Christianity is weird.
And if you take it seriously,
it will make you seriously weird as well.
This is the good news.
And if you take it seriously,
it will make you seriously weird as well.
This is the good news.
Of course,
this might not sound like good news.
After all, most of us
(even here in Baltimore)
don’t want to be weird;
we just want to fit in and get along.
We never really outgrow
that fear that lodges in us
around the time we enter Middle School—
the fear of being mocked as a weirdo:
not liking the right things,
not wearing the right clothes,
not listening to the right music.
Despite our culture’s strong emphasis
on individuality and authenticity,
at the end of the day
we are remarkably conformist:
we tend to follow
paths that will win for us
the approval and admiration
of those around us.
St. Paul tells us that
“Jews demand signs
and Greeks look for wisdom.”
We all want signs that confirm
that we are on the proper path
toward strength and security;
we all want wisdom that will enable us
to navigate the world as it is.
What we don’t want is a sign
that becomes an obstacle we stumble over
and which makes us change our path;
what we don’t want is a wisdom
that suggests that the world as it is
might not be the world
that we should be striving for.
But this is the sign and this is the wisdom
that Jesus offers us,
because what he offers us is the cross:
“a stumbling block to Jews
and foolishness to Gentiles”—
something so counter
to the desires and expectations of the world
that to those who seek signs of power
it looks like weakness,
and to those who seek words of wisdom
it sounds like folly,
and to those of us who just want to fit in,
who want to like the right things,
and wear the right clothes
and listen to the right music,
who just want to get along
without being thought weird,
is seems like a recipe
for an extremely unhappy life.
Of course, over the centuries
we have found ways to tone down
the weirdness of Christianity,
to cover over the cross,
to accommodate the Gospel
to worldly understandings
of power and wisdom.
We have turned the law of God
into common sense advice
that will ensure a healthy and happy life
and the smooth running of society,
rather than the commanding voice of the Lord
calling us to offer our entire selves
as a living sacrifice to God.
We have turned Jesus into a teacher
of sensible moral lessons,
or a savior who has suffered
so that we won’t have to,
rather than the disruptive prophet
who interrupts religious business as usual
and offers his body, crucified and risen,
as the true temple that we must enter
if we wish to worship God in Spirit and in truth.
We have made Christianity into a force of stability
that guarantees happy marriages and strong nations
and all the other things that we consider normal desires.
But the Gospel is not so easily normalized.
The figure of Jesus
discovered in the pages of Scripture,
the life of the Spirit manifested
in that collection of oddballs we call
the communion of saints,
the peculiar practices of the Church,
which week by week invites
those who have died in Christ
to feast on his flesh and blood—
all of this makes it hard to deny
just how weird Christianity is.
The figure of Jesus
discovered in the pages of Scripture,
the life of the Spirit manifested
in that collection of oddballs we call
the communion of saints,
the peculiar practices of the Church,
which week by week invites
those who have died in Christ
to feast on his flesh and blood—
all of this makes it hard to deny
just how weird Christianity is.
We might think of Lent
as our annual invitation
to turn from the world’s power and wisdom
and rediscover and re-embrace
the weirdness of the Gospel.
We begin by smearing ashes on our heads
and being told that we must die;
and we conclude by lighting candles in the dark
as we spend hours listening to old stories
about a universe being built from nothing,
a son nearly sacrificed at God’s behest,
an army drowned by miraculous waters,
and a tomb found empty
and a dead body mysteriously missing.
And in between we strive
by fasting, prayer, and works of charity
to wean ourselves away
from the world’s normality
so that we might enter into that weird world
where weakness is strength
and foolishness is wisdom,
where the dead don’t stay dead
and faith, hope, and love abide.
as our annual invitation
to turn from the world’s power and wisdom
and rediscover and re-embrace
the weirdness of the Gospel.
We begin by smearing ashes on our heads
and being told that we must die;
and we conclude by lighting candles in the dark
as we spend hours listening to old stories
about a universe being built from nothing,
a son nearly sacrificed at God’s behest,
an army drowned by miraculous waters,
and a tomb found empty
and a dead body mysteriously missing.
And in between we strive
by fasting, prayer, and works of charity
to wean ourselves away
from the world’s normality
so that we might enter into that weird world
where weakness is strength
and foolishness is wisdom,
where the dead don’t stay dead
and faith, hope, and love abide.
Christianity is weird,
and if you take it seriously
it will make you seriously weird as well.
It will make you love like Christ loved
by placing on your shoulders the cross,
the yoke that is easy and the burden that is light
because it is the weight of love
pressing down upon us
even as it bears us upward to God.
It will make you weak and foolish
with the power and wisdom of God.
In these days of Lent,
may God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all.
and if you take it seriously
it will make you seriously weird as well.
It will make you love like Christ loved
by placing on your shoulders the cross,
the yoke that is easy and the burden that is light
because it is the weight of love
pressing down upon us
even as it bears us upward to God.
It will make you weak and foolish
with the power and wisdom of God.
In these days of Lent,
may God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all.
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