Not To Be Forgotten

Four days ago I quietly celebrated the Annunciation, that day when nine months before Christmas the Angel Gabrielle came to deliver the astonishing news that Mary would bear God into this world. With only three-fourths of a year left to shop for the big day I am sure you have already completed all your purchases. I myself am already beginning to think about what Christmas movies I want to watch to get into the spirit of the season.

Number one on my favorite Christmas movie list is It’s A Wonderful Life, which I have to watch for Christmas to happen. Several other films crowd the list for the second spot behind that classic starring Jimmy Stewart. One very much in contention is Home Alone, the movie in which Kevin McAlister gets left at home by his family, while they travel to France. As Lauren Salerno pointed out in her Lenten meditation last week, this story carries some similarities to when Jesus was left at the Temple by his parents. I was never left alone anywhere by my parents for any significant length of time—at least to my knowledge, maybe I blocked it out. Still Home Alone, Jesus’ being left at the Temple, and today’s Old Testament reading from Isaiah all bring me to feeling the pain of being left or lost.

Perhaps it is not a vacation without you, or Mary and Joseph neglecting Jesus, or a nursing mother forgetting her child, but I bet all of us have felt the sting of abandonment. Your best friend not calling on your birthday, a spouse forgetting your anniversary, or even feeling as though your number will never be called at the DMV, these are just a few of the multitude of examples that could very well leave you feeling abandoned. When I think of moments like these from my own life I cannot help but feel a great pain in my heart—in particular a couple of moments can still cause a saline substance to well up in my eyes.

During those times I recall looking up to the skies as though I were expecting to make out God’s face in the clouds or writ large in the starry night sky. I wondered where the Almighty was hiding. Why wouldn’t he show up, so that I could scream at Him face-to-face? Crying and screaming at God I felt acrimony, heartbreak, and fury all wrapped together. I shouted to the heavens, “How could it be in a moment of such pain that you abandoned me? How can a loving God leave me alone to suffer? Where are you when such pain washes over me that I think that I will surely drown?” It did not matter that many of my wounds were self-inflicted or revolved around illogical choices I had a hand in making, what mattered was that I felt abandoned.

After I exhausted my supply of tears, once I had worn myself out with screaming upward, at the end of my yelling in the strange quiet that followed, I found myself somewhere new. I discovered a pasture on the bare heights—maybe it was not immediately, but in the aftermath I would happen upon it. I learned that even in my anger God had not struck me down with a scorched wind. In those bitter moments I saw that God had not left me. Instead, God stood with me silently, patiently waiting, while I grieved the most intense losses of my life God was the invisible shoulder on which I wept. As Isaiah put it, “The Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones.”

During this season of Lent we call to mind the intense pain that Jesus experienced in trials, temptations, and torture. Our Incarnate God was intimately familiar with grief and trouble. There were times when even he felt alone and abandoned—in the garden and on the cross. While it might bring us some solace that Jesus knows what we experienced, what is more fitting for me to remember is that as God experienced the pain of humanity even those moments of isolation were made holy.

As we journey towards the horizon of Holy Week, and as we experience moments of pain in our own lives, when it feels as though we are completely alone, may we remember that our God stands united with us always. Whether we feel God’s presence or not, God always stands with us, weeps with us, is with us. Though we may want to say, “The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me,” God not only knows us, but through Christ God goes with us through times of suffering. God shall make the mountain paths walk-able, give us food for the wilderness, and lead us by springs of water, for he never forgets us even if all else abandon us, to God we are not to be forgotten.

Signs and Sinning

On Sunday we will hear the lengthy story of Jesus controversially healing a man born blind… on the Sabbath duh duh DUHHHHH!!! After Jesus has given sight to the man via a kind of Siloam spa mud treatment, the Pharisees get their fringes in a wad. Perhaps their frustration stems from the fact that Jesus’ healing work happened on a Saturday—the day of rest in the Jewish culture. BUT, what if these religious leaders were not really concerned with the day of the week or the sign itself? What if something else got in the way of them seeing God’s presence in Jesus’ work?

If one searches throughout John’s telling of the Good News one will not find mention of miracles, instead the Fourth Gospel refers to these profound acts as signs. Signs point in a direction. Signs show where to go. Signs are not themselves the destination, rather they lead to the end. Most signs on roadways, in stores, or guarding property do not care whether it is Tuesday or Sunday. They keep on working no matter the day of the week. Still, the Pharisees made a legitimate argument, Jesus had showed God’s healing power in this world on a day of the week restricted to resting.

Resting is a funny word though. Rest means something more than just doing nothing. Rest points to another word... restoration. Restoration has to do with healing and making one whole. In the first creation story in Genesis, God participated in a time of restoration once God manifested the whole of Creation, which signifies to humans a deep truth about the need for a time set aside to be made whole, just like the Creator. However, if someone has spent every day of his life wanting to be able to see, but lacking sight could he ever feel like he was whole? When something nags at me that I want to change I know I can feel restless. Jesus giving sight to the man born blind made him whole in a new way and fit in with the goal of Sabbath. Jesus' sign pointed to the deeper end of restoration and making all things fully restored. The Pharisees could not see it though, they were indeed blind, though not all of them.

Not all the Pharisees thought what Jesus did was abhorrent. In fact, the text for Sunday expresses, “They were divided.” Some believed that he was not from God because he ignored the traditional Sabbath practice of doing no work. Others though, wondered, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” This theological argument of the Pharisees raises a tricky question: Can only holy people perform signs of God?

The newly sighted man put it another way later in the story, “We know that God does not listen to sinners.” So that seems to be it, then. God only listens to people who listen to God and who do His will. End of story...

And yet, is that true? Does your own experience of God point to that? Does the rest of Holy Scripture even hold this up? If we answer yes to these questions, God may feel truly lonely up in heaven. As I put it when we read this passage in our staff meeting yesterday, God may be upstairs vacuuming with headphones in if this is the case. (Ann Stewart, our communications director added: Is the vacuum a Dirt Devil?) I cannot imagine a God who does not hear the earnest cry of a downtrodden, penitent sinner!

Maybe your theology, your experience, and your reading of Scripture differ from my own, but even in this story Jesus seems to stamp out the concept that God only listens to the sinless among us (whoever those people may be). “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s work might be revealed in him.” Some will avoid this loaded statement at all costs, but it helps me to see to what Christ Jesus came to point. Christ came to direct us towards and lead us into healing, restoration, and reconciliation. Those things we think of as problems in truth may very well be opportunities that exist, so that God may work in us. God provides us with signs that point us towards new ways of seeing, being healed, and living in Christ. Are we willing to look at them or will we be spiritually blind and miss them altogether?

Craws, Forgiveness, and Rat Poison

Most clichés or axioms make sense to me, and they probably do to you as well. “Barking up the wrong tree” means what it says, right? A hunting dog has mistaken where its prey currently resides. “Best thing since sliced bread” doesn’t take much for us to understand, correct? If you have ever purchased unsliced bread you know the greatness of being able to grab a piece without getting out a knife and cutting board. For something new in one’s life to be as good as that great invention means a lot. However, there is one adage that I get, but until today I did not fully understand.

“Wow! That really stuck in my craw.” I do not remember the first time I heard this phrase, but it has always stayed with me. This in and of itself is somewhat ironic because this idiom means something that we cannot get over easily. Of course, like all good expressions there is something fascinating behind it.

Robert Hendrickson wrote about the phrase “stuck in my craw” in the Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins.  The craw, as you may already know is that first stomach of a bird where predigestion happens. However, as Hendrickson put it, “Hunters centuries ago noticed that some birds swallowed bits of stone that were too large to pass through the craw and into the digestive tract. These stones, unlike the sand and pebbles needed by birds to help grind food in the pouch, literally stuck in the craw, couldn't go down any farther. This oddity became part of the language of hunters and the phrase was soon used figuratively."[1] So, now that we know the root of this phrase, what is it that sticks in your craw? What is it that you cannot easily digest? What do you have a hard time forgiving someone else of doing to you or to others?

Intoday’s Gospel reading we heard something very challenging for those of us who like to hold grudges. The way that we forgive others is the same way we will be forgiven. Jesus’ parable about the indebted servant really sticks in my craw, not because it annoys me, but because it stops me in my tracks. If I keep holding on to something that someone has done against me, if I am focusing on those sins committed against me, then I am forgetting the truth that God forgives me of a much greater debt that I myself have committed. Having to continue to digest this story, though may be a continuing blessing in my life and our lives.

Every time we gather together we can quite easily call to mind the story of the ungrateful servant. For at each service we pray together the Lord’s Prayer. In that prayer we utter the line, “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” Jesus both in this prayer and in today’s parable links together our forgiven-ness and our ability to forgive others. Of course, God forgives us first, but if we live in a state of holding something against others we are intentionally stunting God’s graciousness. We are living as stagnant water instead of living waters. We are plugging up God’s grace from flowing totally through us.

You may also know of another colorful expression that deals with this subject of forgiving others as we are forgiven. The noted author Ann Lamott in the book Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, wrote, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.” Something awful happens when we do not do the hard work of seeking to reconcile relationships with those who hurt us. Like the servant in today’s story, when we do not release the debts we hold against others, we bring this wound upon ourselves. As difficult as it can be to forgive those who hurt us, we must remember the abundant grace that God gifts us in saying we are forgiven of our sins.

All this being said, forgiving those who have truly harmed you may stick in your craw. Jesus though calls attention to this in today’s parable. After the one servant—who had been forgiven 10,000 talents, which if earning minimum wage would take someone roughly 20,000 years to make—came to his fellow servant—who owed him 100 denarii, which would take roughly a third of a year to earn—the second servant did not expect his debt to be forgiven. In fact, he pleaded with him saying, “Have Patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” Forgiveness as Jesus exemplified in this parable does not mean not remembering what one did to incur this debt, but rather to recall how much greater God’s forgiveness has been with us, and to act accordingly as others seek forgiveness with us.

The longer we continue to swallow the rat poison the longer we will feel toxic ourselves. Forgiveness does not always come easily. What people do may very well stick in our craws. However, we are called to know that God forgives us first and more abundantly than we deserve in 2,000 lifetimes! As we trust in the way that Jesus shows us may we continue to pray, “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

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[1] Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997).

Mirrors

Walter Wangerin, the noted author once wrote, “In mirrors I see myself. But in mirrors made of glass and silver I never see the whole of myself. I see the me I want to see, and I ignore the rest. Mirrors that hide nothing hurt me. They reveal an ugliness I’d rather deny… Avoid these mirror of veracity!”[1] Perhaps you have no trouble seeing the mirrors that do not hold back the truth: A friend who cuts through the small talk to say how you have hurt him; a spouse who does not obscure how you have let her down; or even strangers who show you the painful truth when they do not hold their tongues as you discount their very existence. “Can’t I just ignore the honest mirrors that cause me to see my flawed, authentic self?” Not if you are going to follow in the way that Jesus leads.

Last week the Gospel lesson revealed the story of Nicodemus night-time wanderings. The trained religious leader sought answers from the upstart teacher. As the Pharisee pressed for them he only heard literal responses. In the dimly lit encounter, the teacher of Israel struggled to receive the light Jesus shone. At least in that moment all Nicodemus could say was, “How can these things be?” He had a hard time looking in the mirror.

Today, we heard about a woman who approached Jesus in broad daylight. She sought sustenance from an old well. At first, in the murky, stagnant water she too only saw and heard literal words Jesus spoke, for he had no bucket. How could he promise living waters? But, her thirst persisted, as she kept wondering what was in the reflection.

In every way she was the opposite of Jesus’ last conversational partner. She was an outsider of the Faith being a despised Samaritan. She was a she and not a he. She had no power, privilege, or education of which we know. She had no status as an unmarried woman. Even more, she had been married many times before. Perhaps this is why she came in the middle of the day to the well instead of during the rush of early morning or late afternoon. She must have felt shame. However, as Jesus reflected these truths back to her, she did not hide from any one of them. She did not turn back, nor did it take days or weeks or months for the truth to dawn upon her like it would for Nicodemus. Instead, she continued to gaze into the ultimate mirror where the truth was reflected, even if her every scar would be revealed.

Bare and exposed she was not embarrassed, instead she was enlivened.

As she dug deeper into the conversation the living water began to gush and spring and flow from everywhere. No longer did she feel like she was someone defined by her mistakes. No, instead she was being born of the spirit and of the truth, as she was baptized by the source of living water. She left her jar at the well—a sign that literal water no longer could satisfy her thirst. As she left she knew that this mirror had shown her who she truly was. Reborn she went to her people to ask them a question, which sounded just like Nicodemus’ words and yet, they were not the same—to be honest neither was she Jesus had changed everything in this encounter. She wondered aloud, “He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

Samaritans only held up the first five books of the Torah as their Holy Scripture. Without the prophets they would not have been looking for the coming of the Christ. Somehow the woman’s question piqued the peoples’ interest in the Messiah enough that they came and looked for reality. Upon reflecting they discovered the truth and pronounced something that no one else would say throughout all of John’s Gospel account, “This is truly the Savior of the world.”

Nicodemus had heard that God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have everlasting life, and this unnamed evangelist had been the one to share this Good News so that part of the world would know this love. She had no business being a herald of Good News. After multiple marriages, public scorn, pain, and isolation she was unfit for this work, but an unquenchable thirstiness lead her to hiding in broad daylight at a familiar place, the well of her ancestor Jacob. What she discovered there is the same thing we hear in today’s collect, “We have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.” She had no power to help herself. And yet, when we make that realization everything changes.

We may tell ourselves if I just get this accomplished, then I will be okay. If I get the promotion, then everything will be alright. If the market keeps going it’ll all be fine. If I get everything right, then people will love me. We have no power in ourselves to help ourselves. We can’t earn God’s grace. This is clearly reflected in how Jesus responded to the woman at the well. God loves us first.

Christ Jesus shines as the ultimate mirror—truly showing us who God made us to be. When he encountered the Samaritan woman she could see who she truly was—not a woman with baggage, not a series of scandals, not just a descendent of Jacob, but a beloved worshipper filled with God’s spirit and truth. Christ makes our real selves known to us too! Although we often have trouble looking into those mirrors. Christ casts truth telling reflections all around us—in people who reflect our flawed, authentic selves. As much as you may want to look away from the honest mirrors, do not. Seeing who we are can be difficult and painful, and still that is how we live in Spirit and Truth drinking the living water.

Christ Jesus shows us who we are. It is not easy to see our true selves, for we crave to see only our good parts, as we think we have power to save ourselves. Just as he invited the Samaritan woman not just to see her reflection in the living water, but also to drink and never thirst again, so he calls us to gulp deeply. He knows our whole selves, even our flaws and sins. In the face of this he reveals his true nature of always loving and always forgiving. Come and see Jesus who has shown me everything I have ever done. He cannot be the Messiah, can he?

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[1] Wangerin, Walter. "In Mirrors." In Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter, 11. Maryknoll, NY: Plough Publishing, 2008.

Triangles

I have a few friends who are teachers. They inspire me in many ways. For nine months out of the year they work longer hours than many, for less pay than most, and without the resources they desire or deserve. Yes, there is the joy felt during summer and winter breaks, but educators have to deal with a lot when school is in session. Perhaps the thing that most terrified me and kept me from wanting to be a teacher was the trend of helicopter parents.

If you blinked or did not pay attention during today’s Gospel lesson you might have missed the matron saint of helicopter parents, the mother of the sons of Zebedee. Mrs. Z--let's call her--did her very best to swoop in to ensure that her little babies James and John were going to get the very best that they deserved. In the process she created quite a tense situation between the other disciples and these two brothers. Additionally, she did her very best to make things awkward for Jesus himself.

Not to get too complicated or focused on jargon, but this is a classic case of what is therapeutically called “triangulation.” Now triangulation is when an issue or person, which is referred to as an identified patient creates anxiety or stress such that people who are usually on the same side end up on different points on a triangle with the patient in between. A common example is when a child asks mom to go to the movies and when she says no the child heads over to dad to see if he is on the same team as mom or is he the weak link?

Jesus’ response in today’s Gospel perfectly exemplifies how we might go about challenging these tricky triangulating moments in our own lives. Notice what happens in the story. Mrs. Z approaches Jesus with a request, like any good helicopter parent. She asks that her two sons get the places of honor in his kingdom, just like a mom might try to get her son’s C plus bumped up to a B minus. Jesus does not let this issue come between his disciples and himself. In fact, he does not reply to the mother, but instead he speaks directly to the sons breaking the triangle altogether. As the disciples proclaim that they can drink the cup that Jesus will drink, the triangulation shifts.

On one side of this quarrel are James and John and on the other are the rest of the disciples with Jesus’ decision causing a rift in this movement. Instead of letting it fester even for a moment, Jesus masterfully turns their conversation on its head to ensure that his followers understand what greatness truly looks like. He cuts through the triangle to be in relationship with all. Jesus wants this type of relationship with us too.

Lent is the perfect time to examine our own relationships with others. Are we loving things and using people, instead of the other way around? Are we coveting what others have and allowing that anxiety to create distance between our neighbors and us? Do we allow lust to creep into our hearts such that we distort how we see spouse, friend, or neighbor? Is it possible that a difference of opinion has sprouted into anger such that we can no longer be in relationship with someone else? All of these triangles can so easily exist in our lives. Jesus, though bids us to cut through these disconnections.

It will not be so with you. Do not allow greed, anger, lust, or other sins to build walls between us. Instead, look for ways to serve others. For when we lay down our lives for others something powerful happens. Chiefly it puts us in contact with the full life that Christ yearns for us to also live, but practically speaking when we serve others, when we become vulnerable something transformative happens. When one voluntarily gives away one’s power to serve another the relationship between the two changes. It is much harder to be mad at someone who humbly serves.

When you feel like you are being surrounded by helicopter parents, overly-involved citizens, and those who are obsessed with greed, lust, anger, or some other sin, seek ways to serve that person. It is not easy, but it will break the triangles that exist. And, more importantly it will fill you with the love of Christ and help others to know the Good News of Jesus all the more!

Across the Great Divide

When did it happen to you? When in your life did you feel like you were crossing some great divide whether geographical, cultural, or otherwise? I am certain there were lots of other moments when I felt a huge influx of energy as I crossed over into something that was different from my everyday life, but the one that first pops into my head today happened when I was in middle school.

My friend, D.G. Pantazis and I had been buddies since the second grade, maybe even longer. We were in the same elementary class. We played soccer together. We spent the night at each other’s houses. I loved hanging out with his family. They were tight knit, hospitable, warm, and affectionate. To me they seemed just like any other healthy family that I knew. That was until D.G. invited me to work at his church one weekend in the fall of sixth or seventh grade.

The Pantazis family attended the Greek Orthodox Church in Birmingham, and D.G. had asked me to help volunteer during their huge Greek Food Festival. While I had said yes, at first, I was a little hesitant. I did not know my way around the church, nor did I know anyone except D.G., nor did I know exactly how I could be of help, and so I felt like a stranger in a strange place. Then, as I crossed over this imaginary threshold, which I had created in my mind, I moved from being a tag-a-long to being a ready and willing helper. It was during this transition that I noticed that I was embraced, supported, and perhaps most importantly well-fed! I very easily trace my love of Greek food to that weekend, but more than that I hold onto this memory as a time when despite some noticeable cultural differences I was welcomed and included as part of the Body of Christ.

This Sunday we will hear the story of Jesus sitting at a well with a Samaritan woman. Jesus knew far more about crossing boundaries than I do and especially more than I did back in Junior High. In this encounter alone, he traversed many boundaries. Jews were not supposed to hold things in common with Samaritans. Married (or at least coupled) women were not allowed to talk with single men. A righteous religious person was not to congregate with someone who was scandalous enough that she had to go get water at an odd hour to avoid scorn from others. Of course, in Jesus we see that God is quite often willing to cross big boundaries, like the human-divine line. Jesus did not regard these boundaries as barriers to cease conversation. In fact, even as his disciples questioned what he was doing Jesus broke down the walls of separation inspiring this woman to become an evangelist who would bring new people to believe in the Savior of the world. In this way, Jesus showed us just how far God will come to meet us.

Our Savior will cross any gulf we attempt to create to show us that we are loved. No sin, no creed, no culture, no race, no religion, no gender, no sexual identity, nothing, not even death will barricade Christ Jesus from beholding us as His beloved. This was evident when Jesus sat down at a well with a scandalous woman, it was evident when a friend invited me to be loved as an “other” at his church, and we as followers of Jesus are challenged to make this evident today. What barriers can we cross to love others? Christ collapses the impossible gulfs in our lives, how can we follow that example to cross our great divides? How will you show the other that she or he is loved?

Learning to Pray

This weekend I had the pleasure of serving as one of the Spiritual Directors for Happening #70 right here at St. John’s. If you were here at all over the weekend, even on Sunday morning, it was hard to miss this spiritual retreat for high-school-aged adolescents. In many ways there are similarities between Happening and Cursillo: energy-filled songs of praise, inspired Faith talks, and lots of surprises along the way. Of course, at Happening there are a lot more pixie sticks consumed. In the midst of the weekend, one of the talks, which focused on Piety, stood out to me.

A high school student named Spencer gave this talk in which she broke down the Lord’s Prayer line-by-line. In this way, she breathed new life into something that we so often hear and say in church. Today, I think we would benefit from taking a step back to ponder anew the way in which Jesus teaches his disciples and us to pray in this lesson from Matthew.

Our teacher starts by saying, “Pray then in this way,” as in when we gather together or when you are praying alone this shall serve as the template for your prayer. You may know this already, but in every Episcopal service we say the Lord’s Prayer. Every service from Baptism to Eucharist, the Daily Office to Individual Devotions, every service all the way through Burial includes this prayer.

Jesus begins this supplication with “Our Father in heaven,” which has become so customary to us, but sounds pretty strange if we think about it further. Father is an intimate term, as in close in proximity and relationship; however, in heaven connotes one who exists in the beyond. Right from the start Jesus addresses God in a paradoxical way, God both immediate and transcendent at the same time!

The descriptor Jesus next uses for our Father in heaven is “hallowed be your name.” Hallowed means holy, set apart, or sacred. We are to set God’s name apart as one that we revere, take serious, and glorify. Often, though when we set something apart we create a perceived distance, but Jesus immediately guards against this speaking the next line.

“Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” God who we set apart as sacred, transcendent, and beyond us does not desire to live in holy isolation. In fact, that stands as antithetical to what Jesus says here. God’s kingdom is to come, God’s will is to be done, on earth, just like it is in heaven. God, then does not exist off as a watchmaker who wound creation long ago, but as an intimate parent whose presence, action, and will exist in this realm as they do in the one that we hope will come.

Prayer though does not only exist so that we might ponder high and lofty aspects of God’s existence, for Jesus’ next words stand out as so practical, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Here a connection exists between the Holy Father and our sustenance as human beings, not just in our bodies only, but in our minds, hearts, and souls too. Without God we do not survive. God creates everything, every second, throughout all time! From aspects of basic survival we move into the more relational parts of existence.

Jesus then prays, “And forgive us our debts,” which would be a powerful enough plea to ask of God; however, he follows it saying, “As we also have forgiven our debtors.” An association persists between our forgiven-ness and our forgiving of others. In Matthew’s version of this prayer Jesus hammers home this point at the end, “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” The flow of forgiveness stops when we hold something against another. God will always forgive us; however, when we do not relinquish the debts we hold against others we miss the fullness of God’s grace, which amplifies as we share it with others!

Jesus’ prayer continues, “And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one.” For some time I struggled with this line, as I love to look for the good in the world; however, evil exists. Our lives are full of moments of trial in which we have many choices that range from the ultimate good to the totally evil. Jesus establishes for us the path to live into our created goodness by relying upon the Father, praying for his assistance always, but especially in those dire moments. Evil will not overcome the good, for Christ came, comes, and will continue to come to aid us in moments of need. This prayer ends by urging the person praying to lean on God when one is not strong.

We might pray this prayer a little differently in light of these observations. Perhaps it could sound like this:
Our transcendent, yet intimate Father (or Mother),
Your name is set apart as holy.
Let your kingdom be here now,
As it is in the eternal realm.
Feed us today: spiritually, emotionally, and mentally as well as physically.
Help us to forgive others, as we pray you forgive us
Through your loving grace.
Please do not allow us to fall into evil
In moments of trial and temptation,
Instead, help us to rely fully upon you and your way.
The control, all authority, and any honor are yours, not ours.*
Amen.

Let us continue to pray to Our Father throughout these forty days and beyond!

*The last line is sort of a summation that the Church added after Jesus died.

Crosses on Your Forehead

What do a cross of Chrism and one of ash have in common?

If we could not wash off the Holy water and Chrism oil from Baptism, nor the ashes from today’s liturgy we would notice that we have multiple crosses in precisely the same location on our brows. An almost invisible strand ties together today’s penitential rite and the Christian entry rite. Surprisingly, the service of Holy Baptism begins only 29 pages after the conclusion of the Ash Wednesday service; somehow though, the two feel farther and further apart than that. What binds together these crosses on our foreheads? What ties together the one made of ash and the one marked with oil?

In a few moments, you will be invited to observe a Holy Lent, and then anyone who wishes will come forward. You will be reminded that you are dust and to dust you shall return, and at that same moment burnt up branches from Palm Sundays past will be shaped into the form of a cross on your forehead. In this way, one year’s journey to the Cross fades into the next. And, for many ages Lent, which comes from a word meaning spring, has served as a time when converts blossom into full-fledge members of Christ’s Body. On one side of Lent the ashen cross and on the other at the Great Celebration of Easter the cross of oil, in between was the final formation before the church recognized one as a Christian. Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Holy Baptism, thus have been inextricably linked together, as a time of growth. And yet, is that all this season is about: personal progress?

Lent, if approached haphazardly, shifts into a short-lived season of discipline used for our own purposes of self-importance. When we make Lent a six-week season of “doing good, rather than building a Lent that becomes a life” we miss the mark.[1] As all of us, the novices and the elders alike, begin to walk the Lenten way of the Cross, we would do well to remember that Jesus’ public ministry began not with forty days of piety or self-discipline, but first within the deep, brooding waters of Baptism—waters that call to mind the depths over which God first moved to create. As there is only one Baptism, once baptized we do not enter these waters again, but Lent does allow us to be refreshed and renewed, as we repent and return to God. As we turn to God in this penitential season we may very well see the hidden feature tying Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Baptism together in an unexpected place. For these occasions are as much about death—that is turning away—as they are about new life. Somehow though, death does not play well in our culture.

Death tends to be a topic of which we steer clear at polite social gatherings. We, as a country, are so uncomfortable with death that we spend approximately $20.7 billion a year, so that those in the funeral home industry can deal with death for us.[2] Even though death comes for us all, we attempt to evade it through plans, schemes, and regimes to stay young forever. All of us go down to the dust, and much as we may want to ignore this truth, Ash Wednesday gives us an opportunity to stare death in the face, just like during Holy Baptism. Today we do not dwell morosely on our mortality, but instead as we feel the cross marked on our brows we can realize again the overwhelming reality that even in death we are Christ’s own forever.

When children, youth, and adults are marked in Baptism we tend to focus solely on the new life, but without the often overlooked death that precedes it this rite makes no sense. In Baptism we die, plain and simple. Our individualistic ways are called to cease, as God draws us up into the corporate identity of Christ. We are not just marked as Christ’s own forever, but we become part of the Body by dying to the self. As the Rev. Dr. Will Willimon puts it:

         

The chief biblical analogy for baptism is not the water that washes but the flood that drowns. Discipleship is more than turning over a new leaf. It is more fitful and disorderly than gradual moral formation. Nothing less than daily, often painful, lifelong death will do. So Paul seems to know not whether to call what happened to him on the Damascus Road “birth” or “death”—it felt like both at the same time.[3]

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A Lent following Jesus, not to mention a life following him, cannot be about making ourselves feel good because we do some new discipline or fast for a few weeks each springtime. Jesus, himself makes this clear in the culmination of his Sermon on the Mount, which we hear today. If our reward is based on impressing others because we are merciful, prayerful, or fasting, we are missing the point. Even if we are doing some great spiritual discipline off by our lonesome, if we are doing it for our own benefit, we are missing the point. “What reward are you seeking?” Jesus seems to ask, “An earthly one for your own benefit or a heavenly one that draws you ever closer to God?” Put another way, “Do not be holy because it is what the world expects of you [or even what you think is required of yourself]; rather, learn to live holy lives because a closer relationship to the God who sees in secret will be reward enough.”[4] Die to self, so that Christ may live!

Today, Christ calls us not to immortal greatness, but to ponder our mortal smallness. Remember that not only will we one day die, but also that we have already died in Baptism. The death we die in Baptism brings us into a new life—a life no longer focused on doing new things to prove ourselves worthy to others, to ourselves, or to God. This is Good News! In Lent, then we are free to explore how we may see God living and breathing anew within us.

Churches traditionally sing “Just As I Am” when they baptize folks. It’s a fantastic song, but I am partial to a line Presiding Bishop Michael Curry borrowed from Max Lucado, “God loves us where we are, but God does not intend to leave us where we are.” When we die to ourselves, not just in Lent, but throughout our lives, we experience the transforming power of God’s love. This may happen by getting rid of something that distracts us from seeing God who resides closer to us than our own heartbeat. This may happen by taking on something that focuses us on God who knows us in secret. This Lent, as your brow is marked by a cross of ash remember the other cross marked when you died in Baptism, so that Christ could live within you.

Lent is when new life abounds, for we turn away from a society obsessed with outrunning death and towards the living God who calls us to die to self, so that Christ lives. Lent is when we become less, so that Christ may become all. Let Lent permeate beyond the next 40 days. May we embrace God’s call to turn towards the Lenten path, the Cross, and those Baptismal waters where death and new life meet. May we remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return, so that we may embrace our eternal God.  May we have a holy Lent filled with God’s transforming love that meets us where we are, but brings us into the ultimate life of God.

[1] Anschutz, Maryetta. "Ash Wednesday: Pastoral Perspective." In Feasting on the Word, edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, 20. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2010.

[2] Public Broadcast Service. Homegoings: The Economics of Funerals. June 24, 2013. http://www.pbs.org/pov/homegoings/economics-of-the-funeral-industry/ (accessed February 20, 2017).

[3] Willimon, William. "Repent." In Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter, 9. Walden, NY: Plough Publishing, 2003.

[4] Anschutz, Maryetta. "Ash Wednesday: Pastoral Perspective." In Feasting on the Word, edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, 20. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2010.