Ash Wednesday

Coffin Ship Memorial, Ireland.

https://media.fotki.com/2vzrMuWTx36q9C.jpg

What if it’s not all about me? What if my death is not the only thing to contemplate? Surely this is the day to take up the invitation to meditate upon one’s own mortality. But does not that very invitation lead to wider thoughts? If I am but dust then is not the dust to which I shall return the very same that all mortal beings cling to, are made of, and to which all in their turn revert? 

God promises immortality. Probably not the kind we are waiting for. Unless we are very grand or very humble, we probably have some idea of what we hope eternity holds for us. But we do not know. Nor can we grasp it. 

Like Lincoln on the battlefield, consecrating - or rather, acknowledging the consecration - of that sacred ground at Gettysburg, our own words seem of little significance, if placed beside the suffering, sacrifice, futility, and annihilation awaiting all flesh.

This Monday morning I looked at images, and contemplated words, offered by my friend Suzanne Guthrie, as appropriate for an Ash Wednesday meditation. There was one she left out. 

It was the image of a coffin ship memorial at the foot of the mountain called Croagh Patrick, in western Ireland. No fault of hers. But as I begin to wonder if there is not more to it than me, that is, more to death and life, that image that comes to me from memory more than the internet, comes forward. As with many horrors, there is more to it than can be grasped. And that includes the mortal hope of those on board such a ship that they will survive and reach the new world and a new life. That new world, and that new life, that survivors indeed shared with their descendants. People like me.

When we inventory our antecedents we think sometimes of those who lived. The replete gentleman who could afford accommodation above steerage on his way across the Atlantic. The slaveholder’s son who was shot not fatally at Shiloh. The revolutionary boy, a hale and hearty lad, who did not freeze to death at Valley Forge. The prisoner who did not starve, forgotten. 

Yet all of these could be among our ancestors as they are part of the human family, just as much as those who died on coffin ships or slave ships or desert marches across the southwest. 

Morbid. I know. Because there is also gratitude to be remembered among the dead. We remember some of them, perhaps wrongly: memory is fickle and hope is inventive. And we ourselves must each join the parade, of those who have fallen, forgotten or remembered, honored or not.

Some traditions name a newborn child after someone who has recently died, that their name will live on. This can be an intention to the point of an expected duty. Not to be squandered. We may hope to be among those remembered by others; family, friends, readers of a donor plaque.

But we are remembered, already, where it counts. In the ineffable place in the heart of the universe, in the timeless mind of God. Already if not yet we are present in the heart of God.

That is what Jesus means. Today you will be with me in paradise. You already are. 

Time has no meaning there; there is neither sorrow nor weeping. And when we go to join them, we will, as the poet says, find ourselves welcome in a city we never knew. But it knew us. 

It is the kingdom of God. 

***

Ash Wednesday 

• Joel 2:1-2,12-17
• or Isaiah 58:1-12
• 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10
• Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
• Psalm 103 or 103:8-14

http://edgeofenclosure.org/ashwednesday.html

From Sundays and Seasons:

Prayer of the Day

Almighty and ever-living God, you hate nothing you have made, and you forgive the sins of all who are penitent. Create in us new and honest hearts, so that, truly repenting of our sins, we may receive from you, the God of all mercy, full pardon and forgiveness through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.

Prayer of the Day (Alternate)

Gracious God, out of your love and mercy you breathed into dust the breath of life, creating us to serve you and our neighbors. Call forth our prayers and acts of kindness, and strengthen us to face our mortality with confidence in the mercy of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.

The First Day of Lent commonly called Ash Wednesday (BCP 1662)

The Collect

Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou hast made, and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we worthily lamenting our sins, and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Lent List

Stuff I would like to give up for Lent? Oh yes, I made a list. Space does not permit its inclusion here. Nor does tact. Some of it is pretty common. We have lost so much, some of us, people whom we do not see right now, people we will never see gain. Loss and gain. Anticipation and regret. Possibilities, memories. Waiting. Our current situation is unique. And we are not the first.  

A traveler waiting for a visa. A convalescent waiting for release. Parents hoping for a child, workers looking for a job, people on the move seeking a home. 

Situations that are common and simply our own. 

When I was young I saw a children’s book about Robert the Bruce, waiting in his stone room and watching a spider weave its web. It was slow work, but he had the time. Eventually as an adult I learned more about what he was waiting for as well as what he was going to do. He led a country to unity. And yet that was not the end of the story as he yearned for the Holy Land. As it was, he made it about halfway - to Spain. His heart sought Jerusalem but found its final rest at home. (His heart is buried at Melrose Abbey.)

We hear the Bible stories. A would-be mother waiting with her husband for a place to live, a child to love. A widow with no home to go to but one far away, and no family but one unknown. And a people that wants, that longs, to be free. As we do.

Lent is a season of anticipation. Of preparation. Again, so soon after the Christmas cycle has ended. Advent, Nativity, Epiphany, Presentation. Just weeks ago. And now another cycle, the Easter cycle, begins. But it begins in Ashes. 

Wouldn’t you think ashes are the end of a story, not the beginning? But so it is: forty days from Ash Wednesday, not counting Sundays, Christians arrive where other traditions already are: at Easter Sunday, another feast day of celebration, but not before plumbing the depths of Good Friday. A dreadful anticipation. So we remember our mortality - as if we could forget it! This year of all years. 

Remember that you are made of dust taken from the earth, and to the earth you shall return. And yet all along you are in the hands of God.

Always.

The Rev. Dr. John Leech is an Episcopal priest, a Benedictine oblate, and a friend of the Iona Community. He has served congregations in northern California and western Washington, and now in southern Arizona. 

https://tucson.com/you-are-safe-in-the-hands-of-god/article_2f8cbbff-973c-5bfb-aec7-a1c294536efa.html (Arizona Daily Star, February 21, 2021).

Joel 2:1-2,12-17

or Isaiah 58:1-12

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

Psalm 103 or 103:8-14

But who’s counting?

Peter asks Jesus a question about forgiveness. In response, Jesus tells the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant. The exaggerations, hyperbole, huge numbers, and extreme reactions, push us into a theater of the absurd. A huge debt is forgiven freely, then a small one is choked out of a second debtor, and then the first debt is reinstated - plus torture! No forgiveness holiday here, not once a line is crossed. But it all goes to show up the real absurdity: trying to quantify grace, trying to qualify mercy. Only how often do I forgive another member of the church? Seven times - that’s a lot! To put up with. Fool me once, twice… but seventy-seven times is extravagant, absurd: it’s past counting. It’s almost as if… almost as much… as God has already forgiven us. Not you or me individually, guilty, but the whole human race, the whole creation, is in need of reconciliation that is beyond its own means to achieve. Anselm of Canterbury said only man must pay the price, but only God can do it. (Cur Deus Homo) So how often, how can we…? Only in the capacity of God’s grace, which is ever abundant and always new.

September 17, 2017.

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

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Genesis 50:15-21

Psalm 103:(1-7), 8-13

Romans 14:1-12

Matthew 18:21-35

Perfect Circle

This is the time of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Its opposite comes at Midwinter, just before Christmas. We follow the wheel of the year, from solstice to solstice: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30) The disc of the sun forms to our eyes a perfect circle - a picture of completion, of wholeness.

At the time of the summer solstice we celebrate the nativity of John the Baptist. John bears witness to the light. He prepares the way of the Lord, proclaims the way of peace. He proclaims the good news of the mercy of God to be embodied in Jesus Christ.

This is a season – as much as the winter solstice is – of the victory of the light of God. As Advent marks the fallow fields of winter, so this season marks the ripening for harvest – the harvest of the kingdom of peace, the gathering-in of the followers of the way of the Lord.

John baptizes the people, symbolizes their farewell to the old life and their welcome into the new way of being.

How are we to live this out? John himself focuses on practical matters. He told soldiers to be content with their pay and not force bribes from the poor. Let the one who has two cloaks, he said, give one to the person who has none at all. And a more radical departure from worldly norms was on its way with Jesus.

Six months before Jesus’ birth, his harbinger John appears. For the peoples of the earth summer has always been a time of fulfillment – here it becomes a time of promise. What is ripening?

On the Eve of the Nativity of St John the Baptist, the light of Christ is proclaimed at its zenith, six months before the Savior is born.

When I was in high school auto shop we had an old advertisement on the wall for Perfect Circle® piston rings. They began & ended at the same place. They were true – that is, they were not wobbly or warped or flawed. They were not, however, complete. To slip the ring onto the piston there is a little gap. You have to start somewhere. Then, when you are in place, you can do your job.

We can begin where we are, and we can start today. From here we can go on through the year, go on through the circle, the daily round, to a completion – that brings us back to the true starting point of all circles, the center.

Christ is the center: and yet he who was perfect was broken that we might be made whole. He made a gap through which we can enter – into the endless circle of divine life. It’s a perfect circle. And we are invited to take part.

Look at the Trinity icon, at the gazes of the three angels going around and around in a circle of hospitality and love. Theirs is a journey that is always complete, always beginning, always ending, always starting anew – and always welcoming us to join. The Trinity icon shows us the hospitality of God, giving rest to the traveler & strength to the weary, giving us all food for the journey.

a thin place at the altar

Notes for a sermon on The Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels
September 28, 2006 5:45 p.m., Trinity Cathedral Sacramento
Genesis 28:10-17, Psalm 103 or 103:19-22, Revelation 12:7-12, John 1:47-51


GENESIS: Jacob’s ladder represents a thin place – a boundary point between the material world and the world of the spirit. Indeed, Jacob declares the place of his dreamtime a sacred site: “none other than the house of God, and the gate of heaven”.

Angels – God’s messengers – ascend and descend upon the ladder, bridging heaven and earth. Angels who are aligned with God’s purposes are his messengers.

But like other created things, angels can be good and fallen and redeemed. Angels may also be described as principalities and powers – the spirits of institutions and of peoples. They are “the powers that be” (as Walter Wink calls them) – made by God, called by God to a purpose. The spirit of a nation is made for good, but it may turn away; many first century Christians and Jews experienced the empire of Rome as demonic.

REVELATION: Michael overthrows the adversary – the angels that are obedient to God’s call confront the angels that have misaligned themselves apart from God’s purpose. They are defeated; there is no strength in them. Eventually God will put all powers in subjection under his Christ, will rightly align them in harmony with Christ.

GOSPEL: As Jesus tells Nathanael, the guile-less true son of Israel (Jacob), the Son of Man himself forms the bridge – the thin place, the boundary point -- where the sacred and the ordinary coincide. Christ accomplishes this through the victory of the Cross: through his obedience, and through his sacrifice. And we encounter him; we will know him, in the breaking of the bread.

“The small round piece of Eucharistic bread is the point from which the whole creation emerges….‘The fires at the center of the earth, the sun above, all the divine essences and ecstasies come to this silence at last – a circle of bread, and a cup of wine on an altar.’

When we look at the bread of the Eucharist we are looking at the point of ‘everything that is made’ – God embracing everything that God has made.”

On this still, small, point is the turning of the world: created, redeemed, and made holy by God.

As we prepare to remember our Lord in the breaking of the bread, may the better angels of our nature, summon us to gather as God’s people, called together for his purpose. AMEN.

__________________
Walter Wink, The Powers That Be (Doubleday, 1998)
Donald Nicholl, The Testing of Hearts (Darton, Longman & Todd, 1998)
Timothy J. Joyce, Celtic Christianity (Orbis, 1998)
Abraham Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address