Compunction - Last Midweek Worship in Lent
Author: Pastor Scott Schul
April 16, 2025
It was October
25, 1964, and the San Francisco 49ers were hosting the Minnesota Vikings in an
NFL football game. The 49ers had the
ball deep in their territory, as their quarterback tossed a short pass to the
running back. The back stumbled forward
a few yards before being hit by multiple Vikings defenders. As he fumbled the ball, one of the Vikings
best players, a ferocious defensive end named Jim Marshall, alertly scooped it
up and began running for the endzone at top speed. Nothing was going to stop him from scoring. As Marshall crossed the goal line, he slowed
to a triumphant jog and then jubilantly tossed the ball in the air as a gesture
of celebration. Only then did he realize
that he had run the ball in the wrong direction. He had crossed into his own end zone and,
instead of scoring for his own team, he scored for his opponent. It’s a play football fans still talk about,
six decades after the fact.
There are many
words we might use to describe Marshall’s reaction when he discovered he had
run 66 yards in the wrong direction in a nationally televised pro football
game. “Embarrassed” and “humiliated”
come to mind as particularly apt descriptors. But instead, I want to use an old-fashioned word we don’t hear much
these days: compunction. It’s a
wonderful old word from the Middle Ages that means to “sting.” You can even hear within the word
“compunction” the related word “puncture.”
To feel
compunction is to feel the air suddenly go out of you, as happens when you do
something embarrassing in front of others. Theologically, we think of compunction as the feeling which arises when
you suddenly realize that you’ve said something or done something that deeply
hurt someone. Historically, the word
compunction was especially used to describe a feeling of guilt or shame when
you realize you’ve sinned either through your actions or inactions.
I don’t know
many people who enjoy the feeling of compunction. It’s not pleasant. And yet it can be beneficial. For example, feeling fear or regret about
touching a red-hot stovetop will keep you from seriously burning yourself. In a similar way, feeling compunction has the
potential of sparing us from committing the same old sins against our neighbors
and against our God over-and-over-and-over.
The ancient
desert fathers were a group of monastics in the first centuries of Christianity
whose stories and teachings have been studied and revered for well over a
thousand years. They had a lot to say
about compunction. One story concerns a
monk named Abba Dioscorus. He could
usually be found in his room, weeping. One of his disciples was concerned about this, and asked him, "What
are you weeping for, father?” Abba
Dioscorus responded, “For my sins, my son.” Then his disciple said, "You do not have sins, father." Abba Dioscorus replied, “Indeed, if one were
permitted to see my sins, four others would not be enough to weep with me for
them.” The story concludes by noting
that this is what a person who knows himself is like.1
Developing
compunction is a worthy goal of Lent. There’s
no better time to honestly assess ourselves, what we do, what we don’t do, and
where we place our greatest loyalties. Our
self-examination can be prompted simply by a desire to be more Christlike. But self-examination and the resulting
feeling of compunction more commonly arises when the bright light of God’s Word
reveals our spiritual blemishes. Though
uncomfortable, it blessedly exposes our spiritual illness. After all, who rushes to the doctor for
healing medicine when they don’t feel sick?
Note, however,
that compunction is not an end in itself. Our goal as followers of Jesus is not to become deflated and then perpetually remain deflated. Rather, the goal
of compunction is to move us toward Christ, our one and only source of
spiritual healing, and the true physician of our souls. That’s what it means to repent. Repentance is simply a process of realizing
that you’re going in the wrong direction (like that poor football player I
spoke about), and then turning your body and soul toward the light of Christ,
just as a houseplant instinctively knows to continually move and adjust itself
toward the sun’s nourishing rays.
So here in the
final days of Lent, I ask you the same question I asked a few weeks ago. How has your Lent been? If you’re anything like me, perhaps you now realize
how all your grand plans for increased prayer and enhanced spiritual
disciplines have, more often than not, gone up in smoke. Compunction is a constant companion for many
of us at the end of Lent, as we realize the opportunities we have squandered
and the good intentions that turned out to be far less sincere than we want to
admit.
So with just a
few days until Easter Sunday, what do we do with the feelings of compunction we
are experiencing now, and the compunction we will surely feel throughout
the year? Do we simply surrender to
despair and discouragement? Do we give
up trying to follow Jesus? Are we lost
and hopeless? The answer to all those
questions is NO. Jesus never gives up on
us, even when we feel like giving up on ourselves. There is always hope. And one source of that hope can be found in today’s
responsive reading, from the well-known and much beloved 23rd Psalm.
In verse 5, we
read: “You prepare a table
before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup
overflows.” So, who are these
enemies? There is no single right
answer. As you read this verse
throughout your life, at any one point you might identify the enemy in this
psalm as a particular person or particular group. But another ancient and traditional
understanding of “enemies” within the Psalms is that they represent our sins,
which tempt us, trip us up, cause us to fall, and bring about that deflated,
punctured, guilty feeling of compunction. Imagine those sins, our enemies, circling us
like a swarm of gnats we cannot shake or escape. Perhaps they also include all your worries
and concerns about life, health, family, politics, and a world seemingly on
fire; worries and concerns which threaten to overwhelm you and distract you
from prayer, worship, and all the good things God offers to feed our weary
souls.
In the face of all this, what do we do? Well, our psalm text reassures us that God
anticipates our distress and offers a grace-filled response. “You prepare a table before me in the
presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Friends, that table sits before you this day. It is our altar, on which ordinary wheat and
wine will, by God’s grace, become the body and blood of Jesus Christ, our
infinite savior who loves us so profoundly that by mystery and miracle he fills
our finite bodies.
As he does so, what does Jesus provide to
us? As Lutheran Christians we believe
and confess that in Holy Communion our faith is awakened and strengthened. Our sins are forgiven. Hope is rekindled as we are filled with life
and salvation in Christ. Our souls are
nourished with Christ’s assurance and steadfast promises. We are reborn.2 Is it any wonder we desire to receive this
treasure as often as possible?
And so as Lent draws to a close, and we prepare
to move from fast to feast, I encourage you to embrace compunction. Allow it to prevent you from racing toward
the wrong end zone. But if turning back
the other way feels too daunting, take courage. Do not fear. Our Lord has
prepared a table in the presence of your enemies. Be fed. Be forgiven. And be blessed. Because you are always beloved. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Citations:
1 The Book of the
Elders: Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 2012 Liturgical Press, p. 30.
2 Augsburg Confession, Article XIII, Luther’s Small Catechism,
Sacrament of the Altar.
© 2025 Rev. Scott E. Schul, all rights reserved
RESPONSIVE READING: Psalm 23:5
P: You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
C: You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows
GOSPEL
LESSON: John 12:1-8
1 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom
he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him.
Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3 Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet,
and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the
perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was
about to betray him), said, 5 "Why was this perfume not sold
for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" 6 (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief;
he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7 Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for
the day of my burial. 8 You always have the poor with you, but you
do not always have me."
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