Ash Wednesday 



I continue to be impressed with the work of Dennis Bratcher and the CRI/Voice Website. Having just observed Ash Wednesday, and the eve before that Shrove Tuesday at my church, Trinity Episcopal, I read what he had to say about The Season of Lent. It helped me to see that we are not too far off from mainstream Christian observance. So rather than to attempt any further deep reflection on the meaning of the season, I will just share how my personal life has been touched by this practice.

Tuesday night Gil and I, with the help of several others, prepared and served pancakes and sausage for about 65 people at church. It was a festive occasion with Mardi Gras beads and masks and a few light costumes. These are people I have come to dearly love over a period of 20 years, so this could truly be said to be a labor of love. Our rector burned the palms from last year's Palm Sunday observance. These ashes were used to make the ash for today's service. At Trinity, "Fat Tuesday" is a farewell to Epiphany and "fortification" for the 40 days of penitent self-examination leading up to Easter.

Tonight (Ash Wednesday) I served as crucifer in the altar party. The gold cross I carried high is emblazoned with a Lamb, and shrouded by a purple veil. The crucifer processes three times during the service, on entrance, during the Gospel reading, and on exit. Typically many people bow in humility before Christ as the cross passes.

In addition to our usual set of scriptural readings as proscribed in the Lectionary and the eucharist, we used the Ash Wednesday Proper Liturgy. It's a quite stern liturgy, with the congregation lamenting their sins and acknowledging their wickedness and begging God's forgiveness through Jesus Christ. The liturgy explains that in the early church (after 350 CE) Lent was a time of preparation of candidates for baptism and also of reconciliation through penitence of those separated from the Church during the year. Finally, all those kneeling have ashes imposed on their foreheads—a sign of mortality and penitence. As the ashes are imposed the priest says the sobering "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Quite often we confess our sins, but in this service, interspersed with pleas for mercy, we do confess to a long list of very recognizable and very human failings: pride, hypocrisy, impatience, self-indulgence, exploitation of others, anger, envy, intemperance, dishonesty, negligence, failure to commend our faith, uncharitable thoughts, prejudice and contempt, waste and pollution, lack of concern for others.

There was a time in my life, in the 1970's, when I thought this practice was a pathetic and unsupportable indictment of human nature. Now I just say the words and recognize with each passing phrase how much I have to work on in my few years remaining on this planet. I'm actually grateful for this formal time to be called up short in front of my faith community.

I am going to have more to say as the season moves towards Holy Week. I am going to reflect on my particular spin on corrupt human nature. I am going to search and seek for meaning in the coming Easter season. However, for now, I'm simply going to be thankful for this opportunity to take a hard, honest look at myself and this world.

After the service, a friend came up and invited me to Ted Drewes on this almost balmy March 1 evening for a frozen custard. Yes, I could give up ice cream for Lent, or at least forego it on Ash Wednesday. Actually, it would be quite easy. When I retired I lost 30 pounds in 8 months, mainly by giving up desserts. Weight loss, or even just doing without the taste of ice cream, is just no challenge at all for me. Nevertheless, we went and consumed two nut fudge sundaes (but only regulars).

The above extravagance notwithstanding, I know exactly what I have to change if I am to be truly penitential. I also know myself well enough that no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to entirely succeed. I need to give up indulging in uncharitable thoughts about others. My mind is a constant yammering palaver of uncharitable thoughts. The more I love people, the more likely I am to think uncharitable thoughts about them. Such bullshit. I don't want to hate myself, because that would be self-defeating. So I'm just trying to take a God's eye view of this poor, pathetic little guy with the yucky yammering thoughts.

Now THAT would be something to give up!

So right now, I'm just saying "No!" when I catch myself "squirrel-caging" as the book Shortcut to a Miracle says. Just stop the thoughts and take in whatever you are seeing or hearing. It works for a short while. For a short while I am just a bit closer to God. 

Posted: Wed - March 1, 2006 at 11:09 PM          

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