Many of you have heard me talk about my great-grandfather, Preston Epps, who was a Greek professor at UNC-Chapel Hill and whose translation of the Gospel of Mark we will be hearing as a dramatic reading during Holy Week. Granddaddy loved music, especially Amazing Grace, and he had it played at his funeral. But there was an oddity. He changed the words from “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me” to “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to a believer’s ear.” My dad asked why Granddaddy did that, and my great-grandmother replied, “Well, he just didn’t really think of himself as a wretch.”
In the Collect that begins the liturgy for Ash Wednesday, we asked that, “lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, we may obtain of the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness.” It does hit pretty hard, doesn’t it, the notion of our own wretchedness, that we are, in fact, wretches.
In the spirit of my great-grandfather, I do not believe we are wretches, nor do I believe that it is helpful for the Church to tell folks they are; something about noticing the speck in our neighbor’s eye and ignoring the log in our own. But it is disingenuous to think that we are not capable of wretchedness, that any of us here today, myself included, have not sinned, have not missed the mark and offended our God who loves and forgives and calls us to do the same.
It seems at times that we Christians – especially in the mainline denominations– find ourselves caught between a binary: on the one hand you have churches that preach total depravity and the idea that we are all just miserable, horrible people who deserve nothing less than to spend eternity in the dung heap of Gehenna; and on the other hand you have folks who are slow to condemn any action at all for fear of offending someone, preaching a Gospel that God only wishes for us to follow our bliss, regardless of the consequences. Binaries aren’t cool, and as usual, we humans forget that God doesn’t operate within them but instead is always calling us to find the Middle Way between such extremes.
This is what Ash Wednesday and Lent call us to consider. No, we are not horrible, miserable people, nor do we get a reward if we fast to the point of being physically ill. And, we are flawed, we are broken, we do hurt one another and ourselves and we do need to own up to that and clean out the cobwebs within ourselves. Lent isn’t an either/or, it’s a both/and.
The prophet Isaiah, speaking for God calls out people who fast only for the purpose of being noticed by God (Isaiah 58: 1-12). This is something Jesus later condemns in his own day (Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21). Neither disapproved of the actions themselves - fasting, giving alms, praying, etc. - but rather the motivations that caused people to do them. These were the folks who followed the letter of their Law, but their heart weren't in the right place. The fast God wants, the prophet declares, is one from injustice and oppression. The rending God asks for is of your heart, not your clothing. Modern audiences, though, have often heard these words and interpreted them to mean that Isaiah – and by extension God – doesn’t think physical actions are necessary at all – they’re just ‘works’ they say - so let’s just forget them entirely, be they fasting, confession, taking up ashes, or even praying; after all, it’s a fast of the heart, of the spirit. Some even take this mindset to its logical conclusion, that if it’s all just spiritual jargon, then the resurrection itself isn’t a literal, bodily one, but merely an ideological or spiritual one.
But that isn’t the Gospel. Our God is one who uses real matter, real stuff like water, wine, wheat, and ash to get the point across because our God took on real human matter to show us how to be fully and authentically human ourselves. This is why some safe form of physical fasting is encouraged, because Jesus did it, and because it can cleanse us from stuff that shouldn’t be in there. Actual confession aloud to another human being – in a safe space in the presence of God, of course – is important to our complete well-being. These actions – yes, physical actions, not just spiritual or mental exercises – get our prayer and devotion down into our bodies. They redirect our motivations remind us that our total dependence is on God alone and that, oh yeah, God is God and we are not. They put us in our place, and honestly, that’s not really a bad thing.
A friend of mine is a Russian Orthodox priest in Kentucky, and his congregation developed a really good self-reflection to help them prepare for the period of confession that begins what they call Great Lent. They ask themselves: how have I turned away from God and my neighbor? What are the ways I have been self-centered, the addictions I’ve fallen to, the scapegoating and blaming I’ve participated in, the resentment and rage I’ve felt toward others, the lies I’ve told, the ugly truths I’ve hid from everyone, including God, the facades I’ve hid behind, the ways I’ve tried numbing my emotional and spiritual pain, the blame I’ve placed on others for my own actions, and the ways I’ve beaten myself up and participated in self-hatred? Such a practice is not about self-pity or loathing but conversion. As the medieval Coptic Saint Isaias of Scetis put it, “The voice of God calls to us until the day we die, saying be converted today!” Not to a specific religion or denomination, but to a right relationship with God, each other, and the whole of creation. That’s a voice that is a sweet sound to a believer’s ear, right there.
The ashes we take up remind us that we will die, every single one of us. Too often humanity tries desperately to ward off that inevitability, most often in our pursuit of power, prestige, and possessions. In death we are all reconciled to God – that is what Jesus did in his own death and resurrection. By taking up the ashes and remembering our mortality, we echo St. Isaias’ words, praying we may be converted every day until all that is left of this mortal existence is the dust.
We are imperfect, but we are loved; all of this icky, broken, material that makes us who we are. Saint Valentine himself said that we come to love not by finding the perfect person but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. That kind of perfection comes from drawing closer to one another. This season, how will you draw closer to God – who sees your perfect imperfections and loves you through them? Will you give something up, take something on, or a combination of both? There is no right or wrong way to do Lent. It’s not about beating ourselves up but being converted each day, transformed more and more into the likeness of Jesus. The ashes are not an outward sign of your piety for others. They are for you. So that as you feel them trickle onto your nose, or catch them in the mirror, or accidentally smudge them later on, you will recall the bond you share with all living things and in so doing be drawn closer to the God who is love. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
