Ash Wednesday in the Middle of a Plague

                                                            photo by Lawrence OP / flikr

 It's Ash Wednesday--whatever that means. And it means a great deal for a whole lot of us. For years I found my way to the nearest Episcopal Church, parked my car and open the church doors took a bulletin  and slipped into a pew. Sitting not too far back--I wanted to hear. I come to church this day to sit in silence. To look at the gorgeous stained glass windows that, at noon, throw colors over most of us who gather. There are not many there usually. Mostly old  folk. More women than men and there will be a young couple and two or three college students. I come to hear the old Joel passage: "Rend your hearts and not your garments." 

 We are then invited to come forward  and have our foreheads marked with the sign of the cross, listening to those gloomy words:"Dust thou art...and to dust thou shall return." After all have come forward we are invited to come to the altar to kneel and receive the Bread and the Cup. Looking up at the Crucifix at the body that was broken and whose blood was poured out for us all.  I slip out the door and go to my car. Closing the car door I sit there for just a moment in the quiet.

This year I did not find my way to that church. With this virus raging I am not even sure there was a service. Maybe there was. I still remember those other Ash Wednesdays when I came simply to be reminded of my sins and my finitude. To be reminded that I do not need to rend my garments particularly--but oh, I really do need to rend my heart. This Ash Wednesday when most of us are confined to our homes we still need the power of Ash Wednesday. I think of all that multitude who have left us because of this cursed virus. I think of the rending maybe not our garments but the the terrible divide between neighbors, family members and our whole country. The dust of the so-muchness weighs heavy on us all in 2021. So let us remember it isn't them not needing rending but us all. 

It is dark outside and in so many hearts. But I do believe, despite it all that though I am a marked man--literally--that maybe that Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world will take mine too and yours as well. I think about these things on this day when I did not go to church but remember that smudge and it's call to us all. 

                                                     photo courtesy of Church of the Redeemer / flikr

                                                          --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Listen to a Bird Sing

                                                           photo courtesy of fs999/ flikr

This morning I went out to get the paper and a bird was singing his heart out. Maybe her heart. I stood there for just a few minutes and listened to the rapturous music. This morning was rare for me. So many days I stagger out to get the paper and hear outside life out there.  Inside the TV blares on and on about the Impeachment trial, what Trump will do next. How many Republican senators will be punished simply by following their principles. I just want to cover my ears and turn off the telly. And forget my roof that still leaks and my back that hurts. But this morning was different—I heard a bird sing.

I think that bird put things back in perspective for me. I cannot do anything about Washington and the terrible direction this country still seems to make. I will write letters, make phone calls—but most of my actions will hardly matter. A wave of despondency washes over me. I thought the chaos of the last four years was behind us. Now I am not sure. But this morning it all seemed to fade away as I heard that bird sing.

Of course this does not mean I ignore what is happening all around us. To not face the present dilemmas would make me a poor citizen and a worse Christian. But that bird stopped me dead in the water.

There’s more to life than politics. Think about almost half a million who have lost their lives in the past year. Think of the grief that flows like a tsunami through all our streets. i think of so many of our people whose lives have been upended this long past year.  We cannot escape 

what is happening all around us. Yet, strangely the singing of that bird gives me hope.

Yes, hope. It seems crazy I know. And yet that bird is realer than Trump and all the other things out there that weigh us down. Wendell Berry has this wonderful poem called, "Look Out Your Window". There’s life out there. Yes, my bird--but so much more. That couple pushing their baby carriage. The man walking his dog. The two little girls running after each other down the street. The woman with her open Bible sitting on her porch facing yet another operation.The Amazon-UPS delivering package after package. There’s a whole lot out there as I look out my window.

An old preacher I worked with one time kept saying as he preached: “Are you listening…Are you listening?” Maybe we ought to add: Are you looking. Do not let yourself be distracted but all that dark and venomous stuff out there. And inside too. Remember. Look out your window. Listen. Look. If we do that long enough I am pretty sure our perspective will be healthier and we'll wake up as I did this morning—and who knows, you just may hear a bird sing.

(You might enjoy Dr. Bruce Yandle's splendid piece, "Worried About Your Country? Try tending your garden". 

                                   --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com