Scriptures: Joel 2:12-18, Psalm 51:3-6, 12-14, 17 & Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18
Ash Wednesday, 2019
The journey that Jesus began when we are told by scripture that he turned his face towards Jerusalem, is the same journey that we are gathering here to commence and will take over the next 40 days. And just as Jesus took those first few steps towards the holy city, so, too was he force to face the prospect of his own end. On this night in the Christian calendar, all Christians are united in the same praxis. A practice in which each of us will also begin to look at our lives—both individually and collectively—and ponder our own deaths, ponder that part of us and our religious community and faith that needs to die to allow Christ to grow in us, and to allow us to grow in God. And we all know, this time, this ritual, this experience of exploring the mystery of death can be scary because it reminds us, more than anything of the fleeting nature of each of our lives. Moreover, it can be even scarier, more humbling, to think that there is a part of us that we need to let go, that we need to sever from ourselves, in order to get out of the way of the Spirit move in our lives. And it is difficult. It is difficult to be a follower through this part of the story. It was much easier when Jesus was doing healings and feeding 5,000 and walking on water and raising folks from the dead. Those moments must feel as light as a feather compared to the weight that we will, as a faith community, slowly and increasingly take on a little more each moment on the journey to Golgotha. As the savior that we have sought since before we could speak, the great Rabbi that we have spent all this time following begins to time and again talk about his own death at the hands of people who seek to silence him. So, too, do we begin our journey by sitting atop an ash heap or, more symbolically, donning ashes on our foreheads as we cry out to God in hopes of gaining forgiveness. The prophet Joel captures this moment of sadness and angst when he spoke to his followers, the children of Israel, of fasting and weeping, of being willing to open themselves up to God, open themselves to the pull of God's spirit constantly seeking to take them from brokenness to wholeness. This is the moment that we find ourselves preparing for tonight. Our Reformed tradition tells us that we are each born into sin. That sin is both original and unshakable. That each of us finds ourselves almost immediately stuck in the muck and the mire of the world and yet, also imbued with the knowledge and desire to find our way out. That our birthright is freedom. And the Lenten provides the means to that. Lent provides, a necessary time and an essential space within the Christian calendar to take account of ourselves and our relationship to God, and our relationship to God's creation. Lent offers us the time we need for reflection.
And just as we are here in this place for reflection, we also come that we might begin the arduous process of repentance. A process of repentance and forgiveness. A process of repentance and of forgiveness, but also the pathway to that which we also seek, peace. And yet, we must first confess that too often confusion soon follows when we ask with one voice, what must be done to truly experience repentance, and forgiveness, what gets us to the peace of Christ, that peace that surpasses all understanding? The prophet Joel called on his people to return to God through fasting, weeping, by completely opening their hearts to God. And so we come to the same time, the same ritual in which in the midst of this Lenten time we begin to strip away the parts of our lives that lead us away from God. Away from Christ. And we know that this process is not easy, indeed we know that it is only accomplished with struggle and pain and cleansing. We know that too often we place other things in the place of God, other things in the way of God. And yet, there is a brief moment in time in which each of us, are forced to peer into the darkness with the hope of seeing God. And Jesus' own words considering prayer ring loudly as we peer into the darkness. “Don't go out into the church and the street corners and scream out your prayers so that others might hear them,” Jesus tells us, “don't use big fancy words so that others know that you are more pious, more holy than them, but also don't be where others can gain access to the inner depths of your soul, don't be where others can prevent you or distract you or derail you from diving deep into the darkness. “But, rather,” Jesus said, “go into your room, and shut the door. Go into your room and get away from the noise, and the hustle and bustle, go into your room, and get away from all the distractions of life, all the things that vie for the place of your soul. Go into your room and be wholly, and holy, with God.”
We as the faithful find ourselves plagued with feelings of unworthiness because too often its seems that we think they have to sound a certain way, or act a certain way, or be holier than anyone else in order to come to God in prayer, when in reality, it is the exact opposite. In the end, there are no words that have to come with prayer, there are no actions that have to be taken in order to offer a prayer, and there are no people, who are so unholy that they cannot come before God, in the solitude of the moment, and softly, quietly, let God slip in to the broken spots in your soul. For prayer is more often heard in a survivor of a tornado crying out for relief from the pain of loss of a loved one. Prayer is the mother quietly singing "Guide my feet while I run this race” to her crying child who has awaken in the dark of night. Prayer is the monk sitting quietly at an alter, sitting in silence, seeking to hear the still small voice of God, and then saying, “MY Lord God, I have no idea where I am going or what I’m doing…But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.” Prayer is anytime we abandon all the restraints of the world, anytime we abandon the restraints of ourselves, anytime we are able with our words, or our actions, or our souls, to touch the face of God. "Truly I tell you," Jesus said, "Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your father who sees in secret will reward you." We have come to a time in the Christian calendar when we need those times in secret, we need those times in quiet, we need those times of repentance.
And we also seek forgiveness. We seek forgiveness because we know that we as a faith have sinned against God and against our sisters and brothers. We have allowed things to divide us against each other, but more importantly we have allowed things to divide us from our human family throughout the world. Too often we have failed to be inviting communities that seek to be a shelter from the storm for the poor and downtrodden in our community and those Jesus called the least of these in the world. And so as a church we need time to be especially present to our shortcomings and then to seek forgiveness for them. But, if we are completely honest with ourselves, we discover that we must also seek forgiveness on behalf of the whole human race of which we are a part. Throughout the world, bombs are dropped and bullets shot, brothers and sisters are torn asunder by wars and violence. Nations are pitted against nations, cultures against cultures, religions against religions, families against families. Throughout our world, people go hungry because we as a species cannot figure out how to share the bounty. Throughout the world, women are abused and relegated to the role of second-class citizens. Children are abused and treated as chattel, people who don't look the same, believe the same, love the same, are treated without grace, without hope, without love. And we know that this goes on everyday and in that knowledge just the sheer awareness of it all becomes so overwhelming that many of us are forced to turn a blind eye because we simply cannot take the pain. It is in and for those times that we need to seek forgiveness.
And So it is that after we have sought repentance, after we have yearned for forgiveness, then we must also allow ourselves to become a’washed in the grace and peace that God is forever and always offering those who earnestly call on God and ask for it. And it is not just peace for ourselves, but a peace for the world. Not just peace for ourselves, but a peace for the church. Not just a peace for ourselves but a peace for our nation, and our state, and our town. History is replete with those who knew the weight of the brokenness of the world. Jesus knew that his life was the beginning of a greater work of reconciliation, and so it was with peace that he could say, “Father, into your hand I commit my spirit.” And Martin Luther King, even as overwhelmed with the fight for equality and justice knew that he himself would not make it to the promise land and yet all the more confidently cast his eyes across the expanse of the cosmos and told his followers that “the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” And it was in faith that the great 20th century theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, in the face of all the brokenness of the world could remind his readers, “Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing true or beautiful makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.” None of these followers believed in their own ability to fix all the problems of the world, none of them believed that in their own time all wars would cease and all people would be treated justly, none believed that the kingdom of God was just around the next corner in the road. But all of them had peace. All of them knew, that in the end, you do what you can to make this world a better place, and then you leave the rest to God. Plant your seed, your single seed, and believe that the great gardener will bring it to full bloom. For, in the end, we are only left to trust in God to bring about a completion to God’s good work. In the end, we are only left to trust in God to bring about the reconciliation of the church and the world. In the end, we are only left to trust in God to bring about redemption, and resurrection, and peace. We do what we can, we repent when we must, we seek forgiveness when we have moved away from the will of God, we act in ways that we believe better the whole of creation, and then we allow God to do whatever God will to bring about peace. And don’t we need that as we begin this Lenten time in our Christian calendar.
We have come together on a journey for the Lenten season. We have come together as a community of believers and we welcome all who would enter those doors to join us on our journey. And we know that journey will not be easy. We know that in the end, we will go through a time of sitting on the ash heap and pondering our own worthiness for the gifts bestowed by God. We will spend some time in silence, in prayerful consideration of our relationship with God and with the rest of humanity and with the rest of the cosmos. We will spend time walking with Jesus on Palm Sunday and wondering how the crowds could have turned so quickly, all the while wondering, deeply and earnestly seeking to know, on which side we would have found ourselves. And finally we will walk with the Messiah to that place on the hill, and in some way we too will die with him and the darkness, and utter bleakness, and specter of hopelessness, will have seemed to have won. Knowing that is what lies ahead, let us, in this place, recommit to one another to walk, arm and arm, brother and sister, picking each other up when we fall and carrying each other when we can no longer walk, yet all the while singing in one voice, “My joy cometh in the morning!” as we walk towards the new day of resurrection that is drawing so very close to us again. Amen.
*-Image taken by me.