We Hear You Clucking Big Chicken!

Many of us have made the Lenten journey so many times that it can become routine. No matter how familiar, however, Christ's passion, our repentance, and God's forgiveness never grow stale. Lent isn't simply a season. It's the Christian life in microcosm. It's a time to be renewed in faith, hope, and love as we see God's promises fulfilled, the door to heaven swung open, and grace on full display.  Lent is a season of repentance, but repentance is a continuous part of the Christian life. When Lutherans gather for the Divine Service, they stand accused. We hear who we are, the baptized, as God's name is spoken over us, but then we confess our unworthiness. We tell God that we've sadly come once again as we first came to him as sinners. And we know what sinners deserve. The wages of sin is death, and so we declare a verdict upon ourselves when we confess. We deserve to die now and in eternity.
 
Repentance, however, doesn't end with sorrow. God speaks a word through his pastors, and it's not a divine "It's ok," and it doesn't come with a wink and a nod, but with the sign of God's mercy traced with fingers. God speaks a costly word. God speaks an absolution. He does this because we don't stand alone before him when we confess in faith. We stand with one who has become our brother, our advocate, and our friend. God's messenger declare us not guilty on account of what we observe this Lent: what took place at the end of the road to Holy Week. We are innocent for Christ's sake – not our own – and so those fit for death receive life. 
 
As we’ve heard from Luke these Sunday mornings in Lent, he peppers us with warnings from Jesus about readiness and encouragement against anxiety. Jesus spoke to those who should have welcomed his coming and known what it meant. We also are those who should welcome his coming and know what it means. Do we, though? Have we been calm where we should be calm and ready for that for which we should be ready?  Jesus tells us to enter by the narrow door in Luke 13:22-30. He explains that many will claim to know him only to be shut out. They will use their mouths but not their hearts. They will know him as an idea but not as a friend. They will be like those in a crowd in a packed stadium, heading out after the game. They won't see the doors, but they will go with the flow of traffic, assuming that will lead them where they hope to go. That must not be us, however. We are called to fix our eyes on the narrow door, on Christ. This often means swimming against the current, even against our very selves. 
 
Historically, Lent is a season of fasting, of giving things up. In Lent, we are reminded of what Jesus gave up for us: his very life. And yet we are also reminded of what he didn't give up: you and me. Like a mother hen, he spread wide his wings in love on the cross. We do well, then, to hear Jesus' warnings and remember his promises this Lent. We do well to be ready and yet calm because while the end approaches. For we believers of Jesus, the end brings only a new beginning, one already settled. He who opened his arms for us hasn't closed them, so draw near to him now where he has promised to be, in Word and sacrament, and draw near to him then when he calls you to his eternal kingdom. Find refuge in his wings, spread wide to take hold of you.
 
“He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.” (Psalm 91:4, NLT)
 
“For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” (Psalm 63:7-8, NLT)
 
 
H/T:  Devotion by Wade Johnston, 03/19/25 on 1517.org.