Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP, p. 219]
This collect brings to mind my childhood. In particular, I’m reminded of a time my brother and I were taken to my aunt’s house with our older cousins Georgia and Margaret providing baby-sitting services so my parents, aunt, and uncle could enjoy a nice evening out. I don’t recall much from that evening except that my brother and I had a ton of fun and the next morning were told our cousins would NEVER (never, spelled out letter by letter) babysit us again. I think the word they used to describe us was “little hellions.” I know that’s two words, but for them, it meant “never.”
I have never, in all my life, ever thought of my brother and myself as hellions, rascals, or rapscallions, but maybe we were. The problem, if one were to have asked me, isn’t that we were rambunctious, but that our cousins had probably hoped we would have been quieter, more sedate, and (key-word alert), obedient. Yes, we ran through the house, up and down the stairs, and were noisy as all git-out. Yes, we made little Kevin McAllister (Home Alone) look serene and sedate in comparison, but we’d really done nothing dangerous, illegal, or immoral. We just burned the energy God had given us to burn. Is that a crime?
“Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners …”
I have no doubt our cousins thought my brother and I had “unruly wills.” Looking back, I suspect they may have even been somewhat correct in their assessment. We were boys. We were kids (probably 9-11 years old at the time). We were in a house that was new to us. Instead of the 600 square foot hovel we grew up in, we had this wonderful, glorious, two story (plus basement, in all its creepiness) Victorian mansion to explore, so we did. We did what came naturally to us. Now that we’re older by a half-dozen decades, I guarantee we would approach that (or any) home more calmly. After all, that’s what mature folks do.
I wonder if God looks at the human race and sees a world full of hellions, rascals, and rapscallions. I wonder if God sits upon the throne, letting out a great sigh of fatigue and frustration at the end of each day, watching over us with our “unruly wills and affections.” Quite a rambunctious lot, we are.
If so, it is good for us to acknowledge that sometimes we’re not quite as angelic as we may think we are, while also being careful to acknowledge that we’re certainly not as bad as we may sometimes think we are, either. Rambunctious? OK. Thoughtless? Sure. Careless? From time to time. Wicked? Well, maybe once in a while we may stumble into the cowpies of wickedness. Who am I to judge (as the Pope once famously asked)?
So, yes, we approach God acknowledging the fact the light of our faith burns a little dim from time to time. We no doubt aggravate our God, and our neighbors, and possibly even ourselves. Our wills and affections do sometimes run counter to the love God expects from us, and yet, such shortcomings do NOT diminish God’s love for us, and hopes that we can and will do better. God throws a light on our path precisely so that we CAN do better, we CAN see better.
What draws us from the love of God? What tears our hearts from going where we know God wants us to go? It could be that there are a lot of shiny, flashy things that distract us. I don’t think it is evil, per se, as much as simple distractions as we make our way through life each day.
I’m not much of a fisherman, but I know that back in the day I would go fishing down along the Snake River (when I was in college), I seldom if ever used live bait. I didn’t care for the looks, taste, smell, or feel of live bait, to be honest. I preferred to fish with lures. Shiny, flashy bits of gold and silver that would catch a fish’s attention. I caught one fish that had several other lures in its mouth that had broken off from their lines from past fisherfolks. “You didn’t learn your lesson, did you, fishie?” I removed the lures and tossed it back into the river: a moment of grace.
“Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise …”
The world tosses shiny flashy goodies our way all the time. I have cable television and seemingly thousands of entertainment choices, yet I stare as slack-jawed at that multitude of options as the average muscovite stands staring at empty shelves at their local Russo-Marts. Our world is “All hat and no cowboy” as folks in cattle country might tell it.
What we crave is substance, not promise – or at least not the empty promises of all the world’s flashiest finery. So we pray: grant your people GRACE (this is a gift from God, not something we can manufacture) to LOVE what you command (and what does God command? To love God whole-heartedly, love neighbor sacrificially, and to love self tenderly).
If you prefer a little Old Testament grumpy God theology, what God desires is that we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our Creator. Why?
“(so) that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found …”
In some ways, I think our lives are so empty, not because we don’t have anything, but because we have so many choices, so many options, so many opportunities that our hearts and minds get lost in that jumble. We can never set anchor, as we’re always being beckoned to chase something else, to go somewhere else, with promises that we’ll find what we’re looking for. We want a way out of the fun house room of mirrors, and all the world does is toss in more mirrors.
So we pray for God to help stop the madness. We’re not praying for better vision. If anything, I think we’re asking God to throw a hood over our heads, but unlike the mobster who intends to give us concrete galoshes (or cement overshoes), God will allow the darkness and quiet to help reset our senses and sensibilities. I think of Lent as a holy hood we don so that we can regain the peace of God that passes all understanding.
I know a therapist who uses a light treatment with her patients. Sometimes their life-story is stuck on an event or situation that plays over and over. The light therapy helps bump the record player, so to speak, so the needle jumps over whatever it is stuck on and allows the patient to get back to living and experiencing other, more helpful memories.
That’s what we’re doing here. We’re asking God to bump the record player of our lives so that when the hood is removed, we’ll once again be able to see straight and fix our eyes where true joy is to be found, in lives of service, acts of kindness, and walking humbly with God.
Amen.
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