February 28, 2010 | 8:00 a.m.

More Than Just Chocolate

Jocelyn C. Cadwallader
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 27
Isaiah 58:1–12
Luke 14: 25–33

Once you leave the cow path, the unpredictable territory is full of life. True, you cannot always see where you are putting your feet. This means you can no longer afford to stay unconscious. You can no longer count on the beat-down red dirt path making all of your choices for you. Leaving it, you agree to make your own choices for a spell. You agree to become aware of each step you take, tuning all of your senses to exactly where you are and exactly what you are doing.

Barbara Brown Taylor
An Altar in the World

This morning, we find ourselves on the second Sunday of Lent. For a week and half we have been walking along the road to Jerusalem, and I’m wondering how your journey so far has been. The season of Lent is a time when some people like to incorporate some kind of spiritual discipline. One might give something up or rather than giving something up, one might add a spiritual practice such as exercising or doing devotionals, reading through the scriptures or doing yoga. And I’m wondering if you have ever done this or, perhaps, are in the midst of this practice now.

It makes me think about this television show that I really love. It’s a British comedy; perhaps some of you know it: The Vicar of Dibley. It’s a hilarious show in which the main character is a woman vicar in a sleepy English village. In one episode, the scene opens to a parish council meeting on Shrove Tuesday. The council is gathered around the table together, working through an agenda of important items, when the vicar herself introduces agenda item number six: to commit to giving something up for Lent, as a discipline or Lenten practice. The catch is that each time they slip up and break their commitment, they are to put money into a box labeled “Lent Fines,” the proceeds from which will be spent to start up a video club for the community.

To make it more of a discipline, to raise the stakes a bit, the group would choose what each individual would give up. For example, Owen, the foul-mouthed, lonely farmer is encouraged to give up swearing. Jim, the one who begins every statement with a repeated “No no no no no,” is now barred from diddering, barred from starting statements with the litany of no’s. Foul-mouthed Owen suggests that Mrs. Cropley could stop cooking food that typically includes combinations that would make the stomach of an opossum turn, such as pancakes with a hint of liver or pancakes with lard and fish paste. The parish council president is encouraged to be a nice person, in general, and the clerk is encouraged to not be, and I quote, “a pedantic old fart” when it comes to taking the minutes of the meetings.

As for the vicar, well, she volunteers that she would give up bubble baths, all those bubbly-wubbly baths that she just loves. Knowing that wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her, David Horton, the parish council president, suggests that she give up chocolate. “No, I don’t think so, ’cause, you see, I don’t eat enough chocolate for that to really hurt me,” she says as David reaches over, opens her notebook cover, and reveals a giant, nearly 8-½ x 11-sized chocolate bar. And as she’s trying to dig her way out of a ten-foot hole, describing how that chocolate bar was for “all the tiny, little orphan children of the parish, all those little mites, starved of love and tenderness,” David opens her Bible, revealing the cut-out portion that housed a Crunchie bar for emergencies. Flippantly, the vicar concedes and agrees to give up chocolate, and the rest of the episode follows the challenges they all confront throughout the season of Lent.

These practices, the disciplines, these fasts from chocolate that we take during the season of Lent, are an effort that we make to be more intentional about our relationship with God. Throughout the scriptures, the practice of fasting has been a spiritual discipline, a humbling act of commitment or repentance that can be intensified by prayer. In being more intentional about fasting, to have a taste of the wilderness, to feel a tinge of the sacrifice that the wilderness affords, we participate in our discipleship in a new way. And even though we understand that there is nothing that we can do to draw nearer to God, as God is already with us, we can appreciate our engagement with our practices of discipleship.

Our Gospel lesson this morning also encourages and instructs us in discipleship. Luke, however, seems to paint a slightly different picture than the vicar does: hate your family and “none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” Yeesh! That is quite a bit more than just giving up chocolate for a season. So let’s unpack this a bit.

Let’s start with the word hate. It is a very strong word, and here it is used as hyperbole, prophetic hyperbole, in fact, to describe the uncompromising loyalty to which Jesus is calling the disciples. Jesus is not commanding the disciples to harbor hatred in their hearts for their families and for those that surround them. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. For the sake of himself and those Jesus loves, he uses this language to paint a clearer picture as to the level of love and commitment that is required to follow in his ways. In other words, discipleship is not a decision to be made flippantly. Jesus is encouraging the disciples to take a moment to discern what is in their heart, to take a moment and think about what is at stake, what it is that they are committing themselves to. Of course he wants them to follow him, but he does not want them to take a step without understanding what will be required of them, what the cost of that discipleship will be. It’s going to take more than just giving up chocolate to be a disciple. It’s more involved than that. Jesus is alerting them to the fact that when they make the commitment to be a disciple, they will experience more than they can expect.

Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of a period of Lenten fasting. This practice of fasting is a practice that enables ourselves to be reminded of the self-denial, the self-discipline that is integral to the way of the cross. It is not about self-abasement or self-advertisement; this is a time for self-appraisal. As Norman Shanks of the Iona community says, this is a practice that leads to “the kind of repentance that neither wallows in factitious self-loathing nor seeks escape in specious excuses. [Fasting for this season of Lent] requires healthy realism about ourselves, so that we can face up to and accept responsibility for our mistakes and shortcomings. This is also a time for realism about the nature and purposes of God, so that we recognize the reality of judgment and the hope for grace.” Through this process of fasting, of self-examination and repentance, and through acceptance of our own vulnerability, we might obtain some semblance of peace as we also recognize the presence of God’s generosity in our midst. And as we reflect on our own lives in this fast, we continue to hear the call of the gospel message, the message that there cannot be inner peace without outer justice. Shanks urges, “We cannot rest content in the face of the world’s need for healing and the sense of our complicity in the woundedness of the world.”

The voice of Isaiah helps us to understand this dynamic. It is a direct and clear voice, and it conveys the message that fasting is not an end in and of itself. Our private devotions are inextricably linked to our public lives. Isaiah emphasizes, “Is this the fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring forth quickly: your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear-guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and the Lord will say, Here I am.”

In this season, discipleship, our understanding of how the grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, affects us, is exposed once again. Deitrich Bonhoeffer uses language of “cheap grace” and “costly grace” to help his readers understand this grace, this inherent motivation of discipleship, in a different way. He claims, “‘Cheap grace’ is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance; Baptism without church discipline; Communion without confession. ‘Cheap grace’ is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.” In other words, “cheap grace” means that we might hear the gospel proclaiming that though we are sinners, we don’t need to worry about that because everything is forgiven; that we can stay just as we are, keep doing what we know how to do as we can enjoy the consolation of forgiveness. However, the main defect of such a proclamation is that it contains no encouragement for discipleship. So in contrast to this is “costly grace.” Bonhoeffer describes “costly grace” as that grace that “confronts us as a gracious call to follow Jesus; it comes as a word of forgiveness to the broken spirit and the contrite heart. It is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: ‘My yoke is easy and my burden is light.’”

Through the Gospel of Luke, Jesus encourages us to recognize that discipleship is not something to take lightly. We might sit here in these pews today, taking on a simple practice, participate in a simple ritual for a few weeks as Easter approaches. But as these practices occur, something greater is in the works. Jesus is letting us know the facts. We shouldn’t be surprised that when we commit to a simple practice, we are engaging in something even more significant than we might expect. We are committing to a more costly grace. Expect a change to occur, one that leads our hearts to places that are drawn to justice, fairness, and love.

Our fast this Lenten season is not just about chocolate. It is much more than that. As we open ourselves up to the discipline of the season, may we open ourselves to that which Jesus calls us. Jesus isn’t calling us to hate our families of origin or our spouses or children. He is calling us to live into this costly grace, exposing ourselves for the broken and frail beings that we are and yet offering ourselves nonetheless, expecting God that will intervene in our hearts and use us. May we be opened to the possibilities that through our simple practices, our light may break free, that healing may spring forth, and that we might be led to choose the fast of loosing the bonds of injustice around us. This is my Lenten prayer.

Amen.