Love That Sees

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Lord, give us eyes to see and ears to hear, that we may learn Your Word together as a family. We give You all praise and honor and glory, in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.

Good morning, my fellow Encouragers.

Today, we stand at the edge.

Quinquagesima is the last threshold before Lent. The Church has been gently turning our shoulders for two weeks now. Septuagesima taught us to offer ourselves. Sexagesima taught us to listen for the Word and let it take root. And now, on this Sunday next before Lent, the Church places before us one thing—one gift without which nothing else will stand.

Charity ….. better known to us today as LOVE.

The Collect does not soften it: “O Lord, who hast taught us that all our doings without charity are nothing worth…” Not little worth. Not reduced worth. Nothing worth.

That is a bracing word.

We are about to enter a season that will speak often of discipline, prayer, repentance, and self-examination. But before ashes are ever placed on our foreheads, the Church insists that we examine the heart. Because Lent without love can become performance. Fasting without love can become pride. Piety without love can become noise.

And Saint Paul says exactly that.

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”

Imagine that. The most eloquent speech, the most precise theology, the most disciplined devotion—without love, heaven hears only clatter.

Paul does not diminish the gifts. He relativizes them. Knowledge matters. Faith matters. Even the kind of faith that moves mountains matters. But without charity—without that Holy Ghost-given love that binds us to God and neighbor—they do not endure.

Notice how the Collect prays: “Send thy Holy Ghost, and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of charity.”

Charity is not manufactured. It is poured. It is not constructed. It is received.

That brings us back to the altar.

Each Sunday, in the Prayer of Consecration, we say, “And here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, ourselves, our souls and bodies…”

We offer ourselves. But what kind of selves? That is the question of Quinquagesima.

If we offer discipline without love, what have we offered? If we offer effort without charity, what have we placed in His hands?

The Church, in her wisdom, refuses to let us enter Lent thinking that God is impressed with exertion. He desires hearts renewed by the Spirit.

Our Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy speaks plainly: “What doth the LORD thy God require of thee, but to fear the LORD thy God, to walk in all his ways, and to love him… and to serve the LORD thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul.”

There it is again. Love. Whole-hearted devotion. Not partial obedience. Not selective reverence. The Lord who “regardeth not persons, nor taketh reward” is not swayed by outward displays. He is forming a people whose love reflects His own.

And what kind of God is this?

Psalm 23 reminds us. “The LORD is my shepherd; therefore can I lack nothing.” And Psalm 19 speaks of the law of the Lord as perfect, converting the soul.

The Shepherd who leads us beside still waters is the same Lord whose Word searches us and restores us. His commandments are not burdens to earn favor; they are the voice of a Father guiding His children into life.

Now turn to the Gospel.

Jesus takes the Twelve aside. “Behold, we go up to Jerusalem.” He tells them plainly what awaits Him—betrayal, suffering, death, and resurrection. He speaks of love’s cost.

And Scripture says: “They understood none of these things.” It is possible to walk beside Christ and not yet understand the shape of His love.

Immediately after that, Luke shows us a blind man sitting by the roadside. He cannot see, but he hears. “Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.” And he cries out, “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.”

Others try to silence him. He cries out the more.

There is something instructive here for us on the eve of Lent. The disciples who could see did not yet perceive. The blind man who could not see recognized his need.

And what does he ask for? ….. Mercy.

Charity is not an abstract sentiment. It is the mercy of God embodied. It is the Son of David stopping on the road. It is Christ drawing near to someone who cannot fix himself.

And when Jesus asks, “What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee?” the man answers simply, “Lord, that I may receive my sight.”

That is the prayer of Quinquagesima.

Not, “Lord, make me impressive.” Not, “Lord, make me disciplined.” But, “Lord, let me see.” Because without charity, we are spiritually blind.

We may know the language of faith. We may even know the habits of religion. But if we do not love God and neighbor, Paul says we are counted as nothing.

Notice how 1 Corinthians 13 describes charity. “It is patient. It is kind. It does not envy. It does not vaunt itself. It seeketh not her own. It rejoiceth in the truth. It beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

This is not weakness. It is strength shaped by the Cross. And here is the heart of it: “Charity never faileth.”

Everything else passes. Prophecies shall fail. Tongues shall cease. Knowledge shall vanish away. But charity ….. LOVE ….. remains.

Why?

Because charity is the life of God Himself poured into the Church.

The Father loves the Son. The Son loves the Father. The Spirit is the bond of that eternal love. When the Holy Ghost is poured into our hearts, we are drawn into that life.

This is not moral improvement alone. It is participation in divine life.

That is why Lent begins here.

We do not fast in order to become lovable. We fast because we are loved. We do not repent to persuade God. We repent because charity has shown us our blindness and given us sight.

Last week, we spoke of trust. Of soil receiving the Word. Today, we are shown what that Word produces when it matures—charity that looks like Christ.

And where do we learn it? ….. At the altar.

In a few moments, we will again approach the Holy Table. There, we do not bring perfected love. We bring need. We bring blindness. We bring our thin and inconsistent charity.

And Christ feeds us with Himself… The One who goes to Jerusalem for us. The One who opens blind eyes… The One who lays down His life not for the worthy, but for sinners.

Here is the great mercy of Quinquagesima: before Lent asks anything of us, the Gospel gives everything to us… The blind man followed Jesus, glorifying God… That is the pattern. Mercy received becomes praise offered.

So, my beloved Encouragers, as we prepare to cross into Lent, ask for sight… Ask the Holy Ghost to pour charity into your heart… Ask for love that is patient in your home… Love that is gentle in disagreement… Love that serves without keeping score… Love that does not crumble when unrecognized.

In a small parish like ours—sixteen, twenty, twenty-five souls on a Sunday—charity is not theoretical. It is how we speak to one another. It is how we forgive. It is how we bear with one another’s frailties.

The Sacred still speaks. Ancient faith is not preserved by habit alone. Real love must animate it… Without charity, our worship becomes sound without substance… With charity, even the smallest parish becomes a living sign of the Kingdom.

The Lord, who is our Shepherd will not leave us blind. The Son, who goes up to Jerusalem, goes there for us. The Spirit is ready to be poured.

So as Lent draws near, do not first ask, “What will I give up?” Ask, “Lord, let me see.” ….. And when you see Him—crucified, risen, merciful—you will find that charity ….. that LOVE ….. begins to take root.

Offer yourself. Receive His love. And walk toward Jerusalem with sight restored.

May the Holy Ghost pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of charity, that seeing Christ clearly, we may follow Him faithfully into Lent and into life everlasting.

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