Ash Wednesday Meditation

Sermon

On Monday, as the banners were created and as the stations of the cross were being hung, those of us in the sanctuary were happily surprised about the visual conversation between the two.  The black and gold play well against each other.

But really, to appreciate the banners or the stations of the cross you have to get up close to them, marvel at the cuts and folds of the crosses, ask yourself why simple gold on black is so evocative.

People can be evocation in that way.  What we see from a distance, or at a glance, can really be quite different from what we experience close up or over time.  As we get to know someone, we see their flaws; we go deeper, and understand, perhaps, why hurts from the past have shaped them to be who they are now.

Now consider one of the crosses on the banner, or look at the image on your bulletin cover.  Alexander Wendeheart, who made this crosses, explained to me how he makes them.  He takes one sheet of black paper, and makes a series of cuts into the paper – slits with an exacto knife.  He then folds the cut paper back, and makes more cuts and more folds, and then backs the piece with gold paper.  Nothing is cut away – if you unfolded each piece, you would end up with one single, whole piece of paper again.

People are like that.  We get cut and folded and shaped by everything that happens to us – the sadnesses and tragedies that befall us; the turn from a path we thought we were on to something else; a change in fortune, for the better or for the worse.  Life happens to us, and we are cut and folded and shaped into a new image.  But if we were to undo all those things, we would still be the person we were when we were born – whole; one.

We might think of God as the artist, shaping us, redirecting us, redeeming the hurts that happen to us to make something beautiful.  I’m not sure how far I can go with that metaphor, but if it’s meant to work, it will.

This season of Lent is a time to consider our shape, to come in close to ourselves and give ours souls a full examination.  Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell the story of Jesus going to the wilderness and facing temptation there – a rite of passage necessary for him before he began his ministry.

Lent is our wilderness, a season and not a place, and time to ask ourselves what tempts us; what delights us; what exhausts.  Lent is a season to look at how we spend our time and our money; to look at who we spend time with and who we avoid.  Lent is a time to reflect on all the things we ingest – not just chocolate or wine or butter, but news, and gossip, and maybe even misinformation.

How you will do that is up to you.  You don’t have to have a Lenten season full of introspection; the world is pretty distracting right now, and you can absolutely contemplate where God is in the midst of war, or violence, or hate.

But I want to encourage you to turn away from the world for a little bit – if not for these next forty days, then maybe for forty minutes a day.  Turn off the news, turn off the phone and computer, turn off the stereo.  Go outside.  Take a walk.  Ask yourself a guiding question as you watch spring unfold.

Maybe the question will be:
How does my soul feel today?
What has made me angry lately?
When have I stifled tears, and why?
Who have I given up on?  What would it take to reconnect with that person?
What wound am I carrying that is not yet healed?  Do I remember how I got it?
What makes me afraid?
What gives me hope?
Where in my body do I carry my tiredness?
Where in my body do I carry my energy?

After those questions, maybe you’ll be ready for the big Lent question:
Where do I see God working in my life? How is God shaping me?