second sunday in lent: being born again: the hard labor

you are familiar, or think you are, with the day's gospel: the third chapter of the holy gospel of our lord jesus christ according to john, verses 1-17. it's a juicy text, a veritable shish-kebab of favourite verses, some of which we sometimes eat raw, sometimes over-cooked: "ye must be born again;" "the wind bloweth where it listeth;" "god so loved the world." just reading the passage, i found a new morsel on which to chew, but first, i want to tell you of my surprise.

yesterday, i heard not one but two good sermons on being born again. the first, explicitly on the text, was preached by the rev. edie bird at st.james episcopal church. the second, which broadly illustrated the text, was entertained by the slightly irreveral jody stephenson at the unitarian universalist fellowship.

to be fair to edie, i should say she was not unentertaining. first she asked us to sing along, if we knew the words--she had no power-point support--to "i'd rather have a paper doll that i could call my own that have a fickle-hearted real life girl," suggesting that we often prefer illusions to reality, if we think it's our wn illusion, and adding that in these modern times when we are bombarded with illusions, they are often not even our own. she did not mention my space, but i will.

then she asked us to sing along to a second song, if we knew the words--"amazing grace"--and preceeded to tell a bit of the stories of john newton and william wilberforce. i had always loved the legend of newton's turning around in mid-atlantic to return his load of slaves to their homeland, writing "amazing grace" along the way, but edie had done her homework and read newton's journals. he does describe his rebirth as beginning in mid-atlantic, reading thomas a kempis' the imitation of christ in a storm, but taking years, gradually leaving the slave trade, becoming an anglican priest, writing "amazing grace" and other hymns, and closing his journal at age 84 with the reflection, "i no longer rememeber much, but this i know: i am a great sinner; christ is a great saviour." he had been reborn with long and hard labor.

william wilberforce's rebirth had been swifter, but the fruits of his labor were not fast maturing. he was elected to the house of commons at twenty-one, and introduced a bill to end slavery in the british empire. he held his seat until his death fifty-four years later, continuing to seek a bill to end slavery, which was only passed a month after his death. his book, a practical view of the prevailing system of professed christians was influential on the religious and political thinking of his day in both england and europe.

wilberforce had been on "the brink of holy orders" when john newton convinced him he could better serve christ as a politician.

i'm not sure but jody stephenson thinks of painting as a kind of holy orders, but her book faltering towards perfection which she outlined yesterday is certainly proof that it can be outstanding service to christ: not easy service, but a long, hard labor.

if jody were ever a slave trader, she has yet to reveal that pst occupation. but she is wonderfully honest in revealing her own slavery to the sin of self-condemnation, and vigorous in telling how god in christ has saved her from it.

self-condemnation is a very seductive sin, one that can seem righteous, although it is only the subtly bright underbelly of self-approval. if we approve ourselves, we may be thought proud. if we condemn ourselves, we may be though humble. both acts are merely part of original sin, replacing the holy one with ourselves as "maker of all things, judge of all men."

so jody told her story, faltering, stumbling, but all along led by the one who speaks to her as often in movies as in sunsets or holy write, saying that she is his perfect work, not because of what she does but because of whose she is, and hearing, she is freed to do the work that he has prepared for her to falter in.

oh: my new-found morsel is verse 8: "the wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the spirit." i have friends who--sometimes, on confusing days--have told me that i am either spirit-filled or that i walk in the spirit. yeah. sure. i hardly remember where i've been, and i seldom have a clue where i'm going. but the signs are hopeful. slowly, as in a long hard labor, is being born in me the faith that these are not the things i need to know.

i need to know only christ, and him crucified, who if he be lifted up will draw all the world unto himself.