Ash Wednesday 2018
Rev. Molly F. James, PhD
May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word by heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
As some of you know, I get up early in the morning multiple times a week to go to CrossFit, which is a fitness program that combines weight lifting and gymnastics. And in lots of ways, CrossFit is like Church. We all have our usual spots in the gym. My spot means that I spend a lot of time looking at poster of “Fitness in 100 words” by Greg Glassman, the founder of CrossFit. There is one sentence that stands out on this poster. And it is meant to. It is in a different color than all the rest of the text. It says, “Routine is the enemy.” I have been thinking about that sentence this week, as I have been reflecting on the fact that we are about to enter Lent, and on this Ash Wednesday, to be reminded of our mortality.
At first this statement, “Routine is the enemy” could seem completely counter to our common life as Episcopalians. We are, after all, people of the book, the BCP. Our worship is meant to follow a set pattern each time we gather. That is part of our shared identity. We could say that our worship follows a “routine,” but I think that would be missing the point. The point of Glassman’s statement about avoiding a routine is to avoid doing the same thing over and over again. It is to keep the act of caring for our bodies from becoming rote, merely routine, something we do without thinking about it. Our worship is not, and should never be, rote. Even if we are following the book, each time we worship it is different in someway - the readings, the prayers, who is present, what is going on in the world or in our own lives. And if we ever find that worship feels rote, as though we are merely going through the motions without any thought for what we are doing, it is time for a session with our therapist and our spiritual director, because something is missing in our lives.
For me, the statement, “Routine is the enemy” is really about embracing change. And actually, I think that is what Ash Wednesday is about. It is about coming to terms with the finite nature of human existence. We are mortal beings. At some point our bodies will give out. Nothing in this world lasts forever. Everything changes.
Now, change is tricky. I think many of us don’t really like it. It can certainly produce anxiety and fear. I know for myself, as someone who likes to plan, that I can get grumpy and frustrated when things don’t go according to plan. I try (and sometimes I even succeed) to remember how many wonderful blessings have come to me in my life when things have not gone the way I planned. No doubt those of you here from St. Andrew’s know all too well the challenges and multitude of emotions that can come with change. You are have had to change a lot this past month as you have been out of your building.
There is no way around it. Change is hard. AND (and this is a very important AND) change is a blessing. The fact that things do not stay the same is what adds richness and texture, depth and meaning to our lives. As many of you know, my children used to be wearable. They fit right here, between my chin and my belly button. Now they talk in paragraphs and do all kinds of things for themselves. Are there moments when I wish they still fit here? Of course. But now I can have conversations with them and do things with them that were never possible when they were infants.
Change gives us something for comparison. I can marvel at Katherine’s performance in her swim meet this past weekend precisely because I remember when she was an infant.
Or perhaps it helps to think about other rhythms in our lives. Think about how much we savor a vacation or even a sabbath day, when we have been working for many days straight. If everyday were a vacation, we would cease to value it so highly.
Or think of the act of fasting (fitting for this holy day and season). Part of the point of giving something up or choosing not to eat for a particular time is so that we will appreciate it all the more when we do. And the richness of that appreciation is because we know what it is like to be without.
In a few minutes you will come forward to receive ashes and will hear the words, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.” Yes, that can seem a morbid reminder of the fact that you too will change, but I hope you will see it as in invitation to find joy in the richness of life. Yes, I am suggesting that you find joy on Ash Wednesday, and I do not think that is contradiction.
I think the joy comes in having our priorities straight. In remembering that nothing lasts forever. We are dust and to dust we shall return. This is temporary. We never know how long we will have. May the knowledge that nothing lasts forever be a source of hope for us in the midst of challenges. May it inspire us to savor all the blessings of our lives.
While the ashes too will soon disappear from your forehead, may their memory linger throughout Lent. May you find this to be a season in which you can slow down and pay attention. Savor today. Remember that nothing lasts forever and there is always joy to be found, even in the midst of all the challenges and all the changes.
AMEN.
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