"Ash Wednesday"

  She asked a very legitimate question.  After all, my friend had never attended an Ash Wednesday service.  Ashes had never placed on her forehead.  She had never truly journeyed through Lent other than to give up chocolates for a period of time ... "just because." 

     "Anna", she said ... "What is the proper etiquette for the removal of the ashes from my forehead?  Am I to wipe the cross off during the service?  On the way home?  Before I go to bed?  Do I sleep with the ashes on my forehead?  I just don't know what I am to do."

     I assured her that it was a very good question.    I suggested that she remember the actual touch, the very action of the ashes being placed on her forehead.  "This, my friend, is the moment of reminder of who we are ... a person who has become very 'sooty', a person in need of forgiveness and renewal, a person who is truly a beloved child of God even in the light of our sins."  I told her of what is important to me and that is to look into the mirror at this mark of terrible beauty and be reminded that this is the brand I choose to wear forever ... each day ... in some way.  "You will wash it off when you are ready, and yet, you will wear it forever." 

     Tonight, the ashes will be placed on my forehead as they have so many times before.  Perhaps they will for you as well.  For each of us, there is great news in the midst of the hymns-in-a-minor-key, the dimness of lights, the whispers and prayers and ashes and quietness.  We are beloved children of God, branded forever by this mark of terrible beauty. 

"The Day Before Ash Wednesday

Neglected,
it rests on the corner,
visible to all,
yet ignored by most …
for it has been empty
far too long.

This morning,
this day before
Ash Wednesday,
the front of the building
has been painted
a brilliant white
and the windows
on each side
of the entrance door
are now adorned
with new, royal blue awnings.

Yet the “For Sale” sign
is still posted,
weather-worn
from the years
of begging
and pleading
for someone to look…
just look and consider
the property’s value.

If one dares
to look closer,
beyond the brilliant white paint
and the royal blue awnings,
the other sides
of the building can be seen.

Three other sides
are a dingy beige
with peeling paint
and windows broken
by those who think nothing
of doing damage
to something that is not theirs

The flat roof
can no longer withstand
the weight of
years of debris
or torrential rains
that only accumulate
and puddle
in its flatness.

The property is
overgrown with weeds
and littered by those things
that others have so carelessly
and thoughtlessly
thrown its way.

What are we to think
of an appealing façade
of fresh paint
and new awnings?
What are we to think
of neglect
and damage …
of brokenness
and litter …
of weeds
and debris
and puddles?

Perhaps this is exactly
what we will bring with us
tomorrow …
on this day we call
Ash Wednesday.
We bring with us
freshly painted facades
and new awnings,
hoping beyond hope
that those around us
will not see the
neglect and damage,
the brokenness and litter,
the weeds and shattered hearts.

The black soot
marks the façade
with a cross …
and the ash
falls onto the awning.
The difficult admission
that there are
other sides to be seen
are whispered in prayer
and are heard by the One
who has clearly seen
all four sides
of each of us.

This is our tomorrow.

Holy God,
we come to you
in need of repair …
not in part,
but throughout
our whole being.

Create in us
a newness in our days,
a wholeness and healing through you,
a purpose in your kingdom,
hope in your love
and a pure heart before you.

Amen.

"It's All Right, Sweetie" (another moment of Grace)

My timing must be perfect on Tuesdays for my lunch-and-reading time to be what I want it to be at the nearby cafeteria. I leave work at 11:00am and walk through the doors of the restaurant at 11:08am. 99% of the time, there is no one in line in front of me.

The 1% happened last Tuesday. Four elderly ladies and one elderly man were in front of me. They moved ever-so-slowly, choosing their salads, their meats and the vegetables deliberately and carefully. Two of the ladies changed their minds several times. My lunch hour was ticking away and I must admit, I found myself becoming impatient with them. Then it happened. The gentleman reached out for his ticket from the cashier and knocked his iced tea over. His fish and vegetables were covered with iced tea. His cloth napkin was soaked. The tea that didn’t find its way onto his tray fell into puddles on floor.

He began to apologize … over and over and over again. The look on his face was that of distress. The cashier softly said, “It’s OK. We will get you another plate.” Again he apologized. “I can eat the fish. The tea won’t hurt it. And the green beans, I can eat them. My napkin isn’t very wet. I can use it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made such a mess.” The cashier smiled and said, “Honey, let me have your tray. She turned and asked someone to fix another plate of food for him. Again, he apologized … over and over and over again. Still his face was a mixture of sadness and distress. The new tray of food was brought to him. He tried to apologize once more.

It was then when I saw something mysteriously beautiful. The cashier leaned forward, looked directly into his eyes, gently touched the man’s face and said, “It’s all right. It’s all right, Sweetie.” His aged face took on another appearance, almost as if he was a little boy again. His eyes sparkled. Perhaps, just for a moment, he remembered his mother’s gentle touch and heard her loving whisper, as in his childhood, “It’s all right. It’s all right, Sweetie.”

My impatience left me for I had witnessed yet another moment of grace.

 

"Listening with the Heart"

"Learning to listen with the heart moves us

from the role of observers

and enables us to become participants with the Creator

in a world full of grace and possibility."

(Source: ‘Heart Whispers’ / Elizabeth Canham)

I have missed my Tuesday lunches at the local cafeteria … those lunches where I curl up in a booth and read as I eat. The holidays seemed to have disrupted my schedule, before and after Christmas, but now I’m back into a routine.

It didn’t take long for me to switch from reading to pretending to read yesterday. A daughter and her elderly father were eating in a booth nearby. I now know of her husband’s dreams for his business. “He doesn’t want a bigger place, Daddy, he just wants new buildings like he has now. But he knows that will never happen so we’ll just be happy with what we have.” After a few minutes, I knew that these cold and rainy days that we are experiencing were bringing a little bit of depression to her and causing her daddy’s bones ache. I overheard the woman lamenting over a brother she never sees and I listened as her daddy told of his best friend suffering with kidney stones. I knew that the daddy couldn’t hear well for there was repeating of words. She asked if he felt well enough to see the new grandbaby and he said, “No, not today.” “Maybe Sunday after church,” she said hopefully. “Maybe … maybe,” he softly replied.

Yesterday at lunch, I learned this … that in her rainy-day blues and his aching bones … in her sadness for her husband’s lost dreams and in the longing for a brother who had distanced himself for some reason … with the daddy’s concern for his friend in pain and her concern for her daddy’s health … with a newborn waiting to be held by her granddaddy and a granddaddy wanting to hold her … with the often misunderstanding of words because of the softness of a daughter’s voice and the difficulty of her daddy’s hearing, STILL when the server asked how they were doing, they both said, “Fine, we are just fine” without a second thought.

I walked away from my lunch yesterday hoping for the sun to shine soon, not necessarily for me, but for her. I hoped for bones to ache less and a kidney stone to pass. I hoped for the day when a granddaddy feels well enough to hold a newborn granddaughter and the moment when the little one smiles in her sleep while nestled safely in the arms of her granddaddy. I hoped for far-off dreams to be realized. Most of all, I walked away praying for a time when the words “Fine, we are just fine” means more than words said to a server.

Yes, learning to listen with the heart moves us from the role of observers and enables us to become participants with the Creator in a world full of grace and possibility.

 

"Take Me Into a New Year"

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not     cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit." (Psalm 51:10-12) 

 

I opened my fresh, clean journal this morning and found something not-so-fresh-and-clean on the first page. I had long forgotten that on Ash Wednesday, 2012, I removed the ashes from my forehead with my index finger and placed the ashen cross on this first page. The brand new journal was closed on that evening so many months ago. Certainly by the end of the year, I would become somewhat 'sooty' and the new year would bring with it a great desire for newness. It seems that when opening a new journal on a new year and being startled by such a reminder as an ashen cross, the prayers from Psalm 51:10-12 "Create in me a clean heart, O God....." should be a starting place for 2013 ... both prayed and written just below this smudge of a cross.

I realize that the church year began earlier, but still there seems to be a desire within all of us to begin fresh, to do better, to love more, to pastor with more compassion, to read God's Word with fresh eyes and heart and to be Christ's hands, feet, heart and voice in new ways. That is my prayer for you in 2013 ... and for me as well.

And so, as I remember you all in my prayers this morning, I will share a prayer that fell into my e-mail yesterday. I really do love the first words ... "TAKE ME INTO A NEW YEAR, Gracious God." It asks us to reach out and grasp God tightly in all of the newness, whatever that newness might be.

For you all ... Blessings, strength, courage, God's peace, endurance, faithfulness and love in 2013...

(Prayer)

TAKE ME INTO A NEW YEAR, Gracious God. Help me to continue looking for meaning, seeking peace, praying for light, dancing for joy, working for justice, and singing your praise. I go into the new year filled with expectations, a touch of worry, and a bundle of hope. I do not journey into the new year alone but with you as my guide, with a commitment to my disciplines, with a community of family, friends, and faith. Take me into the new year, Creator of beauty and wonder. Bless me with the companionship of Jesus, and gift me with the guidance and power of the Spirit. Amen.

(prayer by Larry James Peacock from 'Openings: A Daybook of Saints, Psalms, and Prayer')

"A Heap of Love"

In 1989, I gave my four remaining great aunts spiral notebooks, pens and a list of questions.  I wanted to know of their childhood years, their parents and their grandparents.  Please tell me what they were like. What did their home look like? Walk me through it, please.  What were their parents’ favorite Scriptures and hymns (and theirs as well).  I asked about their Christmas memories at ‘the homeplace’ out in the country.  It has been years since I read what my great aunts wrote.  Early this morning, by the light of the Christmas tree, I curled up on the sofa and read my Aunt Cecile’s memories of Christmas.  All of my great aunts have now passed away but in the scribbled words found in a notebook from someone who grew up with so very little, I received what I most needed to receive this morning … a reminder that LOVE is more important than anything else in this world.

 (Aunt Cecile’s words) …

 

"You should have seen our decorations.  Garland and Espie and I (and at times Beulah, your grandmommy) would go to the woods and hunt running cedar that could be draped over our windows and on our pretty tree we’d find.  Mother would pop and string popcorn and drape it all over the tree.  We used holiday pieces off of trees that had red berries on them.  We would try and help Mother place all of this where it would look the prettiest.  There was plenty of room for presents under our tree but we did not find many there.  Maybe some parched peanuts, some molasses candy that she would wrap and put in the bag with the peanuts.  Just something like that.  No gifts at all.  But with all of that effort there was A HEAP OF LOVE."

(Back to me … I will take some parched peanuts, some molasses candy and A HEAP OF LOVE any day)

 

 

"A Bleak Midwinter Day in Advent"

 

(The day after the great tragedy at Shady Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT)

 

On this day, when we all are grieving with grieving parents and holding confused, scared and saddened children in our prayers ... when we lament and cry out “How long, O Lord” .... when we we seek answers to such violence in this world, we hear words that God came (and comes) for such days as yesterday, for mornings such as this, for us all. Thanks to my friend, Thom Shuman, for hearing the whispers of God and for putting these God-given words together for us. Yes, in a bleak midwinter day in Advent, God comes.          anna

 

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.  Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. (Psalm 90:1-2)

Once again, we are reminded about the meaning of this bleak midwinter we call Advent. For God did not come to create a greeting card industry, nor so we could string lights on houses and trees. God did not become one of us so we might have office parties and give people things they don't really need. God was not born so songs could be written and sermons preached.

God came for such mornings as this, after the long night of anguished tossing and turning, with visions of horror dancing in our heads. God came to walk with us as we wander the streets of our hearts asking, 'how? why? when?'

God came to huddle with terrified children in closets where school supplies are stored, and to give teachers the strength not to show their worst fears. God came to cradle the wounded and the dying, so they would know they were not abandoned in that loneliest of moments.

God came to give the first responders the courage to walk into the unspeakable, willing to put themselves between danger and little children. God came to gather the parents and grandparents up into the divine lap of comfort and hope, even as their arms would no longer be able to embrace their child. God came to have that most compassionate heart broken as many times as ours are, to weep with us even when we have run out of tears, to stand next to us with the same look of horror and disbelief.

God came for mornings such as this, with the same haggard face, with the same questions, with the same anger, with the same sense of loss and hopelessness, but with deep wells of grace from which we can drink, with compassion which will never end, with comforting arms which will not grow weary, with hope which stretches from everlasting to everlasting.

God came, and is still with us.

© 2012 Thom M. Shuman

Thom

Thom M. Shuman
Interim Pastor
Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Cincinnati, OH
Associate Member, Iona Communitywww.lectionaryliturgies.blogspot.com
www.occasionalsightings.blogspot.com
www.prayersfortoday.blogspot.com

'Scripture is like a river,
broad and deep,
shallow enough here
for the lamb to go wading,
but deep enough there
for the elephant to swim.'
- - Gregory the Great (540-604)