2 Corinthians 5:16-6:10
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Ash Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
Tonight’s worship differs somewhat from previous Ash Wednesday services. Usually, what we have done so far follows the sermon. Even though we confess our sins on Ash Wednesday, we don’t reflect on them in as much depth as we have tonight. Ordinarily, we offer the imposition of ashes after the sermon, just before we receive the bread and cup.
Yet, tonight, some of us already bear the sign of the ashes upon our brows. We came forward and heard those ancient words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Even if we didn’t receive the ashes, we know all too well what they mean. They remind us of “the frailty and uncertainty of human life.” They mark “the penitence of this community.”
Even if we never came to worship on Ash Wednesday, most of us know the old nursery rhyme, “Ring around the rosie, Pocketful of posies, Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” Associate University Chaplain at Yale, Callista S. Isabelle comments on this curious sign we bear and what it may mean for us here tonight. She writes:
- Strange things happen when we publicly acknowledge our mortality. It can open up conversations that might otherwise not take place. Naming mortality in a community is a way of falling down together so we can be pulled up together by the grace of God.
When we sing, “Just as I am, without one plea,” we may begin again with God and with one another.
When Paul presented his credentials to the church of Corinth, he came just as he was. He did not clean himself up to look presentable. He did not appear before those who questioned his apostleship without a mark on him. Instead, he wore his ashes, the signs of his mortality and, as some thought, his failure. He rehearsed for them all the “hard times, tough times, bad times” of his ministry, as Peterson puts it in The Message. He recalled the beatings, the imprisonments, and hard work. He remembered how he worked, “with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love,” again as Peterson puts it. Through all of it, all the highs and lows, Paul knew to whom he belonged and from whom he received the power to proclaim the good news.
Yet, too often, within the church, we keep quiet about such things. We would rather remain upbeat and refuse to reveal our mortality. We pretend that the sign of the ashes cannot be seen, but even if we did not receive them, they are there. We bear them as the furrowed brow as we worry about our security,wondering how we will provide for our families. We bear them in the heavy sigh as we grieve the loss of another friend, guessing when our time will come. Unlike Paul, we keep these anxious fears to ourselves, except perhaps, tonight, when we wear the sign of ashes, which says to ourselves and to one another, we know how fearful life can be; we know how fragile life can be; we know how far we fall from life as God intends it to be.
We bear the ashes in the anxiety we feel at times for the future of the church, fearing that there is nothing we can do to escape what seems the futility of keeping the doors open. Sometimes, when folks talk about change or renewal in the church, or elsewhere for that matter, I feel as if they leave out a step. Unless we acknowledge our fears, we will never find faith. Unless we admit our despair, we will never find hope. Unless we accept our indifference, we will never find love. Until we allow that we’ve made mistakes, we will never turn around and find our way home.
We wear our ashes for all the world, for one another, and for ourselves to see, as we sing that old song,
Just as I am, without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!
Paul endured everything and wore his ashes for all to see, so that everyone would know the good news. What was the good news? The good news was that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Godself. The good news was that in Christ, there was a new creation; the old life had passed away, was put to death, and everything had become new. In grace, God did all of it and Paul pled with the Corinthians: Be reconciled to God.
When all is said and done, this message still rings true today. With Paul, in Christ, I invite you to come home to God tonight and throughout this holy season of Lent. We come, not because we are able to come on our own power. We come, not because we have it all figured out. Just as we are, “though tossed about,
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without.
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”
We come, not because we’ve kept our noses clean. We come, not because we’re without flaw. Just as we are, the Lamb of God, the sweet Lamb of God “wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!”
We come, not because we must, but because we may. We come because we long to come, since “Thy love unknown
Has broken every barrier down;
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!”
As a community, we have fallen down together on this night, wearing once more the sign of the ashes, which tells of life’s frailty and uncertainty, which mark our penitence. We have fallen down together, but not so that we may stay there, rather so that God may pull us up by God’s grace, so we may come, we may come and remember our baptism and receive the bread and cup. We come, because God came to us first, when God sent his only Son to dwell among us, to reveal God’s love to us through the cross, to be the Lamb of God who made a way for us to be welcomed into God’s loving embrace.
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
