastor knew that Andrew had made a decision to change his life.
With the support of his new friend, Andrew completed a short time of incarceration, managed to travel to and from his place of employment without benefit of an auto license for one year, complete the obligations of parole, retrieve the right to drive, find a lovely lady to marry, and repeat his marriage vows at a garden wedding presided over, of course, by his pastor friend. Andrew became an electrician and was quickly promoted by his company to the rank of foreman. He embraced a new life as a husband and a father. Drugs and alcohol were no longer in the picture. His repentance was sincere. He heeded the call of the shofar. He stepped up to receive the ashes on his forehead and unabashedly wore his new life on his shirtsleeve.
Secondly, we rend our hearts before God's Ash Wednesday altar as a sign of willingness to accept God's grace. In penitential humility, we return to the Lord who is gracious and merciful. We will show all people that the God of grace is our God.
During the Spanish-American War, Colonel Teddy Roosevelt commanded a regiment of "Rough Riders" in Cuba. He was closely attached to his men and was quite concerned when many of them became ill. He heard that Clara Barton had received a supply of food for the soldiers in Teddy's area. Roosevelt immediately requested that she sell a portion of it to him for his sick men. He was troubled when his request to buy the supplies was denied.
Roosevelt went to Clara personally and asked, "How can I get the provisions I need? I must have proper food for my sick soldiers!" Clara Barton replied, "Just ask for it, Colonel. It's yours for the asking." "Oh," said Roosevelt, "that's the way it is. All right then, I hereby ask for it." The food was immediately sent to the hospital where the Rough Riders lay sick.
It takes humility and grace to wear the ashes.
Thirdly, the penitent are those who see the cross behind the veil of Lent, beyond the shadows of Good Friday. A minister, shortly after he moved into the parsonage in a country parish, visited one of his families for dinner. By the time he said his good-byes, a snowstorm had covered the countryside. The host family suggested that he stay the night. He politely turned down the invitation, knowing that the way back to the parsonage was only about three miles. He cautiously traversed the snow-covered road. The headlights of his car were reflected in the densely fallen snow and visibility was effectively nonexistent. He barely managed to stay on the road. After some minutes of travel, he realized that he had missed his turn and had no idea about his location. He peered forward into the night and was sure that he would at some point veer off the path. Suddenly, he realized that there was a light ahead of him beyond the wall of snow. He drove slowly toward the light until the light was above him directly to his right. He opened the window and recognized a barnyard light he had passed before. He knew where he was and returned to take the turn he had missed.
The day of Ash Wednesday is not too early to fix one's compass on the cross. Like the North Star, the cross atop the hill of Calvary beckons us forward.
A painting adorning a sixteenth-century altar in a thirteenth-century church close to Hamburg, Germany, portrays the donor of the painting climbing a trail, staff in hand. Atop a hill in the distance to the left of the painting is the cross. The hill is cast in dark shadows. The traveler must pass through the darkness ahead. But the outline of the precipice is clearly visible. There is a source of light beyond and behind it. The traveler must press forward into the gloom, but he and the viewer see the brightness beyond.
Ash Wednesday is the portal through which we pass to begin our Lenten journey. We pass slowly around the plots, the betrayal, the condemnations, the suffering of the one who beckons us follow him. We have six weeks to make the journey. Will we reaffirm our devotion to him or will we have failed him when the cock crows three times? To which signal will we respond? The signal of the shofar or the signal of the cock? The shofar once accompanied the victory at Jericho. Now it calls us forward to the light. Jesus was victorious; he descended the lower hill in order to ascend to the light above. Bathed in light that is almost blinding, the angels call us forward to him. Amen.
The book of the prophet Joel urges the trumpeter to sound the shofar, translated "trumpet," (v. 1) to warn that "... the day of the Lord is coming, it is near...." The "shofar" was usually a ram's horn but it could be the horn of any clean animal except that of a cow. It was used in the feast prescribed in Numbers 29:1, the feast of New Year's Day, "Rosh Hashanah." The shofar, sounding mornings and evenings except on the sabbath, called the faithful to prayerful preparation for the great feast.
Most experts agree that Joel was a cult prophet who felt himself aligned to the postexilic temple rebuilt in the Persian period, probably between 400-350 BC. A plague of locusts and drought are signs pointing to the imminent catastrophe. The day of the Lord will hardly occur unnoticed. God's judgment will be accompanied by an army that will "scorch the earth" (2:3-9) following earthquakes below and chaos in heaven above (2:10). Jewish scriptural tradition pointed to a time between the present era and the era to come. At that "kairos" point, "the sun shall be turned to darkness, and the moon to blood" (2:31). Joel's warning is mirrored in Isaiah (13:10, 13) and the prophet Zephaniah accentuates Joel's gloom-and-doom message with distress, anguish, ruin, and devastation (1:14-18).
Modern disaster films do a good job at communicating Joel's point. Joel's day of the Lord is in our time heralded by the shofar sounding an all-out nuclear war, a global warming catastrophe, or a meteor heading straight for New York City. Today's shofars are sounding in the Middle East, in pest and genocide-ridden Africa, and in the crime-infested dark ghetto corners of American cities. For some reason, Joel assumes that his people can hear the shofar. The glitz and glamour, the fast pace driven by cell phone communication, and the violence and hedonism promoted by television and film make it difficult for Americans to hear the blast of the shofar.
Ash Wednesday is the moment to turn up the shofar's volume. The noise and rush of Shrove Tuesday is over. The day that begins the journey of Lent has begun. The excess of Mardi Gras is silenced. The day to clean up the party trash left on the carnival streets has come. It's time to begin the shadowy and solemn walk through the dark streets of Jerusalem to the place of death and execution. The shofar sounds the wake-up call. It's time to get down to the serious business of repentance, fasting, penance, confession, and amends. The shofar sounds the beginning of the march to the hangman's noose. It's not a pretty picture.
However, the shofar sounds again! It has a different ring, a different tone! Oh yes, the terrible day of the Lord is coming! There is no escape! Now the shofar strikes a new note: "Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning! ... Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing" (Joel 2:12-14). Hear the new song! Your God relents from punishing!
Whether symbolically or actually, Ash Wednesday is the day to place the ashes upon our foreheads. Symbolically or actually, we step forward to the altar to confess our repentance and our desire to show God and our communities that we are willing to have our hearts cleansed.
First of all, we confess that we really want to be better human beings, that we want to love God and love our neighbors. We would gladly rend our garments if that would do any good but, more importantly, we are willing to rend our hearts. Our desire must be sincere. The road to a broken marriage is usually paved with insincere promises.
A pastor once visited a parishioner just returned home from the hospital. He noticed a picture on her wall. "I know that young man," he said. "He's a bagger at the supermarket. He always has a smile on his face and he is friendly and courteous to all of the customers." The parishioner replied, "That's my nephew, Andrew. He's in a heap of trouble. He was caught three times in three different towns driving under the influence of alcohol and in possession of illegal drugs. He's in a halfway house now awaiting sentencing. Pastor, would you mind visiting him?"
When the pastor arrived at the halfway house, Andrew was sitting outside in the garden on a bench with his head held low. The pastor wondered about the reception he would get. Had the aunt alerted Andrew about the visit? The pastor walked up and started, "Hello, Andrew, your aunt asked me to visit you...." Andrew sprung to his feet and wrapped his arms around the visitor. He sobbed and heaved without apology. Without the need for Andrew to verbalize his intentions, the pastor knew that Andrew had made a decision to change his life.
With the support of his new friend, Andrew completed a short time of incarceration, managed to travel to and from his place of employment without benefit of an auto license for one year, complete the obligations of parole, retrieve the right to drive, find a lovely lady to marry, and repeat his marriage vows at a garden wedding presided over, of course, by his pastor friend. Andrew became an electrician and was quickly promoted by his company to the rank of foreman. He embraced a new life as a husband and a father. Drugs and alcohol were no longer in the picture. His repentance was sincere. He heeded the call of the shofar. He stepped up to receive the ashes on his forehead and unabashedly wore his new life on his shirtsleeve.
Secondly, we rend our hearts before God's Ash Wednesday altar as a sign of willingness to accept God's grace. In penitential humility, we return to the Lord who is gracious and merciful. We will show all people that the God of grace is our God.
During the Spanish-American War, Colonel Teddy Roosevelt commanded a regiment of "Rough Riders" in Cuba. He was closely attached to his men and was quite concerned when many of them became ill. He heard that Clara Barton had received a supply of food for the soldiers in Teddy's area. Roosevelt immediately requested that she sell a portion of it to him for his sick men. He was troubled when his request to buy the supplies was denied.
Roosevelt went to Clara personally and asked, "How can I get the provisions I need? I must have proper food for my sick soldiers!" Clara Barton replied, "Just ask for it, Colonel. It's yours for the asking." "Oh," said Roosevelt, "that's the way it is. All right then, I hereby ask for it." The food was immediately sent to the hospital where the Rough Riders lay sick.
It takes humility and grace to wear the ashes.
Thirdly, the penitent are those who see the cross behind the veil of Lent, beyond the shadows of Good Friday. A minister, shortly after he moved into the parsonage in a country parish, visited one of his families for dinner. By the time he said his good-byes, a snowstorm had covered the countryside. The host family suggested that he stay the night. He politely turned down the invitation, knowing that the way back to the parsonage was only about three miles. He cautiously traversed the snow-covered road. The headlights of his car were reflected in the densely fallen snow and visibility was effectively nonexistent. He barely managed to stay on the road. After some minutes of travel, he realized that he had missed his turn and had no idea about his location. He peered forward into the night and was sure that he would at some point veer off the path. Suddenly, he realized that there was a light ahead of him beyond the wall of snow. He drove slowly toward the light until the light was above him directly to his right. He opened the window and recognized a barnyard light he had passed before. He knew where he was and returned to take the turn he had missed.
The day of Ash Wednesday is not too early to fix one's compass on the cross. Like the North Star, the cross atop the hill of Calvary beckons us forward.
A painting adorning a sixteenth-century altar in a thirteenth-century church close to Hamburg, Germany, portrays the donor of the painting climbing a trail, staff in hand. Atop a hill in the distance to the left of the painting is the cross. The hill is cast in dark shadows. The traveler must pass through the darkness ahead. But the outline of the precipice is clearly visible. There is a source of light beyond and behind it. The traveler must press forward into the gloom, but he and the viewer see the brightness beyond.
Ash Wednesday is the portal through which we pass to begin our Lenten journey. We pass slowly around the plots, the betrayal, the condemnations, the suffering of the one who beckons us follow him. We have six weeks to make the journey. Will we reaffirm our devotion to him or will we have failed him when the cock crows three times? To which signal will we respond? The signal of the shofar or the signal of the cock? The shofar once accompanied the victory at Jericho. Now it calls us forward to the light. Jesus was victorious; he descended the lower hill in order to ascend to the light above. Bathed in light that is almost blinding, the angels call us forward to him. Amen.
