Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts

Thursday, March 7, 2019

"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."




“Earth to earth.   Ashes to  ashes.   Dust to dust.
“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.“

            In much of the Protestant church, Ash Wednesday wasn’t really observed until the last thirty or forty years.   I do remember celebrating “Fasnacht Day,” the Pennsylvania-Dutch version of Carnival or Shrove Tuesday, or Pasczki Day. I experienced King cake for the first time a few years ago.
The Methodist Women of the church in which I grew up made mountains of fried doughnuts in the church basement to sell to raise money for mission, and I remember the fragrant deliciousness. Some of us have enjoyed Fat Tuesday pancake suppers. There are so many delicious ways to use up lard, butter, sugar, and other fats before the Lenten fast.
            The ancient Church in its wisdom worked out the rhythms of the Christian year. For many of us who didn’t grow up Catholic, Ash Wednesday was a new experience at some point.  Some congregations eased into holding an Ash Wednesday service that was centered in the Lord’s Supper, and maybe in another year or two or more also invited people to have ashes imposed if they wanted them.  Maybe the first year or two, a few people came forward for Ashes, and then another year more people wanted ashes.
I think the practice has been growing, as people have recognized that it’s a gift to be reminded of our mortality.  It helps to bring things into focus for us.

            Last week, as we grieved the loss of our brother Hank, we gave thanks for the gift of his life, and witnessed to our faith and hope in the Resurrection.  We were reminded, once again, that our days on earth are numbered.
            When we are reminded of our mortality, we remember that not only are we dust and that we will return to dust, but we remember those who have gone before us.
            On Ash Wednesday, we are reminded that repentance means turning away from our self and turning toward Jesus. We are that the Lenten journey isn’t just about giving up something, but also about standing up for someone, because our faith calls us to do so.
            The season of Lent can be a time for peeling away layers of insulation and anesthesia and denial that keep us from the truth of God’s promises. 
            Lent is about looking at our lives in as bright a light as possible—the light of Christ.  It is during this time of self-reflection and sacrificial giving and prayer that we make our way through the over busy-ness  and the messiness of our lives.  We let go of defending ourselves.  We let go of our self-loathing.  We cut through our arrogance and certainty and cynicism and ambivalence. 
            What’s so wonderful about Ash Wednesday and Lent is that through being marked with the cross and reminded of our own mortality, we grow further into the freedom for which God created us.  We’re reminded that the same God who created us from the very earth to which we will return delights in us and loves us in all our broken beauty. 
           
            In the season of Lent, we are invited to return to God with all our hearts…to remember that God is more amazingly gracious and merciful than we can imagine.  We are invited to remember who we are and whose we are. 
            Lent invites us into the paschal mystery—to renew our discipleship, our life in Christ.  The season invites us to live out our baptism—to turn away from sin and to turn to the abundant way of life God offers us through Jesus Christ.

            As we receive the ashes and hear the promise that you are dust and to dust you shall return, know that it is the truth.  Know  that this truth can set you free to live in the awareness  of our mortality and our beloved-ness… and let us turn to live our lives in the light of that truth and love.
            Amen!


Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan
March 6, 2019

Thursday, March 2, 2017

A Meditation on Ash Wednesday, from Littlefield Presbyterian Church


“Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.  
 Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.“

            Recently I got a Facebook message from someone who grew up Catholic, asking if we observe Ash Wednesday and have ashes.  That’s a good question.
            In much of the Protestant church, Ash Wednesday wasn’t really observed until the last thirty years or so.   For a lot of congregations, the imposition of ashes was a new thing.  But I think the practice has been growing, as people have recognized that it’s a gift to be reminded of our mortality.
            Thinking about this, I was reminded of an interview I heard with novelist Yan Martel.  In both The Life of Pi and his newest book, The High Mountains of Portugal, Martel explores faith, religion, and death and grieving, so the interviewer asked him about some of the influences in his life.  Martel mentioned that he has spent a lot of time volunteering in a palliative care unit, which has brought some things into focus for him. 
            That has a ring of truth for me and I imagine for those of you who have spent time in “walking people home.” 
            In her book Accidental Saints, Nadia Bolz-Weber reminds us  that “until the late nineteenth century, the front room in houses, called the parlor, was where one would receive guests, but it was also where the bodies of the dead would be laid out for visitation.              People used to die at home, at which point their loved ones would lovingly wash and prepare the body and lay it in the parlor.  Neighbors, friends, and family would come to see the body and perhaps stroke the hair or kiss the forehead of those who had gone to their rest.  Death was a part of life.  The advent of funeral parlors as businesses changed all that.[1]
            Nadia tells how she found herself doing a funeral, preaching about Jesus and suffering and love, a few days before Ash Wednesday a few years ago, and then going to the hospital on Ash Wednesday to visit new parents and their baby. 
            Nadia held baby Willa in her arms and thanked God for brand new life.  Then her parents asked for ashes.  For them and for baby Willa.    She pressed ever so gently into her forehead, onto this brand new skin that had only been exposed to air for a few precious hours and said that even she, full of beauty and hope and just hours from her mother’s womb, even she will return—return to dust and the very heart of God.
            And then, Nadia says, she knew.  She knew more than any other Ash Wednesday in her life, that the promises of baptism and funerals, the promises of birth and death are so totally wrapped up together.  For we come from God, and to God we shall go.  And that there is so much that gets in the way of that simple truth.   At times like funerals, we’re more aware that all that other stuff doesn’t matter any more. 
            Ash Wednesday and Lent aren’t about punishing ourselves for being human.  It’s about peeling away layers of insulation and anesthesia that keep us from the truth of God’s promises.  Lent is about looking at our lives in as bright a light as possible—the light of Christ.  It is during this time of self-reflection and sacrificial giving and prayer that we make our way through the over grown and tangled mess of our lives.  We let go of defending ourselves.  We let go of our self-loathing.  We cut through our arrogance and certainty and cynicism and ambivalence. 
            What’s so wonderful about Ash Wednesday and Lent is that through being marked with the cross and reminded of our own mortality, we are free.  We’re reminded that the God of our salvation, the same God who created us from the very earth to which we will return delights in the truth that you are God’s very own redeemed sinner, beloved, in all our broken beauty. 
            So, as we receive these ashes and hear the promise that you are dust and to dust you shall return, know that it is the truth, and that the truth will set you free.
            Thanks be to God!



Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan 
March 1, 2017



[1] Nadia Bolz-Weber, Accidental Saints: Finding God in All the Wrong People.  Convergent Books, 2015.