 Rev. Lisa McIlvenna |
Ash
Wednesday Homily
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Welcome to
Lent, a period often referred to as a season of individual
renewal. This time is marked by calls to repentance as we
recognize what wretched people we are, how much we have
sinned, and how we are in such need of forgiveness and
cleansing. During Lent, we may give up bad habits or
participate in other acts of self denial, or “take on” and
practice various spiritual disciplines. Traditionally,
Lent is a very somber season in many churches. The sanctuary
is dressed in deep purple. Hallelujahs are taken out of hymns.
Social celebrations are cancelled or at least curtailed. Our
focus turns to that of a crucified young man dying in agony
with blood dripping on a criminal’s cross. And we find a
heaviness and sadness in our heart, and perhaps tears in our
eyes, as we sing songs and reflect upon scriptures of
suffering, sacrifice, pain and death. Truth be told, there are
perhaps many of us who do not particularly like the season of
Lent, as its arrival provokes in us earlier childhood memories
of Lent that leave a bitter taste in our mouth. Let’s face
it, those who practice Ash Wednesday with the pressing of
ashes on our foreheads in the sign of a cross seem to mark the
beginning of a six-week funeral. But
I wonder if adorning ourselves in sackcloth and ashes,
admitting our wretchedness and giving up things in our life in
order to take up the cross and follow Jesus in a life of
self-sacrifice, is all Lent is about. As
I both read and study this text from the book of Joel, and
reflect upon another time when ashes are often spoken of in
the church—that time being at funerals when the pastor will
often place hands over the casket and say something like:
“This body we commit to the good earth beneath; dust to
dust, ashes to ashes”—I find myself wondering if we might
not often in our individual piety miss another equally
important understanding or invitation of Lent and its call to
repentance. Speaking
of funerals, perhaps you’ve heard the story about the woman
whose dog died. A member of a Methodist church came to her
pastor and said: “My dog died this morning and I want to
know if it’s all right to have a funeral for him. He was
just like a member of my family.” Taken
aback, the pastor said: “Yes, I suppose it would be
appropriate.” The
grieving woman asked: “Pastor, who do I get to conduct the
funeral?” Not
at all pleased with the thought of having a funeral for a dog,
the pastor answered: “I have a busy day tomorrow. Try the
Baptist minister; perhaps he can help you.” The
woman thanked her pastor and then added: “By the way, how
much should I pay the Baptist minister, $200 or $300?” The
pastor’s eyes lit up. He put his arm around her and said:
“My dear lady, why didn’t you tell me it was a Methodist
dog?” Was
the waffling pastor looking out for his own interests? Maybe.
Yet, even so, perhaps the pastor’s change of mind helps us
to better understand repentance as something more than being
sorry for and seeking forgiveness for our sinfulness. The word
repentance comes from the Greek meta (change) and nous
(mind). To repent is to change one’s mind; alter one’s
outlook; redirect one’s life. In
the passage from Joel, a devastating plague of locusts has
covered the land. In the midst of this, Joel cries out to the
people to “repent.” Almost immediately, our mind imagines
sack cloths, ashes and tear-stained sinners filled with
remorse, sorrow and regret, crying out in misery for God’s
mercy and forgiveness, for God to change his mind and stop the
punishment that has been brought upon them. Yet,
if we read Joel more carefully, we will discover that Joel
(unlike other prophets in the Old Testament) is not
prophetically condemning, criticizing or judging the people.
Neither is he reflecting God’s judgment. Rather, he is
seeking to comfort the people in their desolation. By the time
Joel arrives to speak with the people, they have already
become engaged in fasting, weeping and mourning. And Joel’s
words to the people, even after all of this, are to
“repent.” Joel’s call for the people to repent even
after they are already adorned in sack cloths and ashes and
fasting and weeping and mourning is a call to repent and rend
their hearts, not their clothing. It is a call to turn, to
refocus, to set their minds on a different path. What
is the turning he invites? Perhaps it is not so much a call to
turn away from, as much as it is a call to turn toward.
Perhaps not so much a call to give up or reject, but to
reclaim and embrace. Perhaps it is an invitation to remember
our interconnectedness and God’s desire for relationship,
rather than separation and alienation. When
we are able to do this kind of turning with our hearts, we are
perhaps more likely to experience Lent as the little boy who
overheard his father practicing his sermon in the pulpit on
Saturday evening. The small boy sat in the back of the church,
watching his father who was so serious in the church full of
empty pews. It struck him as funny and he started to laugh.
Hearing laughter, his father said: “Don’t you know that we
don’t laugh in church during Lent?” “Why?” “Because Lent is a time when we remember Jesus died for us.” “Is
Jesus dead?” “No
Jesus died, but he didn’t stay dead. He arose from the grave
and is living in you and me right now.” The
boy thought for a moment and replied: “I think… I think it
must have been the Jesus alive in me that made me laugh.” Because
Jesus lives in us, the laying on of ashes need not be only a
heavy reminder of our sinfulness, a reminder that we are dust
and to dust we shall return. Yes, but also a reminder that, as
each one of us is in the same place in God’s eyes—the
Hindu, Jew, Wall Street tycoon, homeless beggar, man, woman,
children, all badges of honor, all degrees of pedigrees—we
are all human with our human follies. Yet God created and
calls us not only “good,” but “children.” But more
importantly, the anointing of ashes can serve as a hopeful
reminder of God’s interconnectedness with us and our
interconnectedness with each other and our ability to find
healing, strength, peace, hope and justice through and in each
other if we are willing and able to trust in God’s healing
and abiding peace with us. So
as we prepare to receive the ashes and elements of communion
this Ash Wednesday, may it be an opportunity for us to
remember an interconnectedness with each other, to pray for
those relationships where we experience alienation,
bitterness, separation, prejudice or injustice, and commit
ourselves to the healing and transformation necessary in
ourselves for restored wholeness. May
we receive the symbols as a hopeful and joyful reminder to us
of God’s constant love and mercy and peace with us that
despite our waywardness, our sorrow, our hurt and our anger,
our hearts are always being invited home. May it be a time when we celebrate and remember the joy of Christ alive in us and ponder the difference this makes in our life as we balance the crosses of life.
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