Lent 5C
Sermon for the 5th Sunday of Lent, Year C
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
The Rev. Andrew McLarty
Psalm 126, which we said together a moment ago, is a Song of Ascents, likely sung by Jewish pilgrims journeying to Jerusalem for festivals. Many scholars connect it to the Israelites’ return from Babylonian exile in the 6th century BC —a moment of overwhelming joy, yet also uncertainty. The psalm remembers God’s past faithfulness ("The Lord restored the fortunes of Zion") while pleading for renewal ("Restore our fortunes, O Lord"). The image of sowing in tears and reaping in joy reflects the hardship of rebuilding a broken nation, trusting that faithfulness would bear fruit.
This psalm speaks to anyone who has known suffering yet dares to hope. We, too, live between memory and longing—between God’s past deliverance and our present struggles. The call to "sow in tears" reminds us that faithfulness often begins in hardship: tending a strained relationship, working for justice, or battling illness. Yet the promise remains: God transforms weeping into harvest.
We are invited to remember God’s faithfulness, lament present struggles, and hope with defiant joy. Like the exiles, we are called to keep sowing—even when the harvest seems distant—because our tears are not wasted. In Christ, the ultimate restoration has begun, and one day, "those who go out weeping will come home with shouts of joy."
Mary, in our Gospel today, understood that sorrow and joy are intertwined. Jesus won’t always be with them in this way. She isn’t just anointing a teacher; she is honoring the Divine in their midst, preparing him for what is to come. Her act is one of presence, of devotion in the face of impending loss.
Judas, for all his talk of charity, fails to see the gift right in front of him. He’s so focused on the idea of serving that he misses the chance to actually serve—to be present. Sometimes, the most holy thing we can do is be fully where we are — to love extravagantly, even if it doesn’t make practical sense.
How often do we do the same? We get caught up in principles, in what’s practical, in what seems right—and in doing so, we overlook the sacred moments of connection right before us. We forget that sometimes, the most spiritual thing we can do is to sit at the feet of the Holy and simply offer our love.
We've perhaps "sowed some tears" the past few weeks, for education, for medicine, for our jobs or business, for retirement...
We are invited to remember God’s faithfulness, lament present struggles, and hope with defiant joy. Like the exiles, we are called to keep sowing—even when the harvest seems distant—because our tears are not wasted. In Christ, the ultimate restoration has begun, and one day, "Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves."
Amen.
