The Brokenness of Our Dust Ash Wednesday 2019

The blessing of Ash Wednesday, the blessing of Lent is found in our brokenness. Lent is a time for us to encounter ourselves---where we have fallen short, where we have let pride rule, where we have shut out, pushed away, buried, ignored, or rejected the whispers (and sometimes the shouts) of the Holy Spirit. Lent is a time to encounter the truth of our lives and work on pressing the “reset” button.

To do it well is to feel some discomfort, maybe even outright pain as we look in a mirror honesty. How have I failed to be the face of Jesus to the world around me? How have I failed to give the benefit of the doubt, how have I rushed to judgement, been quick with a harsh and heartless remark. How have I neglected my own self—how often have I worked too much and relaxed too little? How often have I said yes because I’m afraid to say no? How often have I pleased everyone around me except for me.

The blessing of Ash Wednesday and the blessing of Lent is to rend our very selves down to the marrow. Looking at who it is we have been and recalibrate ourselves to be who it is God created us to be?

Trust me, this work of rendering, this work of being brutally honest about ourselves, to our ourselves will be a blessing. For all the stuff we have done and all of the stuff we have left undone weighs us down, distracts us, derails us. By engaging in a rigorous and thorough Lent we will find ourselves, lightened, brightened and fresh, just like the daffodils of spring. So my friends, I leave you this Holy Night with a blessing poem for Ash Wednesday, written by the author and theologian, Jan Richardson:

Rend Your Heart: An Ash Wednesday Blessing Jan Richardson
To receive this blessing,
all you have to do
is let your heart break.
Let it crack open.
Let it fall apart
so that you can see
its secret chambers,
the hidden spaces
where you have hesitated
to go.

Your entire life
is here, inscribed whole
upon your heart’s walls:
every path taken
or left behind,
every face you turned toward
or turned away,
every word spoken in love
or in rage,
every line of your life
you would prefer to leave
in shadow,
every story that shimmers
with treasures known
and those you have yet
to find.

It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty, at least.
And so let this be
a season for wandering
for trusting the breaking
for tracing the tear
that will return you
to the One who waits
who watches
who works within
the rending
to make your heart
whole.

May God bless the brokenness of our dust. May God bless our rending, our emptying and then our receiving. Amen.