Half-Ashed Worship

Several years ago while serving at the Duke University Chapel, the evening of Ash Wednesday was filled with electricity and excitement.  Students had been lined up for hours.  The student paper offered category-blurring commentary for weeks.  Classes weren’t cancelled, per se, but only poor, unfortunate souls chose to spend their time in the library on that tense, anxious evening.  Just before our penitential prelude began, ESPN’s Dick Vitale ran into the Chapel narthex saying, “I need the ashes, Father.  I need the ashes.”  Yes, it was Ash Wednesday, but it was also the evening of the Duke-UNC game.  Like Dicky V, I saw students receive their ashes with a preoccupied posture just before exiting the chapel with time to spare, before the game and before the benediction.  Neither life, nor death, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, would cause someone to lose their place in the line for the game.  It was my first experience of a “Half-Ashed” Wednesday.  Oh, I’ve seen a “No-Ashed” Wednesday for sure, but this was my virgin experience of such a holy worship service, which seemed wholly pointless.

If I may be candid with you, I’m a “half-ashed” Sabbath taker.  I love the idea, but am terrible at the practice.  Of course, it’s not my fault.  For starters, I work on Sunday.  I’ve also been working on Saturdays, and it’s my Saturday morning responsibilities, which give me pause as a pastor.  Recently there have been a series of Saturday morning funerals in my faith community.  Theologically it’s a moving experience to reflect on our loved one and Christ both being in the tomb on the Sabbath day, resting in the presence of God, but my suspicion is that Saturday morning is when most could gather because neither angels, nor principalities, nor honoring our loved ones will separate us from our work.  With that stinging revelation said, it’s a double-blind, you see?  Had I not been at church on Saturday morning, am I so pious to think that I would have been honoring the Sabbath at home?  What better place to be on the Sabbath than in worship, remembering one who is now resting in God?  But again, it’s not my fault.  I’m really, super busy.

Except . . . it is my fault.  Time keeps on slipping into the future (Thanks Steve Miller).  According to Einstein, as an object’s velocity approaches the speed of light, the more slowly the object moves through time.  In other words, the more quickly something is moving, the more slowly time moves for the object.  I wonder if somewhere in my psyche I think that the more I work, the more slowly time will tick.  Resting is the quickest possible way for one to move through time.  Resting hastily propels me into the sobering truth of the ashes . . . my own finitude.

Practically, if I work hard enough and quickly enough, I will somehow earn my immortality.  Theologically, if I work hard enough and quickly enough, I will somehow earn my salvation.  Lack of rest is lack of trust in God.  In my own little, screwed up world, I convince myself that God is not capable of making the sun rise or the rain fall without me, that the kingdom of God won’t grow unless I constantly till the ground.  There’s a word for this . . . Idolatry.  This is why the Decalogue (10 Commandments) begins by saying “I am God” (first three commandments), and remember the Sabbath.  To forget the Sabbath is to forget the difficult truth that God doesn’t need us.

God doesn’t need us . . . but God wants us, and this is Good News.  Even though the ashes give me pause in a sinful, shameful, fatalistic way, they also remind me that God has reconciled all things, that the ashes are a sign, marking us as a community of reconciled people (Thanks Ken).  We are not fully living into our forgiveness as desired children of God being “half-ashed” people.  So whether you are giving something up or taking something on, remember that the Sabbath requires both.  By giving up ourselves we take on a true faith which cuts through the slippage of time with the simple and powerful refrain, “All shall be well.  All shall be well.  All manner of things shall be well.  All shall be well” . . . even when I’m resting.

 

 

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