ash wednesday

I sat in the pew at a little past noon. I didn’t have to go far to get to the service today – just down the hall and around a corner. So short a distance that I hadn’t quite adjusted: the pastor following behind me had to shush me a little as I walked into the quiet auditorium, talking a little too loudly.

Oops. Oh yeah. Ash Wednesday. Lent. Quiet.

So I sat, willing my brain to slow. Reading words off the screen, listening to music, breathing. In. Out.

Closing my eyes. Quiet, now. Quiet. Be still.

The music fades, and then I hear my friend Bobby speaking. In about a second and a half, every bit of quiet I’ve managed to gather scatters wildly away. My brain runs a few quick circles…

Wait, what? Is Bobby…
No wait, he’s right there, this must be a recording -
A recording that sounds really familiar -
Oh yeah! We made this last year – he and I -
Dang. I’m fixing to hear my own voice.

And there it was. It took me long enough to get over being annoyed at how my own voice sounds that I missed the first few lines. Listen. I told myself. You really loved these words last year.

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It’s a funny thing, having someone put ashes on your forehead. They fall on my nose and tickle. I see people look at them. Sometimes they say you have something right there…

When I reply that it’s Ash Wednesday they say oh yeah. Lent. What are you giving up?

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I know a thing or two about Lent. I know about fasting to identify with the suffering of Christ, or to gain empathy for the poor. I know that giving up something I will miss often is meant to pinch a little, a poke into my daily routine that will make me stop and think of God. I know about taking on something instead of giving up – a new discipline or practice to focus my gaze during the season.

I know it is a time of quiet, of waiting. An undercurrent of lament.

Yet with all my knowing, I had never come across an explanation quite like the one we read last year. I loved it.

Then I forgot it completely.

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What are you giving up?

I hadn’t answered that for myself – either giving up or taking on – even as I walked into the auditorium today. No practice was seeming to connect with me this time around.

And then, I heard these words. Found myself grasping at them, actually. Wanting to catch and slow them down. Bobby’s voice and mine, his reading from the Book of Common Prayer, mine reading between the lines. Adding in, hoping to help.

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Dear People of God:

The first Christians observed with great devotion
profound dedication, earnest attachment, consecration.
the days of our Lord’s passion
Christ’s sufferings on the cross, His death,
and resurrection,
His rising from the dead
and it became the custom of the Church
the whole body of Christ-followers
to prepare for them
to get ready
by a season of penitence
regretting the things we’ve done wrong
and fasting.
abstaining from food.

This season of Lent
this long wait until Easter
provided a time in which converts to the faith
precious newly changed lives
were prepared for Holy Baptism.  It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins,
widely and unfavorably known actions, faults, offenses
had been separated from the body of the faithful
divided, disconnected, alone
were reconciled
brought back into harmony
by penitence and forgiveness, and restored
brought back into health, rebuilt, reestablished
to the fellowship of the Church.
community, family.

Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution
forgiveness, release, freedom from blame and guilt
set forth in the Gospel of our Savior,
the good news of our rescue
and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent,
keeping it by watching, noting, perceiving
by self‑examination and repentance;
contemplation and sorrow
by prayer, fasting, and self‑denial;
sacrificing what you want
and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.

And, to make a right beginning of repentance,
and as a mark of our mortal nature, let us now
kneel before the Lord, our maker and redeemer.

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So much I love about these words: that we are dear people of God. That there are precious newly changed lives. But the place it sticks is there in the middle – where those who have been separated are restored. When those who because of notorious sins found themselves disconnected and alone, are brought back into harmony.

And that the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution…

I know notorious sin. I know what it is to disconnect, to feel separate and alone. And I know what it is to be brought back.

I am grateful for people who know the message of pardon and absolution. Of reconcile and restore.

I am sorrowful that even knowing these things, I so often don’t carry that same message. Instead I carry anger, judgement, revenge.

Over and over, I forget completely.

And this is what I will give up. At least for Lent.

I don’t want to forget. For me, or for those around me who are separated and alone. This season, I will put myself in mind of the message. I will sacrifice what I want. I will keep these words close, letting them bring hope.