A Season of Love

The season of Lent is once again upon us.  For many, it is a time of obligatory self-denial, often used as a method for extinguishing unwanted habits.  It seems to be a common practice to give up food items—chocolate, daily mochas, or soda. Others deny themselves time on social networking, video games, or television programs.  Where it is likely that giving up these things for the Lenten season would be helpful, if the thing you choose to sacrifice doesn’t draw you closer to Jesus, then it’s just another tradition, and what’s the point of that?

 It seems that Lent would be better observed by taking the time to truly comprehend Calvary.  Not the pain—we’ve got a handle on that.  Not the humiliation—we can identify with that.  Not the suffering, the mocking, the torture.  No, all of Calvary is rooted in one simple thing—Heavenly love for unlovable humanity.   

Nearly two decades ago, I sat alone in the enormous sanctuary of a church I had attended only a handful of times. The congregation was large.  I knew no one.  It was Communion Sunday.  They served the elements in the pews, passing them down the rows from one parishioner to the next. The lovely pastor, a dear Irish man, asked that as we passed the first element of Communion to the individual beside us, we would quietly say to that soul, “Jesus loves you.”  I will never forget that service, the whispers from every corner of that sanctuary saying, “Jesus loves you”, or the fact that in that moment I understood Calvary better than ever before.  It wasn’t about the wood, or the nails, or the spear.  It was about immense, exquisite, unfathomable love from God toward us.   

            There was no other way to show this kind of love.  When praying on the Mount of Olives, shortly before Judas betrayed him, Jesus’ begged the Father, “…If thou be willing, remove this cup from me…” (Luke 22:42 KJV)  To my human mind, he had every right to back out.  Seriously.  He spent 33 years on earth with people who treated him despicably, refused his teachings, and ultimately hunted him down and gleefully put him to death.  He would have been well within his rights to say, “Father, these people aren’t worth it.”  But he didn’t.  Instead, he paid the ultimate price for the souls of people who may or may not choose him and in a grand exhibition that no one could miss he paved the way to Heaven for all humanity.  Oh, yes, Jesus loves you.

            In that same service, the pastor instructed us that as we passed one another the second element of Communion, we should say to one another, “I love you.”  I didn’t understand it then. Perhaps I was too young. I have a stronger grasp of it now.  When we truly believe that Jesus loves us, it changes our lives.  Our confidence increases and we feel compelled to live out Jesus’ command saying “…Love thy neighbor as thyself...” (Mark 12:31 KJV)  And we should do that.  Every person who crosses our path should be treated as beloved by God, because they are.  Our lives should be vibrant proof that we unreservedly believe Jesus’ loves us and that we wholeheartedly believe he loves others too.  When we truly believe we are loved by Jesus, we find security in that love and it becomes impossible to not pass it on.

            So as we are preparing to celebrate the Lent and Easter season, it is imperative that we emphasize the concept to ourselves--Jesus loves you.  Dwell on it.  Be strengthened by it.  Love one another because of it.  It should become our Lenten vow.  Instead of foregoing dessert, eschewing caffeine, or restricting your social networking usage, vow to spend five minutes a day pondering how much Jesus loves you and then spend the rest of the day showing him how much you reciprocate his love by showing love toward others.  Compliment a stranger.  Help someone in need.  Refuse the gossip grapevine.  Live God’s love out loud. The rewards would be fantastic, phenomenal…eternal. 

            May we do just that.  May we resist the forces that attempt to convince us that we are too bad, too weird, too crazy to be loved and may we curl up in the knowledge that Jesus loves us—unrestrainedly, unabashedly, unreservedly.  Jesus is wildly, madly, deeply in love with us.  May we truly believe it and may we live it out in wild abandon.  May Lent be our season of love.