“Untying the Rope for Such a Time as This: A Lenten Journey of Faith and Justice” - Rev. Va'a Alaelu

Lent, at its core, is a season of turning. It is a time when we collectively pause on the long, unpredictable drive of life to check our spiritual bearings. [On March 1], I stood before my congregation in Alaska and reminded them that we are all on a journey: driving through storms of personal worry, heavy work schedules, and foggy futures. But as I look beyond the walls of our sanctuary to the wider community and the nation, I realize the storm we are driving through is much larger and more perilous than our individual struggles.

When I ask myself what surfaces as most important during this Lenten season, my heart is immediately drawn to the vulnerable. We are living in an era defined by deep turbulence: the cruel policies and escalating actions of ICE tearing immigrant families apart, the terrifying drumbeats of war in Iran, the insidious rise of a Christian nationalism that distorts the Gospel for power, and the relentless, heartbreaking attacks on the LGBTQ+ community. With all that is going on in the world, Lent cannot simply be a time of private fasting; it must be a time of prophetic action. It brings to mind the haunting, timeless question posed to Esther: “And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14).

In [a recent] sermon, I shared the image of the Samoan Fautasi longboat race. Villages build magnificent longboats, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, manned by 50 of the strongest rowers. But I reminded my church of a simple truth: it does not matter how strong the crew is or how beautiful the boat is. If it is still tied to the dock, it goes nowhere.

For too long, the broader American Church has been tied to the dock of fear, respectability, and quiet complicity. We have dreams of justice, we have the strength of our convictions, but we are tethered to the safety of our sanctuaries. God is calling us to “untie the rope!” We cannot stay in the old place of silence and expect a new blessing of justice. “For such a time as this,” we are called to untie our faith and row together in solidarity with marginalized communities.

This requires true trust. In my sermon, I shared the famous story of an acrobat who pushed a wheelbarrow across a tightrope high above a roaring waterfall. While the crowd loudly cheered and claimed they believed he could do it again with a person inside, when he asked for a volunteer to get into the wheelbarrow, there was dead silence. As I told my congregation, faith isn’t just cheering from the sidelines; it is getting into the wheelbarrow and trusting God to push us safely across the roaring waters. Standing up against Christian nationalism or advocating for our LGBTQ+ siblings often feel like stepping onto that tightrope without a safety net. It is risky. It demands vulnerability. But true faith leaves the old paradigms of self-preservation to live the new reality of radical love.

The work of justice is exhausting, but we do not work alone. In my role as a night chaplain, I am sometimes called to St. Elias Hospital in the middle of the night to support a patient or a grieving family. Driving down Tudor Road in the dead of the Alaskan night, I often see massive snowplows clearing the streets while the city sleeps. Just as those drivers work through the night to make the roads safe for the morning, God is our spiritual snowplow. He never slumbers. He is actively at work in the dark, clearing paths for justice, peace, and equity even when we cannot fully see it.

Because God is doing the heavy lifting, we are given the ultimate gift: grace. Grace is like a heavy, warm winter coat given by a loving parent. But we are not meant to put on the coat of grace just to sit comfortably inside by the fire while others freeze in the cold realities of deportation, war, and bigotry. Because we are kept warm and secure in God’s grace, we are called to be the hardest working people in our communities, stepping out into the bitter cold to shovel the driveway for our neighbors.

Lent is our altar of transformation. It is time to leave the old docks of our complacency and live the new mandate of radical justice! Church, hear the call of the Spirit! Untie the rope of fear and let us row this Fautasi long boat of freedom into the deep waters of solidarity. Step out onto the tightrope and climb into God’s wheelbarrow of active, vulnerable faith. We are wrapped in the warm, heavy coat of grace, not to sit idle by the fire, but to march out into the freezing storms of our day: to stand between immigrant families and ICE, to push back against the drums of war, to tear down the idolatrous altars of Christian nationalism, and to ferociously protect our LGBTQ+ siblings. The Holy Ghost is already driving the snowplow through the darkest nights of this nation, clearing a path of righteousness. Now, we must walk it! We were anointed, appointed, and placed on this earth for exactly such a time as this. Let the church rise and say, AMEN!

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Rev. Va'a Alaelua is a DSF/PSR student (D.Min.). He is the lead pastor of Christian Worship Center UCC in Anchorage, AK, and a board-certified Chaplain at Providence Alaska Medical Center. Married to his wife, May, for 32 years, they are the proud parents of four daughters and two sons. Outside of his ministry and studies, Pastor Va’a enjoys music, reading, and spending quality time with his family.