Ash Wednesday

The lectionary readings for Ash Wednesday are the same each year. So it almost doesn’t feel like Ash Wednesday if I go through the day without hearing Psalm 51: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.”

How on earth do we balance the quietness of our hearts with a public call to repentance?

How is thankfulness engendered? By giving thanks in all circumstances.

By the third century, the gesture of giving became miniaturized.

I believe God can make us completely over, but I also believe that this is not always necessary.

In my younger, decidedly anti-Christian days, I did not like the way Christians asked God for mercy. It reinforced my idea that “the Christian God” was cruel and punishing. After all, if God was a loving and compassionate God, one would not have to beg for mercy. And if God was cruel and punishing but at the same time righteous and just, then human beings were clearly bad and unworthy.

This whole system of thought—shameful people and cruel God—made me want to stay far, far away from Christianity and Christian churches.

As we contemplate mortality and finitude, I wonder if we could treasure washing the dishes.

People are rightly disgusted by buildings with separate entrances for low-income residents. But churches have side-door people, too.

A particular verse of scripture has been haunting me lately. I hear it as an indictment of an aspect of my personal life.

First, it was a lectionary text in Epiphany. Then I found it in the unifying passage of a devotional book I read.

“Bring the homeless poor into your house,” we read in Isaiah 58:7, part of a passage on genuine fasting.

We began our business meeting in the chapel with dimmed lights. I led the board through several calming prayers, noticing our breath and heartbeats.

Most of us do not take criticism well. We get defensive, make excuses, or blame others. Nor do we engage in much self reflection or acknowledgement of our personal failings.

A lot of churches have deleted the prayer of confession from their Sunday morning orders of worship because of complaints that “those prayers are too depressing,” or “those things don’t apply to me.”

It’s not quite Lent, but we can see it from here.

Sustainable Lenten disciplines anticipate an Easter in which they will continue. But surely Easter hope is for something more.

Isaiah gives voice to God. God is amazed at our epistemic closure.