Return to Me with All Your Heart
By Bishop Brian Maas
“return to me with all your heart…”
This phrase will be familiar to
many as a portion of the Ash Wednesday worship text from the book of the
prophet Joel. The prophet warns of disaster already befalling God’s people, but
of the possibility that “even now,” in the very face of utter destruction, God
is waiting for the people to turn around from all the wrong-headed, selfish,
unjust pursuits they’ve been engaged in, so that God can save them, comfort
them, bless them anew.
Of course this is an appropriate
text for Ash Wednesday, when many of us begin to prepare for the drama of Holy
Week and the power of Easter by changing our behaviors—giving up unhealthy
habits, or adding in healthy ones, or both. But it’s a phrase I’m beginning to
think we should post over the doorways of our sanctuaries and at the top of
every church council agenda and newsletter calendar in our church. We all need
to return, to turn around, literally to repent.
And we need to do that turning
around with all of our hearts, and minds and souls; with all of
our calendars and agendas and worship services. It’s pretty clear the
church—not just our synod or our denomination but the entire church in North
America—has been veering into challenging times and declining fortunes for some
time now. For two generations, we in the church have seen trouble coming and have
been trying to alter course.
Yet clearly, as one of my favorite
movie characters says, “it ain’t a-workin’.” I am increasingly convinced it’s
precisely because we’ve been trying just to alter course—to adjust a little
here, make a slow turn there, tweak just a bit and modify a little bit more.
Joel’s contemporaries had been doing that for some time, but that just meant
they were heading into disaster from a little different angle; they were still
headed for disaster. Only a complete turnaround—of the whole heart, mind, and
soul—would let God’s people avert disaster. Only turning completely away from
the course they set and returning to God’s longing, waiting embrace would offer
any hope of being spared a bitter end.
I’m no Joel, I’m not a prophet.
I’m just a guy in the church, who loves the church, who is also fully human. A
guy who can rationalize himself into a corner in an instant, justifying a poor
choice here, short-cutting a decision there, making an exception without
batting an eye…. And I think this is how we got here as a church. We know we
need to change, but we don’t want it to be difficult. We don’t want to upset
anyone. We don’t want to disturb the peace or disrupt the familiar. But as is
clearer every day, that way lies destruction.
It’s time. It’s time to return to
God with all our heart, mind, and soul. It’s time to remember that Jesus
doesn’t call us to the couch, but to the cross; not to mere membership but to
deep discipleship. It will be disruptive to challenge ourselves to articulate
our congregation’s (and synod’s and denomination’s) mission clearly—and far
more so to pursue it without reservation, without compromise, without
accommodation. But anything less will be half-hearted. Anything less will only
change the angle of our path to disaster.
But a whole-hearted turn, a re-turn
to God, is another matter--especially when we share with others, when we
remember ourselves, that such a turn to God is not at all about escaping
disaster, but about finding our way back to a God whose love knows no end,
whose grace is sufficient to welcome all, whose intention for each of us
is so much more than mere existence, but life. Abundant life.
This is the Gospel of Grace that
is our heritage, our hope, our God-given gift for the world. A gift too few are
hearing. Or believing.
We are loved with all of God’s
heart. It’s time to turn to that love. With all our hearts.
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