Excerpt from Sermon-Lent 1
And so here we are on the first Sunday in Lent on The Long Road to the tree, the Cross.
I would like to share with you words that I shared with the congregation on Ash Wednesday, the day our 40 days of prayer and repentance begins.
The days grow quieter as Lent deepens.
At first there was the stark reminder of ashes — dust upon the brow, a summons to repentance. But now the road stretches forward, and in the distance there stands a tree.
Not yet in full sight.
Not yet crowned with thorns.
But waiting.
“Lord, who throughout these forty days
for us didst fast and pray…”
We have followed Thee into the wilderness. We have felt the small hungers, the hidden resistances, the subtle clinging to comfort. We have named our sins, though not yet exhausted them.
Still the Church sings:
Hear us, O Lord, and have mercy,
for we have sinned against thee.
The plea grows more urgent as the weeks pass.
The Scriptures turn darker. The words sharpen. The opposition gathers weight. Each Gospel reading seems to move with deliberate step toward Jerusalem.
And we know what waits there.
The hosannas will fade.
The palms will wither.
The table will be set in an upper room heavy with farewell.
We begin to understand that repentance is not merely sorrow for sin — it is walking with Christ toward the place where sin is undone.
The wilderness gives way to a garden.
The garden gives way to a courtyard.
The courtyard gives way to a hill.
There the tree stands fully revealed.
Rough wood.
Iron nails.
A sky grown strangely dark.
We who have said, “Hear us, O Lord,” must also learn to hear Him:
“Father, forgive them.”
The forty days narrow into hours.
The fasting becomes thirst.
The prayer becomes cry.
The silence becomes surrender.
And beneath the Cross, all our small repentances find their meaning. Every whispered confession, every act of self-denial, every turning of the heart — all are gathered into this single offering.
Behold the wood of the Cross,
whereon was hung the salvation of the world.
This is where Lent has been leading.
Not to ashes alone,
but to mercy poured out.
Not to sorrow alone,
but to love stretched wide upon the beams.
And as the last breath is given, and the earth trembles, we understand:
the road to Good Friday is the road to our redemption.
The tree that casts the longest shadow
will soon stand empty.
But first, we kneel.
Amen
