Sermon: Ash Wednesday (Feb. 10, 2016)

Ash Wednesday Sermon

February 10, 2016

  

            Today I, like I hope many of you, began my Lenten pilgrimage by walking a couple of miles – in the snow, yes! The snow was only light, and there wasn’t very much on the ground, so I put on my coat, boots, hat and scarf, and off I went.

While I walked, I tried my best to be intentional, as I have urged you all to do on your respective walks (I figure I’d better practice what I preach, right?). I did this by trying simply to notice things. I also tried to pray for people, and to reflect theologically on the experience. But most of all, I just tried to notice things. Already, this pilgrimage has taught me something, because even though I often walk in the morning, I usually listen to podcast, or think about my to-do list, instead of noticing the experience with quite so much intention.

And so, on this Ash Wednesday, I’d like to begin our communal journey by telling you just a little bit about how my Lenten pilgrimage is going so far, what I’ve learned, and how God is already working in it.

One of the first things I encountered today was… Facebook. I’m not terribly proud of this, and probably I should work on making my first action of the day be something different, but I’m not there quite yet. Baby steps, right? Today on Facebook, someone posted a picture of a paw print in the

snow that he wanted help identifying. I couldn’t identify the print, but I did identify something else: the snow had been moved aside in such a way that there was in the picture what resembled an ashen cross. And the words came to my mind: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

And with that, I also thought this: that this cross was, in its own way, a print – the print of Christ on us, the print I see on all your foreheads even now as I look out at you. It is the ash version of the cross that was put on your forehead in baptism, Christ’s mark on you. That cross is always there, of course, but on Ash Wednesday, we can really see it. Maybe, if we look, we can see Christ’s mark on more than our foreheads – even on Facebook. Lesson 1: Seek the mark of Jesus everywhere you look.

But thinking still about our ash crossed foreheads – what does it mean to have a dusty cross so prominently on your forehead? I watched a video recently that talked about how in Jesus’ time, students would become disciples of a rabbi, and they would then follow that rabbi everywhere, watching and learning his ways. It was a common blessing to say, “May you be covered in the dust of your rabbi.” In other words, may you follow so closely behind your rabbi, that the dust from his feet ends up all over you, all over your face. Seemed like a good lesson for our journey, as well. Tonight, we are all covered in the dust of our rabbi, Jesus; may that remain the case. Lesson 2: Follow Jesus so closely – during Lent and beyond – that you are covered in his dust.

After I finished checking Facebook and email, I bundled up to go for my walk. As I ventured out into the lightly snow-covered sidewalks, I kept in mind a few of the guidelines I have heard suggested for this time of pilgrimage. The first was: Be attentive to your body. I started with my feet,

and worked up. As I took inventory of my body, I noticed that my hip was a bit sore. If I’m being honest, my hips are often a bit sore, and I’ve just stopped noticing it. It’s become a part of my daily backdrop. But now, another lesson emerged: notice the pain.

On Sunday, I will officially invite you to name for yourself what wilderness you find yourself in right now, and what Promised Land you seek. I hope that will focus your journey, but be warned: finding your way from wilderness to promise is not always a smooth road. In our Daily Bible reading just today, in fact, we read about some of the 40 years the Israelites spent wandering in the wilderness, and found that it was time marked by anger, rebellion, discouragement, and complaining. The wandering Israelites were not happy campers – because being stuck somewhere you don’t want to be is never very much fun!

As we consider for ourselves how we will emerge from our various wildernesses, I don’t expect that will be a pain-free process, either. Because often, to get our hearts from one place to another, it requires taking a good hard look in the mirror, facing difficult realities, and then figuring out how to change. The Ash Wednesday liturgy always begins with an extended time of confession, which is meant to serve as that mirror. It is a chance to look at our hearts and spirits, see where they might need to be “created clean” and “renewed” (in the words of Psalm 51), and consider how that might happen. It is not easy. Sometimes it hurts. My hip pain this morning was a very pointed reminder for me that change and transformation is not without pain. But that is no reason to unpack my bags and stay home. So I walked on. And you know what? Eventually, as my joints woke up and blood started flowing, the pain decreased somewhat. (I know that's not always the case with physical pain - please walk carefully! That was just the case for me this morning.) So, Lesson 3: Our journey

will not be without its share of pain and discomfort. It’s okay. Keep going.

As my walk continued this morning, I became very aware of and even enamored by the assortment of footprints I came across. Big ones, small ones; some facing slightly outward, some parallel; some in a straight line, some meandering; some accompanied by pet prints, some already snowed over, even some shaped like fish, swimming down the sidewalk. I hadn’t a clue to whom any of them belonged, but I found comfort in recognizing that I wasn’t the only one out walking in the snow this morning. I felt like I was walking with all the owners of these prints. I felt very much like I was a part of a community. And here was Lesson 4: we’re not in this alone.

The lesson came from the assortment of my neighbors’ prints, but of course that lesson is much broader than the people in my neighborhood. The most important lesson, the most important

promise, to hold onto as we embark on this Lenten pilgrimage, is that Jesus walks this way with us. As we dig deep into our hearts and prepare ourselves for what might be painful change, as we recognize our own mortality in those words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” as we seek to find re-creation and renewal for our tired, sin-filled hearts, we also come more deeply into the knowledge of who we are, and whose we are. We will ask difficult questions, practice regular self-reflection, read and hear the Word of God, pray, do good works for others, fast from self-indulgence, and through all of that we can touch that invisible cross on our foreheads and know that the One who came, who comes, and who will come again, walks with us. That is the promise we can carry with us on this pilgrimage, as we make our way to the cross, and finally, to the assurance of new and eternal life.
            Let us pray…  Emmanuel, God-with-us, we begin this day on a pilgrimage, on which we seek to find your promises in our lives. Each step of the journey will bring its own joys and challenges: help us to be grateful for both. Each turn will bring surprises, good or bad: help us receive each with grace. Each day we may encounter ease or difficulty: help us trust, either way, in your abiding presence with us. Help us to go out in good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us, and your love supporting us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.