Lent is about giving stuff up and generally being miserable, right?

No. Lent is about returning to delight.

Lent invites us back into the loving arms of God. Lent is about confronting all the life-draining ways we seek cheap substitutes for God’s love and grace and mercy, and chucking them and turning to the Real Stuff. It’s about giving ourselves the gift of receiving the love we crave. No matter what we may “give up for Lent,” what we’re really giving up is the habit of withholding God’s love from ourselves by seeking it elsewhere. We give up junk to receive treasure. But, yeah, sometimes the giving up is hard. Because we’re addicted. But there’s life on the other side.

Sin

Sin is thinking (or acting as if) we’re on our own.

There’s only one thing, one Holy Being (which we nickname “God”), and we’re part of it. But we don’t get it. The part of our consciousness (actually mostly unconscious) that we call our ego is at work, as it should be, continually asking, “What’s me, and not me? How do I protect what’s me?” The trouble is, we believe it. We believe and act as if we’re our own little selves, individual physical units, contained in and defined by our bodies. (Paul calls this “living according to the flesh.”) This self-centeredness is sin. But God is infinite; there is nothing outside God. We are part of God. We are emanations of divine love, members of the Body of Christ, made one in the one Spirit. To trust this, to willingly be part of God, is what Paul calls “living in the Spirit.”

Our sinfulness doesn’t mean we’re “bad.” It means we’re afraid. It means we’re inherently self-centered. We don’t know how to trust God, and trust our belonging in God. We focus on the survival of our bodies and possessions and outward appearances, and not on the life of God within us. The only cure for separation is connection. The only cure for fear is love. The only cure for sin is grace.

Righteousness

Righteousness is being in harmony with God.

Sin is being out of tune. Righteousness is being in tune. It does not mean “being right.” In fact it’s the opposite. There are two religions in the world: the religion of being right and the religion of being in love. In the religion of being right you figure out how the universe works and play by those rules and succeed (defined as “righteousness”), or fail to get it right and suffer. The religion of being right is inherently selfish, inimical to love. In the religion of being in love you allow yourself to be loved as a gift, and in gratitude pass that love on to others because you’re all part of the same love. Righteousness is allowing yourself to be loved, and to become loving. The two religions are incompatible. If you follow all the rules sooner or later you’ll hurt somebody. And in the religion of being in love if you always do what is loving sooner or later you’ll break a rule, or fail to “get it right” for yourself, and suffer for it. You can’t practice both religions at the same time; we’re always choosing one or the other. Jesus quotes Hosea 6.6 (twice!) and says “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” (Mt. 9.13. See also Mt. 12.7).

The religion of being right is the religion of our sin. We don’t trust God’s love but instead believe we have to deserve God’s favor by being good enough. We achieve righteousness. Even our attempt to be righteous is sinful. Instead we’re invited to allow God, in love, to make us righteous, to bring us into harmony with God in loving mercy. Despite our waywardness, God, out of pure love not our merit, says, “We’re good.” God’s love makes us righteous.

Salvation

God’s love saves us from the life-sapping power of our own selfishness.

Because in our sin we cut ourselves off from life, seeking to ensure for ourselves the life that can come only from God, sin is death—that’s the bad news. But the good news is God gives us life anyway, life that can’t be taken from us—not even by sin or death. This is the gift of eternal life. We disconnect ourselves from God, but Gods stays connected anyway. This is not anything we can affect: we are unable to save ourselves from our own self-centeredness. It is a gift of pure grace.

Salvation doesn’t mean going to heaven after we die. Salvation means being rescued from the selfishness that destroys our lives—our distrust of God, our alienation from the divine breathing Spirit in us that is our our true and only source of life. God overcomes all this. It is not the result of our effort, but God’s grace. The “heaven” we go to is not the afterlife, but the paradise of being in harmony with God.

Repentance

Sin is being out of tune with God. Repentance is tuning up.

Repentance is listening to God so we can sing in tune. Even Jesus needed to listen; notice how often he goes off to pray. So we attend to the work of repentance: the work of turning from what diminishes life toward what restores life: turning away from sin, toward God. Repentance is not what we do to be saved, but what we do because we have been saved. Repentance is a three-fold process: being honest about our brokenness, opening ourselves to God’s grace, and allowing ourselves to be transformed. (Followers of John Wesley will recognize the prevenient, justifying and sanctifying nature of God’s grace.) With Jesus in the desert we face our temptations, the ways our desire for life get distorted into desire for power, security and belonging in sources other than God. We confront our ego and its fears and desires, our self-centeredness and its consequences; and practice letting go of those false fears and demands. We confess not only our individual sins but our collective sin, the systems of injustice that our sin produces and sustains. We acknowledge that we are dust in need of Spirit.

God’s response is not punishment, but grace. God’s judgment is not a verdict, but a prescription. When we fail to bear fruit fruit God does not punish us but gives us what we need to bear fruit (see Luke 13.1-9).

So our focus is not on our sin, but on God’s grace. For only God’s love cures the sickness that is our sin. Repentance is accepting the love we’ve been resisting, and giving God’s forgiveness a chance to sink in. We practice breathing-in God’s love.

And we invite and allow that grace to change us, to inhabit us, to rule us. Repentance is about turning to the divine life that is there inside us that we’ve been neglecting. When we let go of our self-contentedness and accept God’s love, our hearts are changed: we want to live in harmony with that love and grace. We allow ours old selves to die so God can re-create us, animated by the Spirit instead of our sin. We are re-born. This is the true nature of resurrection: not a comeback, but a complete new beginning.

Lent is a season of forty days of repentance and purification in preparation for Easter. We pray for the gift of repentance through fasting, prayer and works of love, that we may be healed and transformed according to the grace of God. Remembering that we are dust, and to dust we shall return, we place our trust in God alone for life. Beholding the cross of Christ, we enter into the mystery of our salvation. Giving our lives to God, we die and are raised to new life. Our guiding images in Lent are Jesus’ sojourn in the desert facing his temptations, and his journey toward the cross

Ashes

We are ashes (dust) plus Spirit. Remember that.

Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. The ashes represent the frailty of our faith—they are made from last year’s Palm Sunday palms. As with anything we loved but have lost, ashes represent the sorrow we feel upon facing our sinfulness, our regret over having hurt ourselves, our neighbor, God, and all Creation. (It may seem odd to speak of God being hurt, but that’s the very meaning of love—and the reality of the cross.) In the beginning God took dust up from the ground and breathed life (breath, spirit) into it, and it became a living human. We are dust and spirit. Of course what we see and touch seems most real to us, so we believe in the dust more than the Spirit. Ashes remind us that we are made of dust, dependent on God’s grace. And they remind us of our mortality. “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The future is not guaranteed: now is the time to let go of our illusions about ourselves (burning them to ashes) and to live the authentic life God has given us. Mindful that life is short and precious, we devote ourselves to using every moment we are given for the sake of love, to give and receive God’s grace while we can. We place ashes on ourselves as a sign that we are Creatures and God is Creator; that we are to die to sin, and that it is not our efforts, but God’s grace, that redeems us. Remembering that in Creation God formed a human from the dust of the ground and breathed life into it to create a living human, we present ourselves as dust to God, that God may breathe God’s Spirit into us and create us anew.
 

The Cross

What saves us is not Jesus’ suffering but his forgiveness.

The cross is the cost of love. In Jesus on the cross we see God’s suffering love in the face of our sin and violence. Jesus did not die “so that God could forgive us;” God forgave us already. Jesus died because we killed him. Jesus suffered the consequences of our sin, our injustice, but he did not “pay for our sins:” sin can’t be bought off. To say we have been “purchased with a price” doesn’t mean Jesus “bought” something. Our salvation is a gift, not a transaction—though it costs God. God did not arrange for Jesus to be killed; that was our doing. God didn’t “plan” the cross. Jesus didn’t set out to die; he set out to do justice, at any cost to himself. Jesus opposed unjust religious, political, economic and social systems of oppression—and the powerful struck back. In his death we see evil exposed. We see God as the victim of all injustice and oppression (“whatever you do to the least of these…”) And we see God’s love and forgiveness in the face of our evil. Jesus suffered our judgment, and brought God’s judgment in return: God’s absolute, eternal, infinite love and forgiveness.

Our sin is that we don’t trust God’s love, and think instead that we have to be good enough to deserve God’s favor. The crucifixion embodies our judgment that Jesus didn’t “get it right.” God’s judgment is mercy on one who didn’t get it right, because God’s way is to be loving, not to be right, or to demand that we get it right. God’s mercy overturns our judgment.

In the cross we see the scandal of God’s vulnerability with us. God doesn’t demand suffering; God suffers with us and even because of us—to stay with us. In the cross God lives out the reality of being in a body, with all the beauty and pain and even mortality that entails: such is the price of incarnation. God suffers with us. In the Cross God absorbs everything that separates us from God: our fear and violence, our shame, our judgment, and our death― and God embraces us, with nothing in between. In the cross we exercise the power of death and violence and God receives it and transforms it, overcoming even the power of death with love. Because Jesus trusts God absolutely, and serves God fully in the cause of justice and healing, he is not afraid to face violence. Having already given his life to God, Jesus enters into life that is infinite and can’t be taken from him (this, not the afterlife, is the meaning of eternal life). On Good Friday the Resurrected One was crucified.

To contemplate the cross is to behold our sin, God’s grace, and our calling all at once. To take up your cross is to willingly surrender your life to God, die to your old self, and allow yourself to be raised—re-created—as a new person, like dust that God breathes new life into. And to take up your cross is to be willing to suffer for the sake of love and justice.


Lament

The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken heart.

Lent is not only about repentance; it’s also a time to lament. The Ashes of Ash Wednesday evoke not only our sin and our mortality; they also speak of our sorrow. We are sorry for our sinfulness; and we are sorry for the suffering of the world. We join Jesus lamenting over Jerusalem. Repentance is never just a personal thing; it’s a communal movement. Our whole society needs to repent of our injustice. To begin, we need to lament, to let our hearts be broken by the suffering of the world, with Jesus weeping over Jerusalem (Lk. 19.41-42). It’s easier to make pronouncements about the world’s problems than to stand (or sit) with the people who suffer because of those problems. Let them have a voice in your confession and repentance: those who suffer because of racism, poverty, violence, sexism, heterosexism, consumerism, mass incarceration, the climate crisis, the assault on democracy… Of course the list goes on and on, and you don’t want your worship to be nothing but grievance. But don’t overlook our need to lament and grieve with those who are the crucified ones among us.


Lent: Living beyond death

The story of Lent is the salvation story. Salvation doesn’t mean going to heaven after we die. It means being rescued from the power of self-centeredness that rules our lives. Just as the Hebrews were slaves in Egypt, we are slaves to sin and death. Sin works in us in ways we can’t seem to control, and death creates bounds for our lives that we can’t escape. But just as Moses led the people out of slavery in Egypt, Jesus delivers us from slavery to our self-centeredness. In his death and resurrection we see the grace that sets us free from the power that sin and our fear of death have over us. Jesus leads us to life in Infinite Love.

During Lent the scripture lessons will take us through the unfolding of death and new life. We go with Jesus into the desert to face our temptations, and then onward toward the cross—which is really toward resurrection.
Year A: In the garden, Adam and Eve show us the power of our desires. With Nicodemus we ponder the mystery of being “born again.” Abram models what it’s like to allow God to change our lives. With the woman at the well we name our thirst for the water of eternal life “gushing up in us,” as miraculous (and dependable) as the water Moses strikes from the rock. With the man born blind we experience transformation so profound that others may not even recognize us. In the raising of Lazarus we behold Jesus’ willingness to walk with us through death to something on the other side, and God’s power to make our lives new. The dry bones will live again. By God’s grace, we learn to live the resurrection life. We are ready for Easter.
Year B: Jesus invites us to take up our cross: to be willing to suffer for the sake of love. He scourges the temple of the religion of being right (in offering sacrifices) and invites us to imagine a temple of love. We contemplate the wisdom of the “foolish” cross, acknowledging that God’s ways aren’t like ours. We give thanks for God’s judgment of light, that we’re saved by grace, as the Son of God is “lifted up” (that is, both exalted and crucified), Jesus reminds us that we are to die as seeds do so that we can bear fruit. By God’s grace, we learn to live the resurrection life. We are ready for Easter.
Year C: Jesus is warned that Herod wants to kill him, but, to paraphrase, “nevertheless he persisted.” In the parable of the fig tree he assures us of God’s grace, not to punish us, but to help us bear fruit. In the parable of the lost sons (they’re both lost; it’s the father who is prodigal, that is, overly generous) Jesus shows us a model of God’s grace. The parable asks us if we’re ready to receive grace despite our feelings we don’t deserve it, or our conviction we do. Mary Magdalene, anointing Jesus, prepares him and us for the cross, which is to prepare us for resurrection. We are ready for Easter.

The Eucharist in Lent
In my Methodist tradition we’re accustomed to celebrating communion once a month. There’s no theological reason for this. It’s just because three centuries ago the only ordained clergy who could preside over the sacrament was a circuit rider who was only in town once a month or so. For most of history, and still in many denominations, the Eucharist is a regular part of weekly worship. If you’re a member of the once-a-month club, I encourage you to consider offering communion weekly during Lent or Easter or both. The Eucharist speaks to Lent: it replicates the meal Jesus shared the day before he surrendered to the cross. It touches on Lenten themes like repentance, grace, transformation, and reconciliation. Of course it is a Resurrection meal— but resurrection is what draws us to the cross: the promise that when we give our lives in love God gives us new ones.

Music

See Eucharistic Responses for eleven sets of prayer responses (Sanctus, Memorial Acclamation and Amen) set to familiar hymn tunes appropriate for Lent. Two of them include Table Songs, hymns of invitation to the table.


Lent is also a season for the Kyrie: Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison. (“Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.”) See Kyrie, Six Versions, for the traditional words set to original tunes. Some are part of Eucharistic settings.

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Baptism is a sacrament, a ritual in which God is present with us in the elements of our everyday life. Baptism is not something that we do, but something that we receive. It is a symbol of God’s Covenant with us, God’s relationship of steadfast love and committed faithfulness, sort of like a marriage. Baptism is a symbol expressing many aspects of God’s grace.

God, our Source. We are “born of water and the Spirit.” (John 3.5) The water of Baptism is the water of God’s womb. We receive our life and identity from God. God says to each of us, as God said to Jesus at his baptism, “You are my beloved child. With you I am well pleased” (Mt. 3.17). As with the waters of chaos at Creation, God’s water breaks and God gives us new birth as people of the Spirit (1 Pet. 1.3-5). We are born again (always) as beloved children of God, and God joyfully claims us as God’s Own (Mk. 1.11). We are made in the image of God — not that we physically “look” like God, since God is not visible, but as a living image, an appearance of God, a manifestation of God’s essence. That essence is love. Baptism proclaims that we are creatures of love, that love is the essence of who we are and why we live, that we belong to God, that we are divine, godly creatures, and that God delights in us.

Christ, our healing. God says, “I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean from all your sin” (Ezek. 32.25). In the Exodus story God led the slaves out of Egypt through the waters of Red Sea to freedom. Baptism is all about liberation from what oppresses us. It’s our human nature that we are afraid to trust God’s love, and so we become slaves to our self-centeredness. We call this self-centered fear “sin.” God forgives our self-centeredness, and all the sins that flow from it, and God also sets us free from it. God saves us from our sin and leads us to freedom. Baptism is an image of the Red Sea, the way of liberation. The water of Baptism is the bath that washes away all our sin, the free-flowing grace of God that forgives us completely, setting us free to live by God’s Spirit instead of our fears.

Jesus met people where they were hurting and healed them. He washed people’s feet; he shared their tears; he gave them drink; he nourished their souls and saw them as new, “reborn” people. The water of Baptism is the life-giving balm that soothes our wounds, the drink that renews our life, the river that bears us along through life’s suffering, the flowing force that sets us free, the promise that Christ is always with us.

Dying and rising. “We have been buried with Christ by baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Life-Giver, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6.4). Baptism is a drowning. In the earliest centuries the congregation sang funeral songs while the person being baptized went down into a tomb-shaped pool… and was pronounced dead… —and then arose, a new person, with a new name! Baptism is a call to entrust our whole selves and our will to God. We repent; we surrender our life to God. We die: we give up our spirit, with nothing more to hang onto. And we are raised with Christ to new life, free from all the “Old Stuff,” born anew. We are transformed. We live in new ways, led not by our own will but by God’s Spirit. The water of Baptism is the water of drowning and re-birth.

The gift of the Holy Spirit. “No one enters the Realm of God without being born of water and Spirit” (John 3.5). As we water a plant and it bears fruit, God pours God’s Spirit into us so that we bear the fruit of divine love. The water of Baptism is a symbol of God’s Spirit within us. It signifies that we are ordained by God to a holy task: to spread God’s love. The Spirit enables us to do this, just as the Spirit descended on Jesus at his Baptism. Just as our bodies are mostly water, we ourselves are mostly love: the love of God is in us from the beginning, ready to flow out into the world. The Spirit empowers us to live out the Gospel, to live lives of gratitude, trust, compassion, and justice. The water of Baptism is an invitation to allow God to pour love out on us and in us and through us into the world.

The Body of Christ. “In the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Gentiles, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit” (1 Corinthians 12.13). “Christ” is our theological term for the embodiment of God’s love. Jesus embodied the love of God, the physical presence of God’s love. In the resurrection God brought Christ to us again — but not as an individual: Christ is now a community. The Church is the Body of Christ, the physical entity that embodies God’s presence. As different rivers pour into the same sea and become part of one body of water, baptism symbolizes our lives all becoming part of Christ. God includes each of our lives as part of God’s salvation of the world. The water of Baptism is the river that bears us into the Church, the Body of Christ.

For this reason Baptism is usually not performed privately, but in gathered worship. It is the sacrament of the community. The church acknowledges the person’s membership in the Body of Christ and covenants to provide for them a loving community where they can experience their belovedness, discover their gifts, and practice following the Way of Jesus.

Many parents wish for their children to be baptized “so they will grow up Christian,” or at least “have a good spiritual foundation.” Baptism itself has little to do with this. Baptism is the symbol of the life-long relationship between the individual and the community —and that has everything to do with this. It’s the ongoing relationship with the community that gives a person a nourishing spiritual environment, and gives the parents the support and resources to provide for their children. The parents, not the church, are their children’s primary spiritual teachers. Baptism affirms the covenant between the church and the parents to help them “raise their children Christian” or at least “provide a good spiritual foundation.” Baptism is the doorway to the feast, but the real meal is what the child will experience in the love, teaching, worship, forgiveness, mentoring, companionship and shared life of the church community over years. When you bring your child for baptism you are entering into this expectation, this relationship, this covenant.

The Baptismal Vows: “Thank you; Yes.”

Baptism is a sacrament in which we experience the grace of God through water and the Word. In Baptism God promises: “I, your Creator, have made you. You are my image, and you are my beloved child. In Christ I will be with you in grace and truth and healing, and I will save you. I have sent you for a sacred purpose, and my Holy Spirit is within you to do this. I make you part of the Body of Christ, part of my healing of the world.”

This is God’s Covenant with us. God is always faithful to the Covenant, but we often slip and fall. We need continually to enter again into the Covenant, and to ask for God’s help. We don’t “re-baptize,” because baptism is a symbol of God’s action—and God got it right the first time. God’s faithfulness is absolute and constant. But we always need to renew our faithfulness to the Covenant.

To renew our Baptismal vows does not mean that we pronounce ourselves faithful, or believe ourselves to be particularly worthy of God’s approval. It means that we are willing to let God love us. It means that we are willing to let God hold us accountable to this abundant grace; that we are willing to let God change us, and make us into new people for God’s sake; and that we are here to serve God, ready to be sent into the world to love. The Baptismal vows are not a test or proof of our faith, but an invitation to deeper faith.

The Vows —United Methodist version

— We confess our need for the saving, healing grace of God.

— We renounce the spiritual forces of evil, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of our sin.

— We accept the freedom and power God gives us to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.

— We confess Jesus Christ as our Savior, put our whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as our Lord, in union with the church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations and races.

— According to the grace given us, we pledge to remain faithful members of Christ’s holy church and serve as Christ’s representative in the world.

— And, for parents of a child being baptized: We pledge to nurture the child in Christ’s holy church, that by our teaching and example they may be guided to accept God’s grace for themselves, to profess their faith openly, and to lead a Christian life.

We confess our need for grace
We are all broken, incomplete, and bent out of shape. None of us has it all together. Baptism is an open doorway to a feast for which we all are hungry. This vow is our way of getting over ourselves and the illusion of our power and control, and saying, with gratitude, humility and an open and willing heart, “Yes, God, I need your grace. I would starve without it.”

We renounce our sin
Yeah, I know. Sin is a heavy word. But it’s a real thing. Sin isn’t being bad or disobedient. It’s our inability to trust perfectly. As humans with free will there’s an element of distrust, fear and self-centeredness built into our egos. It’s not a bad thing: it keeps us from walking into danger. But it prevents us from being able to trust God perfectly. Our fear, distrust and self-centeredness that we call “sin” makes us susceptible the illusion that we’re separate from God and Creation and others—so much so that it seems right and natural and even a good thing to do things that actually tear the fabric of our relationship with God, wound our place in Creation and human community, and betray our own holiness, wholeness, and belovedness, just to protect ourselves. It’s not that we do bad things but that we can’t actually see clearly what’s good and what isn’t. So sin isn’t something you do, like breaking a rule. It’s just the way we are, like not being able to fly. Because of that state we’re in, we tend to do evil things. And society tends to evoke and heighten our fear, distrust and self-centeredness. We need a lot of help to choose a different path. This vow is a way of being honest and saying “I have this tendency in me. I know its powers are all around me. Therefore I renounce evil and the fear that generates it, and I ask God’s help to choose a different path, the path of love and grace.”

We resist evil and injustice
Christian faith is not just about our little private tea party with God. Following Jesus is about entering into God’s desire for the whole of Creation, including the transformation of human culture. Jesus spoke of it as entering the Empire of God (“Kingdom of God,” is a common translation). Jesus’ ministry worked on multiple levels: as he healed people’s bodies he also healed the wounds of society. He stood against unjust power systems and hierarchies with the power of love and grace. Like the prophets, Jesus was not as concerned with individuals “doing bad things” as much as he was concerned with systemic evil, patterns of power baked into our societies that wound the wholeness and holiness of every person. Baptism compels us to join Jesus in resisting evil and injustice. It also reminds us we don’t have to be superheroes to do this: we “accept the freedom and power God give us” to do this. And it reminds us that we resist evil “in all the forms it presents itself…” That includes systemic evil like racism and white supremacy, but equally insidious is the injustice within ourselves. In fact it’s usually our own evil we have to deal with before we can make much progress against social evils.

We confess Jesus as healer and guide
This is the part that gets abused a lot. We’re accustomed to the image of the proselytizer demanding, in an accusatory way, “Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” As if you’re in big trouble if you don’t. Yikes. Forget that. This vow is not the secret code to becoming a Christian insider. It’s a humble, hopeful statement of what gives us life and directs our living. Jesus has embodied God’s love in ways that have given me life. Jesus has revealed God’s healing for my brokenness. Jesus has modeled God’s grace, forgiveness, love and mercy that has drawn me close to God and shown me my own divine nature— saving me from the life-distorting power of my ego and its fears and desires. In this way Jesus is my “savior.” I’d be sunk without him. And Jesus teaches me, guides me, and helps me choose the Way of Grace in great and small occasions. And I take his guidance seriously. I let the Spirit he imparts motivate me. He’s my guide, my leader, the “boss of me,” or, in old fashioned language, my “lord,” to whom I devote my loyalty and trust. So I gladly confess Jesus the embodiment of God’s Love, or “Christ,” as my “lord and savior.” It’s not the secret password, or the “right answer;” it’s an outburst of gratitude and trust.

We commit to a life of faith
Here it becomes clear this is not just a secret deal between you and God: this is about being part of the Body of Christ, and part of God’s transformation of the world. Whether we’re baptizing a child or an adult it’s not hit-and-run: baptism includes the person in the life of the church. Our faith is lived in out in community, and in the ecosystem of God’s Creation and human history. In everything we do, public and private, large and small, we are Christ’s “representatives in the world.” We are now, in Luther’s words, “little Christs.” We belong to God’s plan for human society, and for all Creation, and for the transformation of the world through love. The liturgy in the hymnal says we are “incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation.” And we do this in community. We couldn’t do that alone. We commit to being part of the church and its witness, because the church needs us, and we need them. We accept that the church is imperfect, but like our family, we belong to it and serve to help make it better. Like God does for us in Jesus, we promise to be present.

Thank you. Yes.

In baptism God says, “I give you the power to live just like Jesus, in fact to be part of Jesus. Do you want to?” And in the vows we say, “Thank you. Yes.” And the church joins in and says, “We’ll help you.”