The Measure of our Souls

Now is the acceptable time.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Twice a year, my brothers and sisters, we enter a season of purple. — first, that we may come into the presence of royalty. For it is not our purple that we put on, but His. And being in the presence of a King, we are wont to look in the mirror and see ourselves as He sees us. The second season for purple, in our year of devotions and life in His sight, we put on in order to journey toward our own death. Now, I grant you there will be those in the world who will question whether or not we journey toward royalty. (I don't spend much time thinking about that.) But be assured that there is no one on earth who disputes the fact that we are journeying toward our own death. I have heard many people over time say that they do not believe there will be a "Last Days." I assure them, "O, there will be a last day, and no one will escape it." Of course, our God, Who lives outside of time, for Whom the Last Judgment has already occurred, is more than able to view each of our last days as a "Last Judgment." Where do these two lines converge? The journey toward Royalty and the journey toward our own death?

But first let us ask, Where does this word lent come from? It comes from a word, a Germanic word, meaning length. I am wont to think of the medieval English poem, which I will translation into modern English,

O western wind
when wilt thou blow.
The small rain down can rain.
O Christ, that I were in my bed
and in the arms of my own true love again.

It is a lament from the depths of winter, a cruel winter of freezing rain and ice. Having lived in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine through most of my adult life, I know that February is a cruel month. It is not so much that it is the coldest of days and nights — though it is. That's not so much the ordeal. The ordeal is .... Can this go on forever? Living in cabins that had no insulation, through which the frigid wind could freely blow, I had a chance to live as those in the Middle Ages and Renaissance lived. — completely at the mercy of the weather, from which there could be no escape. Indeed, "O Christ, the nights are long."

Yet, there is a mystery in this season. While it is the cruelest time of the year, which seems to go on and on, it has been true now, for more than a month, that each day is growing longer. And there's the mystery. How can it be that the days are growing longer, yet the season is growing colder? And here are where the lines of Royalty and death converge.

On the one side, there will be those who will look only upon his little world: "I'm cold, and I'm tired of being cold! My only wish is to be warm .... right down to my bones again!" And among these will be some who scoff at the idea of Divine Royalty. And for the scoffers will be no convergence, but rather (to borrow C. S. Lewis' phase) "always winter and never Christmas." On the other side is the higher view. They see the big picture and say, "The light is coming!" And for these faithful souls, two lines will converge, perfectly, during the weekend following Good Friday. And we all will, indeed, encounter death. And the light will have gathered its greatest strength, indeed, the greatest strength the light will have ever gathered in the history of humankind.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.