From Dust We Came '06

Texts: Genesis 9:8-17; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

Of the many ill-fated ideas I have had in my years in full-time ministry one came to mind this week as we started this Season of Lent. The idea was to have an Amnesty Sunday. Nothing to do with Amnesty International – more along the lines of amnesties offered from time to time by libraries for the return of missing books, or by the Police for the surrender of unlicensed firearms.

On Amnesty Sunday people who hadn’t been near the church for many years could come back no questions asked. It arose out of my belief that there were some people in the community who wanted to come back to church but felt rather sheepish about it. Guilty, even. Apprehensive. Would they be required to explain their long absence? On the other hand, would people go too far the other way and make a big fuss of them? My idea was that on Amnesty Sunday long-term absentees could be assured of a safe, low-key return. They would be given the usual civilities, nothing less and nothing more.

The response to my great idea was interesting, to say the least. I tried it first on Vestry. Some reacted in the classic Anglican style – it won’t work, no one will come, we’ve never done it before so we can’t do it now. Some were amused by the whole thing, and dismissed it as a joke. But two of them were flatly opposed to it. Why should these stayaways get off so lightly? If they have absented themselves for so long from the church – or, as one of our good members put it – if they have been wallowing in unconfessed sin for so long – it’s not good enough simply to walk in the door as if nothing was wrong. They are sinners and they need to do something about it – preferably something humiliating if not downright painful!

So I took all this to the next archdeaconry meeting to see what my priestly colleagues might make of it. They made quite a lot of it, actually – it was one of the more interesting discussions I’ve ever experienced at such a meeting. And there was much more sympathy than I expected for those on our Vestry who were opposed to what they thought was my soft approach.

One key point was that we should not hold an Amnesty Sunday, because there was already a suitable day in the Church Calendar for the sort of thing we had in mind. It was called Ash Wednesday. That is the day on which those who wish to be reconciled with the Church should be encouraged to return; and, of course, history is on the side of those who advocated that approach.

As far as we know, Ash Wednesday originated in the fourth century, and it may well have arisen in the context of those who had left the church during the periods of persecution, and wanted to return once it became safe to do so after the Roman Empire officially recognised the Christian faith. Understandably, that had long been a sore point among those who had remained faithful in the face of persecution – they had suffered, and perhaps lost family members, at the hands of the persecutors. Why should they now welcome back those who had recanted for a peaceful life? And in fairness, some at least of those seeking to return felt deep shame about their failure to stand firm. They felt the need for some real penance on their return

Something along these lines is almost certainly part of the historical background to Lent. The practice grew up of those who were seeking reconciliation to come to the church at the start of Lent daubed in ashes as a sign of their penitence. They would then go through a process of study, fasting and prayer through to Easter, when they would be formally re-admitted to the Eucharistic community.

Meanwhile, the Church was continuing to use this period for the preparation for baptism of new converts. During Lent their preparation would intensify and reach completion, and they would be baptised at Easter. So we had these two streams of people – candidates for baptism, turning away from a life of sin and preparing to enter a new life in Christ; and those who had been baptised but had fallen away from the faith, and were now been prepared to come back into the Eucharistic Community. Eventually it was recognised that we are all sinners and have fallen short of the glory of God, and the practice of being daubed with ashes was extended to all.

The key point in the context of my idea of Amnesty Sunday was that it did not recognise the seriousness of what was happening – at least for some of the would-be returnees. “Come back, all is forgiven” is a nice slogan, and it is theologically correct. All IS forgiven. But the more sincere a person is, the deeper they feel regret or even guilt over their long absence from church, the more they feel they have been estranged from God over that period, the more they may need some ritual and some process that helps them to experience that forgiveness and to know that they are reconciled to God.

And what this is all about is that some of us feel the need for some way of dealing with the past. Sometimes it is just a general feeling of unworthiness or guilt – sometimes there is something specific. Either way there can be a barrier set up I can recall a woman who came to me once very troubled about some particular episode in her life about which she felt deep guilt. As she told me her story I felt that she was not the guilty party, that she had been more sinned against than sinner. But that was not her view, and that was not what she wanted to hear from me.

Nor would it have done her the slightest good if I had made light of it – if I had assured her that the rest of us in the church had some pretty dark secrets, too, and she should not think that she was any worse than the rest of us. That was not what she needed to hear. She needed to hear that she was forgiven; and when she heard that she was ready to start going forward.

So Lent is, in part, an opportunity to deal with the past. To focus on the wonder of God’s forgiveness. To know that God has already dealt with our past, has already set us free from it. All we have to do is to accept and experience that forgiveness, that freedom that is ours through our baptism into Christ. – a baptism that is both a washing clean of our past and a fresh empowering for our future.

That, it seems to me, is the message of our three rather difficult readings today. The first is part of the great Genesis narrative about the Flood. The whole story is a bit strange. It seems to show a God who is almost out of control with temper. God is so disgusted at the human race that, according to the author, God repents of ever having created us, and decides to wipe us all out and start again. Only one family, apparently, is good enough for this earth, and so Noah and whanau survive.

But then God seems shocked at what he has done and swears never to do it again. The rainbow becomes the sign of God’s promise that no matter what we human beings do, no matter how evil and corrupt we might become – no Auschwitz, no Hiroshima, no Cambodian killing fields, no Gulag archipelago, nothing will ever again provoke God into destroying the world. We have God’s solemn promise on that.

Whatever that whole story is supposed to be about, there is surely something in it about the extreme disgust of God at human sin. But there is also a rejection of divine power as a way of dealing with human sin. The flood waters of death are to be replaced by the life-giving waters of baptism.

Which gets us to this extraordinary passage from the First Letter of St Peter. I freely confess that I am not at all sure what it means, and I comfort myself with the fact that most biblical scholars I have read on this text also confess that they don’t know what it means, either. But it seems to mean that even the worst imaginable sinners – those who were so evil that they provoked God into seriously contemplating destroying the whole creation – even the very worst of humankind are still within reach of the saving grace of God acting through the Risen Christ. The Flood, says St Peter, was a type of baptism. At the time, it operated only in reverse, as it were – only those in the ark – those who were not submerged in the waters – were baptised and saved. But one of the effects of Christ’s Resurrection was to save the others, too.

In the Gospel today we are reminded that Jesus’ struggle with the Tempter in the desert followed after his baptism, after he had received the Holy Spirit. And we notice, too, that he is not tempted to do anything inherently evil. In the short-term, anyway, he may well have been far more successful in winning people over if he had shown an ability to turn stones into food, if he had demonstrated that he could leap off tall buildings and land safely, and if he had taken over all political power from the various tyrants and despots of the day.

But, as we know from Matthew’s account of the temptations, what Satan was trying to do was tempt Jesus to doubt his relationship with God. “If you are the Son of God…” And that is precisely the temptation that Amnesty Sunday would have failed to address. I have turned away from God. I have not been near a church in decades. Surely God has long ago forgotten who I am. Or, God knows what I have done in the past. There is no way God wants the sort of person I am.

For that we need Ash Wednesday and this period of Lent. To recognise the seriousness of our past failures and to rediscover that God’s response is not to drown us out but to welcome us back. On Ash Wednesday we are given the solemn reminder that from dust we came and to dust we shall return.

Then on Easter Day comes the wonderful news of what happens next. But that’s for later.

Home