February 1st, 2024
by Judy Adam's
by Judy Adam's
The ashes lay black and gray in the bottom of the fire pit. No lingering embers, no smokey smell. Only ashes, remnants of a brief, blazing fire which gave us warmth and light on a cold New Year’s Eve. Now no life-giving light or heat, only dead ashes.
Ash Wednesday this year is February 14—Valentine’s Day, a day we celebrate love. How ironic, I think, that the reminder of our mortality is linked to love. The thought is especially painful as I remember and acknowledge both past and recent deaths—loved ones, saints in our personal lives and the life of our church, even senseless deaths from mass shootings, acts of war, heartless indifference. Melancholy threatens to overwhelm me. Anticipating Lent, I wonder how I will reconcile this current sadness and the reality of death that surrounds me at this moment with the disciplines that lead to that place of contrition, of repentance and renewal from which hope springs.
As I often do, I turn to the Psalms. A cursory scanning shows the psalmists experiencing feelings like my own. The phrases “Why do you stand far off” and “I call out to you in despair” remind me that I am not the first to “bemoan my outcast state” (Shakespeare). Imperatives including “deliver me,” “rescue me,” and “listen to my prayer” petition the Lord to provide answers. Further reading reveals that the Lord does indeed respond; the psalmists declare that the Lord listens, rescues, protects, delivers from a multitude of circumstances. A relationship exists between those writing the psalms and the Lord which suggests active communication. Despair turns to hope, helplessness to rescue and strength, faithlessness to faithfulness. Might the same course of action not apply to me?
So, beginning with Ash Wednesday, I begin a process which leads to deepening my relationship with God. I must confront the reality of death—my own as well as others. In doing so, I depend on Scripture to show me how other giants in the Judeo-Christian tradition dealt with death. Some like Enoch walked with God and then was seen no more, others like Lazarus rest in the bosom of Abraham, all but one apostle experienced brutal deaths of martyrdom. I also look at those I know had the assurance of resurrection, particularly Wayne, who always said he wanted to “end well.” And he did, using his last words to give thanks for the influence Billy Graham had on his own call to ministry. I read the Bible and find words about seeds falling to the ground before they can sprout with new life; I am exhorted to look not at what I can see because that is temporary, but to look at what I cannot see—what is spiritual—because that is eternal. I pray to God for increased understanding, not simply to “know,” but to be equipped for whatever role of servanthood God leads me. I search my heart, mind, and soul for those things for which I must repent, those acts and thoughts preventing a full and holy relationship with God, and then resolve to remove them from my life—an effort which often requires many trials. I experience humility during this process, and figuratively place myself at the foot of the cross, the only proper place to be before I stand before the empty tomb.
Isaiah, in the KJV, uses the phrase “beauty from ashes. The NRSV uses different words for Isaiah’s “Good News of Deliverance”:
…to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. (61:3)
I am always amazed at God’s faithfulness, of his plan to rescue and restore His people, of His love. And even as I realize I must travel through the valley of death, I can with assurance look to the table that awaits me and all who love the Lord where we will celebrate, praise, and glorify God who provides our salvation through His Son, Jesus.
Ash Wednesday this year is February 14—Valentine’s Day, a day we celebrate love. How ironic, I think, that the reminder of our mortality is linked to love. The thought is especially painful as I remember and acknowledge both past and recent deaths—loved ones, saints in our personal lives and the life of our church, even senseless deaths from mass shootings, acts of war, heartless indifference. Melancholy threatens to overwhelm me. Anticipating Lent, I wonder how I will reconcile this current sadness and the reality of death that surrounds me at this moment with the disciplines that lead to that place of contrition, of repentance and renewal from which hope springs.
As I often do, I turn to the Psalms. A cursory scanning shows the psalmists experiencing feelings like my own. The phrases “Why do you stand far off” and “I call out to you in despair” remind me that I am not the first to “bemoan my outcast state” (Shakespeare). Imperatives including “deliver me,” “rescue me,” and “listen to my prayer” petition the Lord to provide answers. Further reading reveals that the Lord does indeed respond; the psalmists declare that the Lord listens, rescues, protects, delivers from a multitude of circumstances. A relationship exists between those writing the psalms and the Lord which suggests active communication. Despair turns to hope, helplessness to rescue and strength, faithlessness to faithfulness. Might the same course of action not apply to me?
So, beginning with Ash Wednesday, I begin a process which leads to deepening my relationship with God. I must confront the reality of death—my own as well as others. In doing so, I depend on Scripture to show me how other giants in the Judeo-Christian tradition dealt with death. Some like Enoch walked with God and then was seen no more, others like Lazarus rest in the bosom of Abraham, all but one apostle experienced brutal deaths of martyrdom. I also look at those I know had the assurance of resurrection, particularly Wayne, who always said he wanted to “end well.” And he did, using his last words to give thanks for the influence Billy Graham had on his own call to ministry. I read the Bible and find words about seeds falling to the ground before they can sprout with new life; I am exhorted to look not at what I can see because that is temporary, but to look at what I cannot see—what is spiritual—because that is eternal. I pray to God for increased understanding, not simply to “know,” but to be equipped for whatever role of servanthood God leads me. I search my heart, mind, and soul for those things for which I must repent, those acts and thoughts preventing a full and holy relationship with God, and then resolve to remove them from my life—an effort which often requires many trials. I experience humility during this process, and figuratively place myself at the foot of the cross, the only proper place to be before I stand before the empty tomb.
Isaiah, in the KJV, uses the phrase “beauty from ashes. The NRSV uses different words for Isaiah’s “Good News of Deliverance”:
…to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. (61:3)
I am always amazed at God’s faithfulness, of his plan to rescue and restore His people, of His love. And even as I realize I must travel through the valley of death, I can with assurance look to the table that awaits me and all who love the Lord where we will celebrate, praise, and glorify God who provides our salvation through His Son, Jesus.
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