I had an odd experience during our Ash Wednesday
service this year. Granted, most of the service was unusual in itself. For instead
of the traditional format, where people sit through an abridged Sunday service
before receiving ashes from the clergy, we engaged in Lectio Divina and had the
congregation give the ashes to each other. It was a beautiful gesture. Each
person provided the traditional ash cross to his or her neighbor, making a
normally individual act into a grand communal movement of repentance. It was
truly a sacred time and I did not initially get up to receive ashes because I
wanted to just experience it. In addition, our church’s chapel space is
unorthodox, so it can be extremely difficult to navigate (see the picture).
So when people began receiving the ashes, the stations closest to the
aisles clogged up and restricted access the innermost servers. At one point,
this left one young woman isolated. To her credit, she stood and waited
patiently but when no one disengaged themselves from the main line, she looked
towards my pew. I was the closest person to her, so after making a silent
gesture to see if I wanted to participate, she leaned across to give me a cross.
However, as she did so, she suddenly recognized me and stopped.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, "You are
clergy, I can't serve you! Uh . . . can I?"
It was a curious comment. And in that moment,
I found myself wondering what sort of you-cannot-touch-or-relate-to-the-pastor-he/she-is-too-holy-for-you
tradition she was drawing from. This thought lead to a realization. God had presented me with an opportunity
to send a message not only about me, but also about my role as clergy in the church.
"Absolutely, you can serve me." I assured her, and I stood up to
bridge the gap between us. I hope this gesture erased the invisible barrier and
showed her that I am not some elite, distant holy man. Like her, I am all too human.
I desperately need the repentance and grace that the little ash cross signified.
Additionally, I hope I showed her what it means to be in the Body
of Christ. We are one entity with many parts, each with its own gifts and
graces. And while I may be a part that wears in a robe on Sunday and takes
greater responsibility for ordering the body, I am not separate. I am a part of the greater community, so I still need to participate in
acts that befit the whole. Basically, despite my seemingly closer proximity to the holy, I still need grace. I need connection and I
need others to walk with me during this Lenten journey.
In this, I pray that we all realize our need for others during this journey. Even though we are on a traditional Lenten trek of solitary, introspective repentance, we can still use our gifts to aid one another along the way. It is like the words from one of Peter the disciple's letters, "God has given each of you a gift from God's great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another. . . then everything you do will bring glory to God through Jesus Christ," (1 Peter 4:10 & 11b NLT). In other words, if we are able to increasingly serve one another this Lenten Season, our focus will gradually shift from enduring a lonely, singular walk to a group-oriented journey. And while we can still ponder our innate brokenness alone, together we can experience greater levels of joy as God frees us through grace and our mutual service to each other. In the end, Christ guides and perfects our tangible, physical transformation through the ultimate act of Easter Resurrection. Through Christ, God unites the Spiritual and Physical worlds. There is no longer a break between them. No death to swallow us up, so our lives with God and each other continue forevermore.
This is the lesson of Lent, so I pray, let us go forth from this day eager to translate our internal contemplation into actions that serve others. Moreover, I hope you will join us at the church as we explore the numerous ways God frees us, so we might find new ways to be with others and live more fully into the resurrected identity that Jesus Christ is establishing for us in this Easter. God bless you and keep you.
