by Bishop Bill Gohl
In a world where buying (you know, like roses and chocolates marked up for the occasion) is synonymous with godliness, where consumption is an act of patriotism, we are called to fasting and self-denial.
In a world of sound bites and instant messaging, where perception is everything, we are called to look inward to meditation and prayer, to spend time in reflection and silence.
In a world where the present is what matters we are called to study ancient texts, to examine the ways our history is the foundation for the future and knowing the past allows us to reshape what is to come.
Dr. Mark Oldenburg, Dean of the Chapel at United Lutheran Seminary's Gettysburg Campus said something to an introductory worship class back in 1994 that has stuck with me for more than 20 years: "In a world where respirators and life-support machines pretend to keep us alive forever, Ash Wednesday, more than anything else, reminds us that there is no denial of death." I inscribed that in the margins of my study Bible!
When we no longer run away from death, but face its inevitability; death is no longer something to fear, but a place we have already been and to which we will return – dust to dust, ashes to ashes and yet God's own, forever.
The first line of the prayer of the day echoes that thought: Almighty and ever-living God, you hate nothing you have made, and you forgive the sins of all who are penitent. Nothing. God's love is for all creation — the beautiful parts, of course, but also in its ugliness, striving for meaning. We are the recipients of God's unending love, God's extravagant grace. If we lived fully into that reality, gone would be our striving for power, acceptance, and attention. If only we could know that we were and are created for the love of God and neighbor's sake, peace might become a reality.
Lent is about drawing us into that love, about realizing that we are in fact worth everything to God. Through the disciplines of this season: prayer, fasting and alms-giving, we are offered a window to see that God is already here within us, among us. In Lent we lose ourselves to find our true selves.
"Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near — day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing. Who knows whether he will not turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind him, a grain offering and a drink offering for the Lord, your God? Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast. Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy. Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep. Let them say, 'Spare your people, O Lord, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, 'Where is their God?''" – Joel 2.1-2, 12-18