Let me tell you about a nightmare I have. It’s not the kind of nightmare that literally comes at “night,” during sleep. No, this is something different. In this nightmare, I see myself at the end of my life (whenever that may be), and I’m taking stock of all my time on this planet. I’m looking back at my life, and I see faces.
I see the faces of people who came to me for help, and I turned them away. I see the faces of those who would have been my friends, if I hadn’t ignored them. I see the faces of individuals who were hurt because of stupid things I said, or because I kept silent while other people said stupid things.
I see the face of my mother, at times when I made her cry. I see the faces of teachers, who would have taught me more than just the subject matter, if I had let them. I even see the face of the poor, defenseless slug I once tortured on a hot, sunny day with a magnifying glass. (I really regret that.) I see the faces of all those girls in high school who begged me to go out with them, but I turned all of them down. (Okay, I invented that one!)
Anyway, I think you get the point. I’m looking back on my life, and seeing over and over how I’ve failed—in matters of friendship, in matters of justice, in matters of love. That’s my nightmare.
What I really like are the people who, when asked if they could live their lives over, say that they have no regrets and that they wouldn’t change anything. Either these folks are perfect—they’ve never harmed anyone or anything—or they just don’t care. Or maybe they’re just extremely deep in denial, unaware of the consequences of their actions.
This nightmare scenario I described, a nightmare that I know I’m not alone in having. Fortunately, that’s not the final word. There is a remedy for the ways in which we fail God and each other; there’s a method out of the madness of our betrayal of Creator and creation.
Lent is a perfect time to focus on such remedies—especially the remedy of repentance.
For many people in our world today, repentance is an outmoded idea. It’s a dry, dusty relic that is best consigned to the past. After all, the feeling is, we’ve evolved beyond the need for such quaint concepts. Repentance should be relegated to the museum, along with hairshirts and sackcloth. In his Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin takes a slightly different approach. He describes repentance as “substantially this, that withdrawing from ourselves we turn to God, and laying aside the old, put on a new mind” (3.3.5). (Many say that Calvin himself is yet another relic best consigned to the past!) Eugene Peterson is not one of those people.
In his book, A
Long Obedience in the Same Direction, he points out the role of repentance in the Bible as “the no we say to the world’s lies and the yes we say to God’s truth.” (p. 29)
"A person has to be thoroughly disgusted with the way things are to find the motivation to set out on the Christian way,” Peterson says. “As long as we think the next election might eliminate crime and establish justice or another scientific breakthrough might save the environment or another pay raise might push us over the edge of anxiety into a life of tranquillity, we are not likely to risk the arduous uncertainties of the life of faith. A person has to get fed up with the ways of the world before he, before she, acquires an appetite for the world of grace.” (p. 25)
The speaker in Psalm 120 is presented as just such a person—someone fed up with the ways of the world. Our psalmist lives in a society that accepts lies as truth, that believes violence is peace—a society in which justice is corrupted, so that the cogs in the machinery can keep running smoothly.
Peterson’s translation of the psalm brings out more of the emotive content. “‘I’m doomed to live in Meshech, cursed with a home in Kedar! My whole life lived camping among quarreling neighbors.’ Meshech and Kedar are place names: Meshech a far-off tribe, thousands of miles from Palestine in southern Russia; Kedar a wandering Bedouin tribe of barbaric reputation along Israel’s borders. They represent the strange and the hostile. Paraphrased, the cry is, ‘I live in the midst of hoodlums and wild savages; this world is not my home and I want out.’” (p. 29)
The psalmist’s distress is summed up by the lament of verses 6 and 7. The New Jerusalem Bible puts it this way: “Too long have I lived among people who hate peace. When I speak of peace they are all for war!” Anyone who truly desires to be a peacemaker will find opposition from every corner. That’s true about everything, from the foolish wars that nations wage to the bitter divisions that spring up within families—not to mention the violence within each of us.
Unfortunately, it’s a lot easier to recognize evil in others than in ourselves. We all have layers of defense mechanisms that prevent us from doing that. It’s so much simpler to “see the speck in [our] neighbor’s eye” than to “notice the log in [our] own eye” (Mt 7:3). It’s easy to forget that we contribute to the corruption of our world—that is, until those moments when we dare to…see the faces.
The disciples of Jesus in Matthew 14 certainly see some faces. They see a whole multitude of faces, hungry people who need their help, and you better believe they want to send them away! What are they supposed to do with all these people? Five loaves and two fish—what’s that?
But Jesus sees things differently. Remember, Jesus has just learned of the death of John the Baptist, a good man who died a senseless death. No one could blame him for agreeing with his disciples. Besides their lack of resources, Jesus needs time to grieve. Yet he refuses to send the people away hungry. Instead of focusing on what they lack, Jesus focuses on what they have, and relying on God’s grace, he’s determined to make it work.
There are two primary words for repent in the Bible. There’s the Hebrew word shuv, which means “to turn” or “to return,” and the Greek word metanoeō, which means “to change the frame of mind.” Both mind and will are involved—both our attitudes and our actions are changed.
A certain exertion is required by repentance. It’s not just a “decision for Christ,” a phrase very popular in some circles. Of course it includes that, but we have to be careful about putting too much focus on such mental resolutions.
“Millions of people in our culture make decisions for Christ,” warns Eugene Peterson, “but there is a dreadful attrition rate. Many claim to have been born again, but the evidence for mature Christian discipleship is slim.” (p. 16) You can say you’re going on a road trip, but you’ve got to do more than start the car. Until you put that thing into gear, you’re not going anywhere.
To continue with the image of exertion, many American Christians willfully hamstring themselves by not making friends with—indeed, by not falling in love with—the scriptures. I’m not talking about something “literalistic” (to coin a term) that turns the words of the Bible into idols. I’m talking about something “relationalistic” (to again coin a term!) that sees in the divine word the living word. I’m also talking about a perspective that sees the scriptures as less a guidebook for a successful life (like some heavenly etiquette) than as a means of awakening and enlightenment.
In case I haven’t been sufficiently clear, repentance isn’t some one-shot deal. Repentance is a lifestyle. It’s a lifestyle that we continue to learn and in which we continue to grow. Others have said this better than I, but in the spiritual life, there’s no standing still: we’re either going forward or going backward. True repentance, rather than enslaving us, is our first step on the path of liberation. Because God loves us, we are free to attempt and fail. Because the power of Christ is in us, we are free to attempt and prevail.
