Ash Wednesday is a tough day.
We ask you to consider your sins. We remind you of your mortality. We call you to repentance.
It’s not exactly fun. But it’s part of a process – a process that takes some time, requires some soul searching, demands we face some tough realities. But the process doesn’t stop there. It ends in new life, new possibilities, new hopes. It ends in the ultimate promises of our God, who never abandons us and always welcomes us home.
But you can’t get to the end without starting with ashes. Jesus began his ministry with a 40 day struggle in the desert. There he faced his demons and temptations, and discovered who he was and what he was made of. He learned the truth about himself. And once we learn the truth about ourselves, there is no power that can overcome us. We are ironically liberated by our awareness of our limitations. We come to terms with our fundamental humanity. Ashes mark us as mortal, less than God, limited, frail.
It is true that there is much goodness in each of us. It is also true that we have all fallen short of the glory for which we were intended. Ash Wednesday points us to both of these truths – it reminds us that we are worthy of God’s love – but it also reminds us that we are frail. The frailty is hard to face. But it is only conquered by facing it.
This Lent, I hope to take the steps I need to take to face myself – to honestly assess all that I am and all that I am not. I hope to better understand why I do some of the destructive things I do. And I hope to overcome one or two of my bad habits. Most of all, I hope to realize the love of God – a love that accepts my frailty and faults, while also calling me to be more than I presently am.
A recent Advent sermon from Steve Bauman struck a cord:
How this season before Christmas has devolved in our time is quite pathetic. The post-modern Christmas phantasmagoria is all about escape, distraction and consumerism and has little to contribute to the living of our days beyond a bit of merrymaking, which is alright so far as it goes, I suppose. Those of you that know me, know I’m all for some excellent merrymaking.
Merrymaking is one seasonal obligation, the other concerns buying lots of stuff and whatnot to keep our economic engines humming — especially this year. Don’t you find it darkly ironic that one our most sacred ritual seasons has been so completely subsumed by global consumerism that our political class would just as soon all of us spend ourselves into oblivion as the year comes to an end as a kind of sacrifice to the economic gods?
You can read the whole thing here.
Each year I walk through the elaborate displays at my local mall. In the center of the mall is a fantastic altar to the Consumer Gods of Christmas and their symbols: Santa Claus, reindeer, candy-canes, gingerbread houses. No sign of Jesus. No sign of anything that might transcend the mall itself, let alone the limits of our lives and the powers that be.
What if the church offered a real alternative? What if we refused to be complicit with all the simplistic merry-making and saccharine sentiment and destructive overindulgence and instead simply offered a baby, born in a manger, born to transform the world, born to show us a new way of living, born so that we might have life – abundant life – not discounted, mega-sized, tinsel-wrapped life – but authentically abundant life? What if we were faithful to that?
What is leadership? What makes a leader?
Starting in September, I’m going to preach three sermons on the subject of leadership. My goal is to help everyone in the congregation start to think of themselves as a leader. If you read this, and have some insight on what makes a leader, please leave me your ideas in the comments. You’ll help me with my sermon, and maybe you’ll give someone else some ideas to chew on.