Lenten devotions sermon, second week - 4th of February 2026

 

The Sweetness in the Middle of the Struggle
Series: Theme 2026: Telling the Story at the Table Passover Meal (Week 2)
Texts: Exodus 1:13-14; Psalm 34:8; Romans 8:18
Symbol: Charoset

 Introduction: Connecting the Journey

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

For the past two weeks, we have been walking through the season of Lent using our senses. We began on Ash Wednesday with the Bitter Herbs—the Maror. We tasted the sting of sin and the bitterness of a life separated from God. Last week, we considered the Matzah—the bread of affliction, the unleavened bread that speaks of the haste of escape, but also of the simplicity and purity that God desires in us.

Today, we come to a third symbol on the Passover table, a symbol that doesn't fit the pattern of the first two. If the Bitter Herbs are the sour note and the Matzah is the plain, dry cracker, then today’s symbol is the unexpected spoonful of sweetness. It is called Charoset (pronounced Ha-ro-set).

If you have never seen Charoset, let me describe it to you. It is a simple paste, a mixture of chopped apples, nuts, wine, honey, and cinnamon. It is usually brown and lumpy. And here is its strange secret: It is meant to look like mortar. Specifically, the mortar the Hebrew slaves used to bind the bricks in Egypt.

Think about that for a moment. The text from Exodus 1:13-14 tells us, "They worked them ruthlessly. They made their lives bitter with hard labor in brick and mortar." The taskmasters of Egypt forced God’s people to stoop in the mud, mixing straw with clay and mortar to build the storehouses of Pharaoh. It was back-breaking, dignity-stealing work. It was the very symbol of their oppression.

And yet, every year at the Passover Seder, the Jewish people take a bowl of sweet, delicious fruit and nuts, and they call it "Mortar." They spread it on their Matzah, and they eat it.

Why? Because Charoset teaches us one of the deepest truths of the spiritual life—a truth that Lent is designed to press deep into our souls: God’s grace is often tasted in the very middle of our burdens.

The Paradox: Mortar that Tastes Like Honey

The genius of Charoset is that it refuses to separate suffering from hope. It holds them together in one bite.

On the one hand, the appearance reminds us of the struggle. The color, the texture—it looks like the clay pits of Egypt. It keeps the memory of the pain alive. The Jewish people are commanded to remember not just the miracle of the Exodus, but the affliction that preceded it. "Remember the days of bondage," the Seder says. Don't airbrush the hard parts of your history.

But on the other hand, the taste tells a different story. It is sweet. It is filled with the honey of promise and the spice of joy. It whispers that even in the brick pits, God was present. Even while the whips were cracking, a promise was ripening. The mortar was heavy, but the apples and the honey spoke of a land flowing with milk and honey that was waiting for them.

This is the mystery of our faith. We do not live in denial of our pain, nor are we crushed by it. We live in the tension between the two.

Lent invites us to look at our own "Egypt." What are the bricks you are making right now? What is the hard labor of your soul? Is it a difficult relationship? Is it a chronic illness? Is it a financial worry that never seems to lift? Is it a grief that sits heavy on your chest like wet clay? Those are your mortar moments.

And the temptation is to believe that God is only present when the mortar is gone. We think, "Once God gets me out of this mess, then I will taste the honey." But the Charoset tells us that the honey is available now. It is a foretaste of the feast to come, given to us in the middle of the mess.

The Theology: Tasting in the Tension

This brings us to our second text. Psalm 34:8 is a famous invitation: "Taste and see that the Lord is good."

Now, the Psalmist David wrote this during a very dark time in his life—a time when he was on the run, afraid for his life, acting like a madman to escape. He was in his own Egypt. And from that pit of struggle, he doesn't say, "Wait until it's over and then you'll see that God was good." He says, "Taste now. See now."

How do you taste the goodness of God when your circumstances are bitter? You taste it through presence. The sweetness is not that the problem has been solved; the sweetness is that you are not alone in the problem. The sweetness is that the God of the universe stoops down into your brick pit and sits beside you.

The Charoset teaches us that hope does not erase pain, but it changes how we carry it.

When you add a little sweetness to something, it doesn't remove the substance. If you are eating something bland or bitter, and you add honey, the bitterness is still there—but it is transformed. It is bearable. It is given context.

That is what the grace of God does for the struggling soul. It doesn't remove the struggle—at least, not always right away. But it changes the flavor of the journey. It gives you a strength to carry the burden that is not your own. It gives you a joy that is not dependent on your paycheck, your health, or your circumstances.

Think about the Apostle Paul. He wrote our third text, Romans 8:18: "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

Paul knew about suffering. He was beaten, shipwrecked, imprisoned. He had plenty of mortar in his life. But he also had a taste of the sweetness. He had encountered the Risen Christ. And that encounter changed everything. It didn't stop the beatings, but it gave him a new perspective. He realized that the brick-making of this life is temporary, but the sweetness of God's glory is eternal. The mortar is heavy, but the promise is heavier.

The Application: Living the Charoset Life

So, how do we live the Charoset life this Lent?

First, stop waiting for the struggle to end before you look for God. Stop putting your relationship with God on hold until you get your life sorted out. Invite God into the brick factory. Say, "Lord, this work is hard, this marriage is hard, this grief is hard. But I want to taste Your sweetness right here, in the middle of it." You might find that the very place you want to escape is the place where God meets you most intimately.

Second, be honest about both the mortar and the honey. Faith is not pretending everything is fine. The Seder table has the Bitter Herbs and the Charoset. You need both. If you only taste the bitter, you will fall into despair. But if you only taste the sweet, you live in a fantasy world that can't handle real life. Mature faith is the ability to hold the tension. To say, "This hurts terribly, and God is good." To say, "I am weary, and God gives me strength." The "and" is the Charoset.

Finally, look for the hidden sweetness. In the Charoset, the honey and the wine soak into every piece of apple and nut. The sweetness is not just on top; it is integrated. Where might God be integrating grace into your daily grind? Is it the friend who calls at just the right moment? Is it a verse of Scripture that suddenly comes alive? Is it the beauty of a sunrise on your way to work? These are the tastes of honey that tell you God is still at work, even while the bricks are being made.

 Conclusion: The Ultimate Sweetness

As we move through Lent toward the Cross, we must remember that the Cross itself is the ultimate Charoset.

To the world, the Cross looked like the ultimate mortar. It looked like the final victory of evil, the crushing weight of Rome, the cementing of Jesus into a tomb. It looked like the end of hope.

But to the eye of faith, the Cross is the sweetest thing in the world. Because on that Cross, Jesus took the bitter mortar of our sin—the bricks we were supposed to make for eternity—and He transformed it into the honey of salvation. The suffering was real, the death was real, but the sweetness of God's love conquered it all.

This Lent, you are invited to taste and see. Taste the Matzah of sincerity. Wince at the Bitter Herbs of sin. But savor the Charoset of hope.

Don't wait for the Promised Land to taste the grapes. God is giving you a foretaste right now. Even in the struggle, even in the waiting, even in the brick yard—God is good.

Taste and see.

Amen.