Ash Wednesday

Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .

This day — a gift from you.

This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.

This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.

This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home

     halfway back to committees and memos,

     halfway back to calls and appointments,

     halfway on to next Sunday,

     halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,

     half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,

     but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —

     we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:

     of failed hope and broken promises,

     of forgotten children and frightened women,

     we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

     we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash
     around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with

   some confidence, only because our
   every Wednesday of ashes

   anticipates your Easter victory over that
   dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —

    you Easter parade of newness.

    Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,

     Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;

     Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.

 Come here and Easter our Wednesday with

     mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

 Walter Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon, 2008), pp. 27-28.

Shrove Tuesday

     Last Sunday I enjoyed a Shrove Sunday meal of Belgian waffles and sausage at St. Paul and the Redeemer. There was whipping cream, strawberries, maple syrup, syrup with pecans, and butter to adorn your waffles. How delectable! I tried to be discreet as I went back for about three helpings. I wanted more, but only a few remained and the rector, and a few members of the congregation who had been  re-arranging chairs, had not eaten. But Belgian waffles weren't enough. This morning I went to McDonald's for hotcakes. I savored every bite.

     Yesterday I saw a disheveled, destitute-looking man rummaging through his belongings, huddled up in the dark Cathedral steps on Huron Street. Did he have a nutritious meal today? More important, would I have had the courage today to escort him to a nearby IHop so that he could enjoy a pancake supper?

     On this Ash Wednesday eve, as I think about Lent, I wonder if I can "give up" or "sacrifice" the chocolate I love so that I can receive the living, resurrected Christ. Can I "take on" a commitment to be in solidarity with the suffering through prayer and study?
      
A Prayer for Social Justice

Almighty God, who created us in your own image: Grant us grace fearlessly to contend against evil and to make no peace with oppression; and that we may reverently use our freedom, help us to employ it in the maintenance of justice in our communities and among the nations, to the glory of your holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.  Book of Common Prayer.

May you have a holy and fearless Lent.