Lenten Longings

What a delight, this morning, to welcome an entire section of guests. This is an amazing visual experience. Since last Thursday evening, nearly 64 men have been experiencing a DeColores spiritual weekend. DeColores is a Spanish word meaning “of colors” suggesting many colors of Christ, different faces, different backgrounds, different denominations or some representing no denominations at all. A weekend of spiritual growth and renewal. Unity in diversity, crossing boundaries, transcending differences. Blessings to all participants and to all the family members who’ve joined them for worship. We look forward the ministry of music you will share in a few moments.

Whenever I see a large gathering of men, I’m reminded of the story of such a gathering that happened in another time and place. During the get-to-know-you session, the pastor asked which man had been married the longest. Through the process of elimination it was determined that a senior citizen among the men named Ralph would be celebrating his 50^th wedding anniversary in another month. To this news, the whole gathering of men broke out in applause. The Pastor then asked Ralph what was his secret to a long lasting marriage. How did he do it? What could he share with the men?

Ralph replied, “Well, my wife and I treat each other with respect. We never go to bed angry. But most important, we’ve taken some pretty amazing trips together. For example, on our 25^th wedding anniversary, we went to Beijing, China. My wife fell in love with China. We climbed the Great Wall together. We stood arm in arm in Tiananmen Square. We visited the Emperor’s summer palace as we held hands. We shopped the famous Silk Market like we were on our first date.

The crowd of men broke into another round of applause. When things quieted down, the pastor congratulated Ralph, "What a terrific example you are to husbands. So, where you're going next month for your 50th wedding anniversary?"

Ralph replied, "Well, I’m longing to return to China in order to bring my wife back to the States."

There are longings and then there are longings. Whatever you might think of the one called Jesus, whatever you might know of the one called Christ, this much is a sure: he had deep, deep longings. And none deeper than this: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

How often have I longed. The pathos, the emotion in that longing! Nothing stirred his soul more than to gather an entire city into his arms. Nothing. Jesus was certainly tough-minded, too. He didn’t become #1 on Herod’s “10 Most Wanted List” by spouting platitudes while sipping tea in the Oval Office. Jesus was among other things a prophet, and prophets are known for the telling the truth, for exposing injustices, for siding with the poor and those who sit in the forgotten margins of life.

Yes, Jesus was tough, but he was also tender, tough-minded, but tender-hearted. You don’t long for an entire population to experience the unconditional love and unending embrace of the Creator without a heart that is tender.

Sometimes, on occasion, we see glimpses of this longing in others. Consider this. Spanning the Potomac River in Washington D.C. area is a bridge that used to be known as the 14^th Street Bridge. Today it is known as the Arland D. Williams Jr. Memorial Bridge. And here’s the reason for the name change. On January 13^th, 1982, Air Florida Flight 90 crashed into the icy waters, killing 78 people. Six passengers survived the initial crash as news cameramen soon appeared on the scene and watched helplessly from the bridge, recording the disaster for the rest of the world to see. There appeared no way to reach the survivors in the water, one of them being Arland Williams. When a helicopter finally arrived Arland Williams, himself pinned to the tail section, helped the others reach the rescue rope that was dropped five times from the hovering craft. Each time the rope was dangled in front of him, he passed the lifeline to someone else. Eventually five were rescued from the ice-clogged waters. But when the tail section of the wrecked Boeing 737 shifted and sank further into the water, it dragged Arland D. Williams Jr. under the water with it.

A clergyman who eulogized him would later say

His heroism was not rash. Aware that his own strength was fading, he deliberately handed hope to someone else, and he did so repeatedly. On that cold and tragic day, Arland D. Williams Jr. exemplified one of the best attributes of human nature, specifically that some people are capable of doing "anything" for total strangers.

And so the question that searches for an answer comes down to this: What is our deepest longing? For Jesus it was longing for the inhabitants of Jerusalem and ultimately for the world. For Arland Williams it was for the life of five strangers.

To whom and to where do our longings send us? Deeper into our own narcissism? Deeper into our own self-preservation? Or deeper into the lives of others, wherever we find them and whatever their condition?