In Old English, “lencten” meant “spring”, probably due to the lengthening of daylight hours. So for me, Lent is for spring cleaning. I try to address what clutter has accumulated, and which routines, spaces, and equipment need sprucing up – on the spiritual, personal, and domestic level alike. This might result in giving up a few things that are wasteful, dysfunctional, or overly consuming of time, energy, money, or emotion. Or, it might mean taking on or refreshing a commitment. But in all this, I prefer to cultivate changes that might stand the chance of lasting past the Eastertide; or at least be worth re-embracing over next year’s Lent. Similarly to the practice of making New Year resolutions, Lent is a perfect time for that symbolic “new beginning,” for which it is quite common for us to wait, as an extra source of motivation, to do what we already know would be best. 

This year’s OT readings support the theme of the new beginnings and lead us quite appropriately into Easter that itself epitomizes new life. In the OT, there are about 12 such instances of what we call “covenants” – special agreements between humanity and God, each of which marks a new turn/ fork in the road of the human-divine relationship, as it was understood by the ancient Jewish people. Covenants were part of their legal system, and as such, to me it is both understandable that the ancients thought that God was willing to enter into agreements with them, and also remarkable that they had such audacity of hope. 

All ancient covenants – both everyday legal and biblical ones – were made effectual by a symbol (e.g., a seal) and a sacrifice, often resulting in the shedding of blood. The rainbow was a sign/symbol for Noah who represented all of creation. Next week, we will read about the Golden Rule “contract” Moses transcribed on the stone tablets. And today, we read about the addition of a single letter “hei”, our “H” into Abram and Sarai’s names. It stands for the Hebrew verb “to be” (hayah, as in YHWH) and reasserts the promise that God will forever direct his being to permeate each human one. As for blood, it alludes to life in all cultures, and its shedding further reinforces the idea of the comingling of the will of the two parties to uphold the special promise. Today, we may notice this in our liturgical practice of mixing the water and wine in the chalice, just as both the human and divine nature were perfectly present in Jesus, and are imperfectly so in us. (Though frankly, in the olden days, it was also to prove that Christian dinners were no more likely to lead to the participants’ intoxication than those in the larger Mediterranean culture, where diluted wine was the norm.) Even more importantly, it is only through a mutual, continuous sacrifice that any significant promise may be kept. Marriage/love, ordination, parenting… With God, as we say as part of the Eucharistic prayer, it’s our sacrifice “of praise and thanksgiving” that we offer both in imitation of that of Jesus, and in response to Him who said, “this is my blood, of the new covenant”. Consider noticing these moments in the consecration prayer today. I might try to pause or highlight them in some ways, so we may notice what emotions or thoughts they might evoke.

In the large paradigm of the “capital C” Covenant through which God promises that his presence will eternally endure in the life of every human, lets us continue to discern all kinds of “lower case c” covenants into which God may be calling us. May our Lenten sacrifices allow us to reimagine our relationship with God, people, and creation. Any practice from meditation to zero waste may be valuable, as long as it is sustainable, accountable, doable, and above all – personally meaningful. Even our annual vestry meeting may be framed as such, if we choose to approach it as the annual moment of renewal, taking stock, and looking forward, in addition to being a platform to express personal concerns and opinions. May it serve as the time to discern, together, a few different ways in which we, as a parish, welcome God’s life here, as Abraham is said to have lavishly welcomed his three special guests who gave him the message of change (on the cover).   

God’s promise to Abram assured him, at the age of 75, that there was still more to his life than staying at his family home. He is said to have lived another 25 years to see this promise unfold. The 100 year total symbolizes the entirety of a human life, and I would extend this also to refer to the life of any community. Sometimes, we may grow discouraged in thinking that life will always be what it is, and so we might miss the next turn in the road. At other times, we spend so much energy craning our necks to see around the next bend, that we miss the beauty of the immediate landscape. Let’s aim for contentment that comes from doing something in between, and find some comfort in the numerous biblical and historical examples that suggest that there is simply no age at which we may say that God is “finished with us” – that he has given us the final share of his blessing. Thanks be to God.

Questions for Reflection

1. Consider this old-fashioned word, “covenant”. It means a contract/agreement that is legally binding, yet reflects a relationship that runs deeper than the law. Notice that today, we use “covenant” and “testament” interchangeably in reference to the Bible: the Old/New Testament/Covenant. “Testament” itself has a twofold meaning: 1) witness, 2) legal term for an inheritance, as in “my final will and testament”. What does this say to you? 

 2. If our “old inheritance/agreement/witness” gives us the renewed world, as received by Noah, and the birth of God in us, as received by Abraham, what does the “new inheritance/agreement” give us? Is there really such a thing as the new vs. old when it comes to God who exists outside of time and space?

3. At which age did you stop wondering what you might do “when you grow up”? Do you find the reference to Abraham’s age helpful? What new name would you choose for yourself to celebrate a special spiritual milestone?