Ash Wednesday Meditation

Lanny Peters

Pastor, Oakhurst Baptist Church

February 25, 2004

 Back in early December, the season of Advent began with an angel announcing the arrival of two babies, one to an old couple and the other to a young girl. The young girl, Mary, said yes to being God’s co-creator in an amazing new way. During the joyous Christmas season, the old prophet Simeon struck an ominous note when Jesus’ parents brought him for his dedication in the Temple. Simon declared that “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” (Luke 2: 34)

The season of Epiphany began with the Wise Men adoring the newborn child and Mary pondering in her heart all that was happening to her. The season of Lent begins in a completely different way. Instead of contemplating and pondering birth, we are asked to contemplate and ponder death. At the end of this service, we will have ashes placed on our forehead and hear the words spoken, “Dust you are, and to dust you will be return.” These words come from an ancient text in the book of Genesis (3:19) and are intended to remind us of our mortality. The reason for this is not to be morbid but to invite us into a season of reflection and spiritual discipline intended to help us re-prioritize our lives and focus on that which is essential.

When we are faced with death, those things that are not vital fall away and reveal what is most important. I have seen this time and time again, such as when my father-in-law was dying. He was a very loving man but had often been quite rigid around his political and religious beliefs, so that his family would often avoid certain topics around him. After he got sick, most of that rigidity melted away. There was an openness to everyone as he realized what was most important was being loving to one another.

This can be true even when someone dies suddenly and unexpectedly. I was aware of this in preparing for Judi Keating’s memorial service. Judi had gone home from work two weeks ago with no signs of feeling bad and died suddenly of a massive heart attack. Yet, she was not unprepared as she had carefully planned what she wanted in her service. Her friend, the Native American holy man John Winterhawk, recalled words Judi had spoken in a ceremony a few weeks before. Looking back, it seemed that Judi realized that she might be passing over soon. Judi left us having lived a full and complete life. Her service brought together an incredible array of people of every kind, a glimpse of the kingdom of God in our midst.

Just a few days before, we had sat around table at the deacons’ meeting with no idea that one of us would be dead by week’s end. Lent is a time of taking stock of our lives, as a way of preparing for death, for no one knows when their time may come. Lent is a time of repentance in the best sense of that word- reordering our lives to reflect who God would have us be. Part of that is corporate, which is why we began the service with a trumpet calling us together as a community to reorder our common life. We live in a time where security and defense have become an obsession and idol, pushing all other priorities out of the way, even into obscurity.

Another part of Lent is deeply personal, asking each of us to examine our individual lives just as the one who wrote Psalm 51 many years ago honestly did. We also are challenged to see the connection between the two.

All of this does not have to be somber. The interpretation of Matthew 6 earlier in the service by our drama group Illuminations reminds us that Jesus at times would poke fun at us that we might laugh at the masks we wear to fool one another, and even to try to fool God.

Along with the lectionary texts this year, we will be reflecting upon Jesus’ last words from the cross, sometimes referred to as the “Seven Last Words.” We will look at the way Jesus died to se what we can learn about living. The word from the cross for tonight’s service comes from the gospel of John. The last story about Jesus and Mary recorded in John’s gospel prior to this occurred about three years earlier. They were together at a wedding in Cana. She asked him to use his special powers to deal with a shortage of wine so that her friend, the host, would not be embarrassed. “Woman.” He had said back then, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” I am not sure what tone Jesus used, but it did not seem to bother Mary in the least. She ignored him and called the servants over. Jesus said something like, “Aw Maw,” and then as she had asked, changing the water into wine so the party could go on.

Now as Jesus hangs on the cross, his time has come, though in a way his mother could not have imagined. Fortunately, she is not alone. Her sister is there, along with Mary Magdalene another friend named Mary. Another man is there whom John does not name but calls the Beloved Disciple. The only thing we know about him is that he was dear to Jesus, perhaps indicated by the fact that he is the only male disciple that did no run and hide when Jesus was arrested. The women are not in nearly as much danger as he since they were far less likely to be stopped and questioned as collaborators.

There will be a lot of focus during this Lenten season on how horrible the crucifixion was with the release today of “The Passion According to Mel Gibson.” Whether he gets the rest right, most of us can agree that it was a violent, horrible, dehumanizing way Jesus died.

The first words he spoke from the cross according to John were, “Woman, here is your son.” It was a terrible fulfillment of the words of old Simeon for it was indeed like a sword that pierced Mary’s own soul too. Then he looked at the beloved disciple and says to him, “Here is your mother.”

Barbara Brown Taylor says: “Since his hands are not free, he has to do a lot of work with his eyes, indicating which woman and which man. When he is through, the adoption is final. From that hour, John says, the beloved disciple took Jesus’ mother into his own home. It is a gesture of surprising sweetness, and yet you have to wonder which way it went. Was Jesus looking out of r his mother or his disciple? Who needed whom more? …It was merciful of Jesus to give her a new son. But it is also merciful of to give that son a new mother, especially this one. …

“When the beloved disciple takes her home, and when the other disciples come crawling out from under their rocks, they will find themselves in the presence of someone whose contact with the Holy Spirit has been far more intimate than theirs. She has seen things they have only heard about. She has felt things inside her own body they cannot even imagine. Perhaps that is why she stayed put while they fled. Perhaps that is what let her look full into the ruined face that no one but her (and her new son) could bear to see.” “While the principalities and powers believe they are tearing his family apart, Jesus is quietly putting it together again: this mother with this son, this past with this future. Although his enemies will succeed in killing him, he will leave no orphans behind. At the foot of the cross, the mother of the old becomes the mother of the new. The beloved disciple becomes the new beloved son.” (Home Another Way, Cowley Publications, 1999, p. 99.)

There will be much more to ponder in the weeks ahead as we put lectionary stories of Jesus on the road to Jerusalem alongside his last words from the cross. We will see that Jesus died in a way consistent with how he lived. Here we see that. Even in the midst of being crucified, he was concerned with those he was leaving behind. Even from the cross, he was still about creating the beloved community of God.

I would like to lead us now in a time of meditation in which we might reflect on what is most important to us as a way of preparing for the journey of Lent. I invite you to get comfortable in whatever way you can. Close your eyes if that helps you focus. Take a few long deep breaths.

Listen to this poem by Linda Pastan, called “The Almanac of Last Things.”

From the almanac of last things

I choose the spider lily

for the grace of its brief

blossom, though I myself

fear brevity,

but I choose The Song of Songs

because the flesh

of those pomegranates

has survived

all the frost of dogma.

I choose January with its chill

lessons of patience and despair--and

August, too sun-struck for lessons.

I choose a thimbleful of red wine

to make my heart race,

then another to help me

sleep. From the almanac

of last things I choose you,

as I have done before.

And I choose evening

because the light clinging

to the window

is at its most reflective

just as it is ready

to go out.

Take some time to reflect on some of the things you would list as your almanac of last things. What do you value most? What do you most love?

(Silent reflection and Prayer)

If you knew you only had a limited time to live, how would you spend it?

(Silent reflection and Prayer)

What would you like to ask God to help you change this Lenten season so that the way you live better reflects God’s priorities? What disciplines and graces will help you do this?

(Silent reflection and Prayer)

We begin our journey to Easter with the sign of ashes, an ancient sign, that speaks of the frailty and the uncertainty of human life and is also a sign of repentance. Those who wish are invited to come forward and receive the sign of ashes. But tonight we are also reminded that we are not without hope. By the grace of God through the love of Christ, we are given everlasting life. Though our bodies will return to dust, the essence of who we are will return to God. So I invite each of you to respond silently or out loud after receiving the ashes by saying, “Blessed is our God.”