Maundy Thursday - April 13

God's Commitment

The reason we call this day Maundy Thursday is a bit of church trivia.   But it also helps us focus on part of the meaning of this day.

“Maundy” is a shortened, Anglicized version of the Latin mandatum, command.  It comes from Jesus’ words at the end of today’s Gospel reading from John:  A new commandment I give to you.  Mandatum novum.  A new commandment I give you:  That you love one another as I have loved you.  It’s associated with Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

Love.  I’ve talked about this before, but it bears repeating.  When the Bible talks about love it doesn’t mean affection.  It means a way of acting.  Or, in a way I heard it described this week.  It’s a commitment.  Love in the Bible is not a feeling, it’s a commitment.

Bonhoffer describes that commitment:   love… is the will to enter into and to keep community with others.

Jesus’ command and the focus of this day inspire us to follow Jesus’ example.  But I want to focus on God’s commitment.  When we talk about God’s love for us, it is commitment we’re talking about.  That commitment is what the whole Triduum is about.  God acting out God’s commitment to us through Jesus.  So for at least a bit, let’s worry less  about what we should be doing and focus on what God actually does.

God goes to extraordinary efforts to be with us.  To enter into and keep community with us.  To be close to us.  Think about the foot washing!  Knowing what he knows, Jesus chooses to wash the feet of his disciples, including Judas.  God knows what Jesus felt at that time, but it’s hard to image that it was affection.  But he touched.  Cleansed.  Served.  Because he was committed.

This is what commitment in action looks like. 

And the Eucharist, of course, is God’s ongoing commitment to be in community/communion with us.  On Maundy Thursday we also always hear about Jesus establishing the New Covenant, setting in motion a way to keep God’s commitment to us after Jesus’ death.  Jesus creates a holy, mystical, eternal community shared with God, and invites us into it.

We give thanks for that community in the prayer we say after the Eucharist;

Eternal God, heavenly Father,
you have graciously accepted us as living members
of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ…

Remember, God’s love for us isn’t a feeling.  It isn’t affection that we must earn or live up to.  It is a commitment.  An unswerving commitment.  To us.  To be with us.  To do more for us than we can ask or imagine.  Nothing WE can do will shake God’s commitment to us.  God has shown us that.  Again.  And again.  And again…

Palm Sunday - April 9

Palm Sunday Processions
Matthew 21:1-11

We just heard the story of Jesus’ passion:  his so-called trial and crucifixion.  It’s a powerful story.  And for us as Christians entering into Holy Week, the events of Jesus passion lie just ahead.  We can see the cross on the horizon.  On Friday we will be at the foot of the cross.

But today is also Palm Sunday, the day on which we remember Jesus’ festive and triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  We heard that portion of Matthew’s Gospel as we began our own Palm Sunday procession at the outdoor altar.

From Matthew:  The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!"  When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

The other Gospel writers give similar accounts of a great and festive event with large crowds cheering Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

I want to share with you one Biblical scholar’s commentary on Matthew’s account of the triumphal entry (Douglas R. A. Hare, Interpretation Commentary):

It is improbable that Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem manifested as open a claim to kingship as Matthew’s account suggests.  Had a large crowd publicly acclaimed Jesus as their king, the Roman garrison would have promptly cooled the messianic ardor.  Moreover, there would have been no difficulty in securing witnesses for a Jewish trial.  This does not mean that we must consider the incident as created (rather than interpreted) [by the gospel writer].  It is probable, however, that the demonstration was on such a small scale that it failed to attract public attention.

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was on such a small scale that it failed to attract public attention.  Jesus’ actual procession into Jerusalem was probably more like our Palm Sunday procession, than like the grand event we usually picture.  It was small, quiet.  Basically unnoticed.  The participants were just a few of his most devoted followers.

Jerusalem at the time was busy, preoccupied with other things.

Years ago I read a clever essay about Jesus’ birth titled: “Not in the news.”  It is written in the style of a newspaper account and describes all of the things that were going on at the time of Jesus’ birth.  Jesus’ birth did not make the news.  Similarly, Jesus’ trial and death weren’t even a blip in the news of the day.  Other than later Christian writings, and a brief, passing reference in Josephus, there is no mention of Jesus’ death in the historical record.  It failed to attract public attention.

Matthew, and the other gospel writers, describe how it should have been when the Messiah entered the holy city Jerusalem.  They describe what should have happened when the King came into his own.  Great crowds should have dropped everything to gather in exuberant, joyful acclaim.  Hosanna! All glory, laud and honor to thee redeemer king, to whom the lips of children make sweet hosannas ring.

It’s Holy Week.  Jesus is coming again.  What sort of Palm Sunday will it be for you?

Are you too busy?  Preoccupied with other important things?  Indifferent to the Messiah’s arrival?

Or will you drop everything to sing and shout for joy?  Will you lay aside other activities to join the crowd that cheers and follows Jesus?

The Fifth Sunday in Lent - April 2

A Few Things to Say About Death

Ezekiel 37:1-14

John 11:1-45

Writing about today’s readings another preacher says:

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death—about both real, physical death and about the other deaths, the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that we seem constantly to be experiencing. In fact, we say much the same thing about both types of death. What that is can be found in both Ezekiel and John.  (The Rev. James Liggett, HERE.)

We just heard the reading from Ezekiel and from John’s Gospel.  Death is front and center in both readings.  Ezekiel tells the story of the valley of the dry bones and the Gospel is about the death and raising of Lazarus.

From Ezekiel:  The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry.

They were very dry.  We are meant to understand that they are long dead.  There is absolutely no remnant of flesh or life within them.  Even the bones convey their powerlessness:  our hope is lost.

In the reading from Ezekiel we look upon the reality and power of death.

It’s a similar perspective in the Gospel.  Lazarus is dead.  Jesus’ delay ensures that we know Lazarus is dead.  After Jesus heard that his friend Lazarus was sick did Jesus’ really intentionally delay so that Lazarus would die and Jesus could then perform the miracle?  Maybe, although I certainly have trouble with that picture.  Maybe this is all on John.  Lazarus did die before Jesus arrived.  And maybe the way John tells the story has to do with John’s intense focus on Jesus’ work.  John wants to shine the spotlight brightly and solely on Jesus’ “sign.”  For John these signs are even more than miracles that prove Jesus’ power.  They point to God, revealing God’s presence in Jesus and the nature of God’s care for people.

In any case, Jesus arrives the fourth day after Lazarus died.  In the Bible after three days, hope is lost.  Jewish spirituality of the time taught that the soul lingered for three days near the body, but now it is gone.  Decay has begun.  Lazarus is dead.

To introduce a touch of levity, I’m reminded of the early scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy’s house has landed on the witch.  The munchkin coroner sings:

As Coroner I must aver,

I thoroughly examined her.

And she's not only merely dead,

she's really most sincerely dead.

In John’s Gospel we are meant to understand that Lazarus is not only merely dead, he’s really most sincerely dead.

These readings show us death in all of its inescapable power.  They do not brush death away as insignificant or of no concern to people of faith.  Death is real.  And it is powerful.  More powerful than we are.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  And the first thing we say is that death is real and it is powerful.

But the second thing we say is that the breath and the word of God are more powerful than death.  God breathes life even into death.

God’s breath, through the prophet Ezekiel, breathes life into the very dry bones of Israel.  Into bones long, long dead and without hope.

And Jesus’ words bring life again to Lazarus.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  Death is stronger than we are.  God is stronger than death. 

And we say these things both about real, physical death and about the other deaths, the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that we seem constantly to be experiencing.  God brings resurrection after physical death.  God also brings life after all of the other real, significant deaths we face and experience throughout our lives.

When Jesus in today’s Gospel says, I am the resurrection and I am the life, maybe that’s not just two ways of saying the same thing.  Maybe Jesus is saying two related, but different things.  I am resurrection after physical death.  And I am life, now, after the spiritual and personal deaths we experience in our daily lives. 

In all of these stories we’ve been hearing from John’s Gospel, Jesus is speaking on several levels.  When he talks with Nicodemus about being born again, he means being born again spiritually.  When Jesus talks about being the bread of life, he’s talking about spiritual sustenance.  When Jesus tells the woman at the well that he is living water, he means that he can quench the yearnings of our soul.  And today he is not just talking about life after physical death, he is also (perhaps even more importantly) talking about spiritual life.

Jesus is talking about renewing life after the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that afflict us all.  Jesus is talking about restoring our soul when sin—pride or greed has killed our soul within.  Grief.  Jesus brings new life to all of  the pockets of darkness and death within us that keep us from knowing the abundant life that is God’s hope for us in this life.

So as we look at those places of darkness and death within us, let us pray the words of the hymn:  Breathe on me, breath of God.  Fill me with life anew.

Remembering Lazarus, let us cry to Jesus:  Unbind me.  Let me go.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  Death is stronger than we are.  But God is stronger than death.  And God’s breath, Jesus’ word speak life even into death.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - March 26

The Lord is My Shepherd

Psalm 23

I wonder how many of you have ever seen a real shepherd.  If the Bible didn’t mention them would you give them any thought at all?  It’s funny that we cherish an image so deeply that is not a part of our own experience at all.

The image of the good shepherd is a common one in the Bible.  It occurs first in the Old Testament where it is a description of what a godly ruler should look like.  At one point in the history of God’s people, the monarchy in Jerusalem has failed, so God decides to step in.  Speaking through the prophet Ezekiel:

For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. [Since the King isn’t!] I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice (Ezekiel 34:11, 15-16).

King David is seen as one who will fulfill this role of godly king as good shepherd.  Maybe that’s why the lectionary gives us Psalm 23 the same day we hear about the anointing of David.  (We’ll pray Psalm 23 again in just a few weeks on “Good Shepherd Sunday” in Easter season when Jesus refers to himself as the Good Shepherd.)

Psalm 23 is certainly the most popular of all the psalms in the psalter.  If people only one piece of the Bible, it’s likely to be the 23^rd psalm.  One writer has called it essential for daily living for people of faith.

To help hear this familiar psalm with fresh ears, I want to read a different translation.  This is by a modern Hebrew scholar who tries to capture both the meaning and the spirit of the Hebrew poetry (The Book of Psalms, Robert Alter).

The Lord is my shepherd,

            I shall not want.

In grass meadows He makes me lie down,

            by quiet waters guides me.

My life He brings back,

            He leads me on pathways of justice for His name’s sake.

[My life He brings back.  Though “He restoreth my soul” is time-honored, the Hebrew nefesh does not mean “soul” but “life breath” or “life.”  The image is of someone who has almost stopped breathing and is revived, brought back to life.]

Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,

            I fear no harm,

                        for You are with me.

Your rod and Your staff—

            it is they that console me.

You set out a table before me

            in the face of my foes.

You moisten my head with oil,

            my cup overflows.

[You moisten my head with oil.  The verb here, dishen, is not the one that is used for anointment, and its associations are sensual rather than sacramental.  Etymologically, it means something like “to make luxuriant.”  This verse, then, lists all the physical elements of a happy life—a table laid out with good things to eat, a head of hair well rubbed with olive oil, and an overflowing cup of wine.]

Let but goodness and kindness pursue me

            all the days of my life.

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

            for many long days.

[for many long days.  This concluding phrase catches up the reference to “all the days of my life” in the preceding line.  It does not mean “forever”; the viewpoint of the poem is in and of the here and now and is in no way eschatological.  The speaker hopes for a happy fate all his born days, and prays for the good fortune to abide in the Lord’s sanctuary—a place of security and harmony with the divine—all, or perhaps at least most, of those days.]

The 23^rd psalm is one of just five psalms that are identified as “trust” psalms (Psalms, Walter Bruggemann, William H. Bellinger, Jr.).   (Probably the second most popular psalm, 121 “I lift up my eyes to the hills”, is another.)

We think of this psalm as a source of comfort.  But the perspective that the psalmist is expressing is one of deep trust.  Trust in the presence and goodness of God.

An important thing to note about psalms of trust is that they always start from a place of distress.  They are spoken and prayed out of a place of danger, threat, uncertainty or fear.  Trust is expressed in the midst of distress.

Another thing to note about Psalm 23 is that it starts out describing God in the third person.  “The Lord” is my shepherd.  Then it moves to second person, “You” are with me.  These words are spoken by someone who has a close relationship with God.  This is an intimate conversation.

You are with me.  In the midst of my distress, you are with me.

And because you are with me.

I fear no harm.

I shall not want.

In the presence of God I do not fear and I lack for nothing.  God’s presence stills my fears and fulfills my needs.

We spend a lot of time fearing and wanting. 

The psalm describes a different sort of life where fears are quieted and wants dissolve.  You are with me.  I fear no harm.  I shall not want.

Not surprisingly, there are lots of hymn settings of Psalm 23.  They describe this life in God’s presence.

I nothing lack if I am his and he is mine for ever.

The Lord my God my shepherd is; how could I want or need?

How do we make the psalmist’s words our words?  How do we truly pray this psalm in our own first person?

First, we need to face and acknowledge the places of distress or anxiety in our own lives.   We need to see and name the fears and threats we face and our longing for God’s presence with us.

And then, with the psalmist’s words to guide us we may grow in trust.  Our own trust in God’s presence and goodness and care will grow out of the psalmist’s experience and conviction.

I think also about the Communion of Saints.  We’re talking about saints in the Lent study class.  And I think of all of the voices past and present who pray this psalm.  The millions of voices who have said these words with conviction and hope, their voices affirming the deep truth of their trust in God.  For me, those voices are both reassurance and invitation.  An invitation to join with them in faith and trust and prayer.

For these words to be ours, we also need to know them.  If someone didn’t make you memorize the 23^rd psalm when you were younger, now is the time.  The translation doesn’t matter.  If the King James is your favorite, it’s easy enough to find.  Learn the words and make them yours in daily life.

The Third Sunday in Lent - March 19

A Conversation

John 4:5-42

I have a set of books that are commentaries on different books of the Bible.  They are written by Biblical scholars, but specifically intended for preachers.  The one on John’s Gospel (Gerard Sloyan, Interpretation Commentary) says this about today’s Gospel reading about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well:

Belief in Jesus by a religiously ostracized group is what the story is about.  Hence all moralizing about the woman’s irregular life or Jesus’ relations with women, interesting as they are, are not especially useful as an exposition of the text.  The story is about religious tensions and a church which, in its origins, sought to overcome them, even while the attempt itself caused new tensions.  John 4 should be preached in the spirit in which it was written.  If it is not, the Gospel is betrayed.

The Gospel story is about coming to faith and about reconciliation in the midst of religious tensions.  Jews and Samaritans had a common heritage but they had become estranged over religious practice.  The Samaritan women and other Samaritans came to faith in Jesus and the healing of a deep family feud over religion was begun.

But what actually happens in this morning’s long Gospel reading?  Jesus and the Samaritan woman have a conversation.  They have a conversation.

No demands are made.  No judgment is passed.

It’s a conversation.

When was the last time you had a meaningful, significant conversation?

Two things make this conversation meaningful and significant.  First, they both bring themselves to the conversation—both Jesus and the woman express some level of authenticity, need, vulnerability.  Both are thirsty, deeply yearning for refreshment.  And both need help and express that need.  Second, they listen, acknowledging the personhood of the other.  So often we seem to have lost the ability to listen, to respect the words of others.  The woman in particular asks good questions, and listens, trying to understand the answers.

We need more of those sorts of conversations.  Certainly in our political lives right now.  The church can and should be the place to model these sorts of respectful, meaning, significant, conversations.  But we need them, too, in our personal relationships and, perhaps most to the point this morning, in our spiritual lives.

Karoline Lewis teaches preaching at the Lutheran Seminary in St. Paul.  She describes some of the qualities of what she calls “holy conversations” (Working Preacher, HERE).

1)   Mutual vulnerability.

2)   Second, questions are critical to conversation. Not questions that have already decided on the right answers. Not questions that are asked only to feign manners. No, questions that communicate curiosity, an interest in the other, a longing for information and understanding. The woman at the well is full of questions, thoughtful questions, questions that matter and lead Jesus to reveal to her who he really is. Jesus affirms questions, even invites them. God wants us to ask questions because it is questions that strengthen relationship.

3)   Holy conversations take time.  I couldn’t find the reference this week, but I read once that this is Jesus’ longest conversation with an individual that is recounted in Scripture.  Holy conversations cannot be rushed.

4)   In a holy conversation, we should expect to be surprised, to learn something we did not know before.  And we should expect to be changed, to grow.

So I encourage you:  have a conversation about faith with someone.  If we were to model Jesus’ practice in this morning’s Gospel, that conversation should be with a conservative born-again Christian or a strict Catholic, someone with whom we share a common heritage of faith but have become estranged over religious practice.  A holy, meaningful, conversation, though, does take mutuality.  And that can be a challenge, but don’t let that deter you (or serve as an excuse).

Consider a friend or family member.  Have a conversation about faith.

If you have a hard time thinking about getting started, I want to tell you about a neat organization—Story Corps.  Some of you are probably aware of it.  They record and preserve conversations and stories, meaningful and significant conversations and stories.  If you listen to NPR in the mornings you have heard some of the recorded conversations.

It began in 2003 with a recording booth in Grand Central Station.  There’s one now here in Chicago, too, at the Cultural Center downtown.  Here’s their mission statement (From their website, HERE).

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.  We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, to strengthen and build the connections between people, to teach the value of listening, and to weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that everyone’s story matters.

They don’t mention Jesus, but that’s a pretty Christian mission statement.

They talk about how they have found, over the years, that the key to great conversations is asking great questions.  So they have suggestions.  For conversations about family, school, relationships, war, or religion.

• Can you tell me about your religious beliefs/spiritual beliefs? What is your religion?
• Have you experienced any miracles?
• What was the most profound spiritual moment of your life?
• Do you believe in God?
• Do you believe in the after-life? What do you think it will be like?
• When you meet God, what do you want to say to Him?

Good questions are the beginning of holy, meaningful, significant conversations.  Meaningful, significant conversations are beginnings for much more.  The beginning or deepening of relationships.  The beginning of faith for the Samaritan woman.  The beginning of reconciliation amid religious tension and difference.

So give it a try!  Have a conversation about faith with someone.

First Sunday in Lent - March 5

Trusting God

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

Matthew 4:1-11

The season of Lent began a few days ago on Ash Wednesday.  Today is the first Sunday in Lent.  On this first Sunday in Lent the Gospel reading is always one of the accounts of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness.

Matthew tells us that immediately following his baptism, Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness where he was tempted or tested by Satan.

We all know what temptation is.  We know what it feels like.  The internal tug or urge to do something that we know is not right.   It’s the voice or push inside of us to do something we know we shouldn’t.

In our daily lives, temptation is often associated with relatively innocuous things….  like dessert.  Although we can also face very significant temptations.

Was Jesus actually tempted?  We know Satan tried to tempt him.  But did he feel that internal tug of temptation?  He might have; he was fully human as we are, but we don’t know.  Many commentators have noted that what the devil offered certainly might have been tempting to Jesus.  But none of the Gospel accounts say that Jesus struggled or wrestled to overcome what the tempter offered…

What Jesus clearly did do was choose to trust the Word of God over the words of the devil.

Whether or not Jesus is overcoming temptation in this passage, he is clearly modeling trust.  For me, it’s helpful to think about this passage as being as much about trust as temptation.  It challenges us to ask:  which voice do you trust?  Who do you trust to really have your best interests at heart?  Do you trust God over the voices of the world and the devil?

Real trust has to be earned.  It’s important to differentiate between obedience and trust.  Obedience can be enforced “from above” by anyone with power.  The parent or boss can enforce obedience by saying:  Follow my orders or else there will be consequences…  no dessert for you…  no promotion or new opportunities for you…  It’s tempting sometimes to think of God in these terms, as one who enforces obedience.  But I think God is much more interested in earning our trust than in enforcing our obedience.

Trust, which is given, “from below” must be earned.  By the child, for example, with a loving parent who learns, over time, that the “rules” are always intended for the child’s wellbeing and that they may trust the parent’s love and care.  Or by our consistent experiences over time of God’s love and care that show us that God is trustworthy.

In this context, I feel for Adam and Eve.  I don’t take that story literally, but as it’s told they are brand new human beings, naïve and innocent, without any life experience.  One voice says to them: “Don’t eat of the tree because I say so.”  Another voice quite reasonably says: “the tree is good for food, a delight to the eyes, and it is desired to make one wise.”  Without any past experience to help them decide which voice to trust, it’s not surprising they made the wrong choice.

Trust is built, earned, given.

Was it easy for Jesus’ to trust God?  Probably not always, but he had the experience of his intimate relationship with the Father to anchor that trust. 

So I’m left with two questions or reflections for what this might mean for us.

First, do we give God a chance to earn our trust?  We have to listen to God’s Word, follow God’s guidance over some period of time before our experience will teach us that God is trustworthy.  We can’t just stand on the sidelines.   We have to participate in a relationship with God before God can earn our trust.  Do we give God that chance?

There’s a wonderful prayer in the Book of Common Prayer.  It’s titled “For young people,” but it’s appropriate for everyone.

God our Father, you see your children growing up in an unsteady and confusing world (that’s all of us!):  Show them that your ways give more life than the ways of the world, and that following you is better than chasing after selfish goals.

Lent is a time to intentionally draw closer to God’s ways…  a time to read and meditate on God’s Word….   a time to focus more clearly on following God guidance, rather than chasing after selfish goals.  Does your Lenten discipline draw you closer to God so that you may experience God’s love and deepen your trust in God’s care?  If the experiences of Lent do draw us closer to God we will grow in trust that his ways do, in fact, give more life than the ways of the world.

Second, do the actions of our lives show others that God is trustworthy?  Will other people see in us the positive fruits of a life lived trusting in God?  Each of us has the potential to help others come to a place in their lives of trust in God’s love and goodness.  We can be a part of other peoples’ experience that teaches them that God is trustworthy.

Ash Wednesday - March 1

Telling the Truth

The structure of this Ash Wednesday service is unique, but at a typical celebration of the Eucharist on Sunday morning right after the opening dialogue of greeting between the celebrant and people we pray a prayer called the collect for purity.

Almighty God to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid:  Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord.

We call it the collect for purity because the intercession, the primary prayer, the action we seek from God is cleansing.  Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts.  Purify us as we prepare to come before you in worship.

But I often get hung up a bit on the first part of the prayer, the introductory part. Almighty God to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.

There’s a lot there!  I suspect that if we really focus on this prayer we hope that God will purify us without anyone really having to look too closely or specifically at our hearts, desires or secrets.  Or we certainly hope that God will cleanse us without disclosing our secrets.  Most of the time, we prefer our hearts closed, our deep desires unknown to the broader world and we definitely like our secrets to remain hidden.

Our sincere prayer might be something more like:  Almighty God, cleanse us if you can, but please hide our insecurities, our mistakes, our shortcomings.  Hide anything about us that seems to make us “less,” in our own eyes or the eyes of the world.   Keep the secrets of our sins hidden.

In a recent reflection on Ash Wednesday in the Christian Century, Nurya Love Parish talks about the first Ash Wednesday service she ever attended.  She was in her twenties and describes herself at that time as a “spiritual tourist.”  She had grown up without any religious practice, but had become captivated by spiritual exploration. 

That exploration took her to a church in Boston on Ash Wednesday for a service using the traditional Christian liturgy for Ash Wednesday. 

I’ll never forget sitting in that old box pew, watching as people went up for the imposition of ashes.  I realized something:  this was a place where people told the truth.  The liturgy made them do it.  They told the truth about themselves—that they were mortal, that they were sinners, that they were scared.

I had been a lot of places in my first twentysome years of life.  I had never been anywhere quite as truthful as that Ash Wednesday liturgy.

The Ash Wednesday liturgy makes people tell the truth.  No secrets are hid.

We are mortal.  We are sinners.  And often we are scared.

Paradoxically, I think a big part of the appeal of this service, this Ash Wednesday liturgy is the power of its truth-telling.  The truth is laid bare.

Today, in these words, there is no wiggle room, no conditional mistakes or excuses.

You are dust.  Remember that you are dust.  And to dust you shall return.

We are sinners.  A little later in this service we will say the litany of penitence.  This is the only service in which we say this litany.  (We’re permitted to use it at other times, but choose not to.)  Listen to the words.  Listen to the litany of sins that we own.  These are our words.  Our truth.

Also in this liturgy, right after the imposition of ashes, we will say together Psalm 51.  I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.  We proclaim the truth.

We are mortal.  We are profound sinners.  Those are important truths that are spoken in this liturgy.  Yet our mortality and sinfulness are not the most important truth we say today.  We proclaim our dependence upon God.  Our dependence upon God.

Without God, we are nothing more than dust.  Without God, we are nothing but miserable sinners.

But with God…

With God, we are more.  By God’s grace, we are given new and contrite hearts, fullness of life and wholeness of soul, renewal and reconciliation that overcome death and estrangement.

Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, you desire not the death of sinner, but rather that we may turn from our wickedness and live…

The Ash Wednesday liturgy proclaims that truth as well.