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Year A Lent Second Sunday

Year A Lent Second Sunday
Year A Lent Second Sunday (grayscale)

Scripture

Testament: Old

Book: Psalm

Chapter: 121

Verse: 1

Lectionary

Year: A

Season: Lent Season

Week: Second Sunday in Lent

Church bulletins by Ronn Kerr

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Lectionary Meaning

Theological Focus

The Second Sunday in Lent, Year A, draws worshipers deeper into a season of pilgrimage, penitence, and renewed dependence upon God as the church makes its deliberate way toward the cross and the empty tomb. On this Sunday the lectionary directs our attention to Psalm 121:1, the opening word of one of the ancient songs of ascents, verses once sung by pilgrims climbing toward Jerusalem and now given voice by all who walk the Lenten road. The psalmist's upward glance—eyes lifted toward the hills with a question about the very source of help—embodies the searching posture that marks these forty days. Early in the Lenten journey, this reading invites us to ask honestly where our trust rests and to begin, with the psalmist, the patient turning toward the Lord who keeps and sustains us.

Scriptural Connection

For this Second Sunday in Lent, Year A, our focus shifts to the profound reassurance found in Psalm 121:1: "I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come?" This ancient psalm reminds us that our true strength and assistance originate from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. In times of trial and seeking, we are called to direct our gaze upward, trusting in the unwavering support of God who watches over us and never slumbers. This declaration serves as a steadfast anchor for our Lenten journey, offering comfort and hope as we reflect on our need for divine guidance and salvation.

Sermon Ideas

As we continue our Lenten pilgrimage, Psalm 121:1 invites us into a deliberate practice of lifting our gaze. In the busyness of daily life, our eyes often drop to the immediate—to our anxieties, our striving, our own resources—and this psalm gently asks us to notice where we truly look for help. Preachers and congregations alike might use these weeks to name the false summits we climb in search of security, and then to rehearse the psalmist's confession: our help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth and neither slumbers nor sleeps. A simple discipline of pausing each day to lift our eyes—in prayer, in silence, in the sight of creation or neighbor—can slowly train the heart toward trust. Such small acts of holy attention open us to the deeper gift of this season: the assurance that the One to whom we look walks with us all the way to Easter.