From Estrangement to Reconciliation

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 27, 2022

Year C: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Joshua 5:9-12

Psalm 32

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

From Estrangement to Reconciliation

One of the saddest and most tragic elements of Russia’s war on Ukraine is that these two countries share so much history and heritage.

And, not only that, but many Ukrainian and Russian families are intertwined, united through love and marriage – and now those bonds are sorely tested by so much violence and suffering, and by two wildly different takes on the causes and the reality of this war.

No surprise, under this intense pressure, some Russian-Ukrainian families have become estranged, perhaps forever.

Of course, we don’t have to look overseas or watch the news to find stories of estrangement.

Probably all of our families have been wounded by divisions – divisions about money or love or politics - or something else.

We’re good at finding things to fight about.

Often some harsh words have been said, maybe out of anger, hurt, disappointment, or indignation – words that can continue to echo in our ears, and fester in our hearts, for many years.

For us, estrangement can create a divide that is wide and deep – and the journey to reconciliation can be long and difficult.

As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, there is nothing new about estrangement and the journey to reconciliation.

What’s usually called the Parable of the Prodigal Son is definitely one of Jesus’ “greatest hits,” a rich story that must have touched the hearts and challenged the assumptions of the people who first heard it – a story that can still touch and challenge us today.

Although we usually consider the prodigal son the star of this tale, I find that he is actually the least interesting character.

We know the type, right? The younger son who maybe feels stifled in the family, perhaps frustrated that he won’t inherit the bulk of his father’s estate.

So, he decides to cash out early and go off and have a good time for himself.

But, as we heard, the party doesn’t last forever and eventually he finds himself in circumstances so dire that he decides to go back home where the “hired hands” are living way better than he is.

He chooses to throw himself on his father’s mercy, and hope for the best.

At least one scholar suggests that the prodigal rehearsing the lines he’s going to use on his dad points to a certain lack of… sincerity.

Maybe so, but sincerely sorry or not, the younger son makes his way home, no doubt wondering about the kind of welcome he’ll receive.

For a moment, let’s leave the prodigal younger son right there and turn our attention to his aggrieved older brother.

I suspect that many of us identify with – or can at least sympathize with – him.

He’s been toiling away for years – although “slaving” seems like an exaggeration since, unlike real slaves, he stands to inherit his father’s estate.

But, no doubt he’s worked hard and he’s probably also gotten really tired of all the attention given to his troubled younger brother. And now, seeing his father’s overflowing joy at the prodigal’s return, he explodes.

It’s just too much.

And, to add insult to injury, not only has older brother never had a party thrown in his honor, it looks like nobody even thought to invite him to the big party for the returning prodigal.

And, finally, there is the father, who I think is the most interesting character in this story.

I think we can agree that he really has taken his older son for granted, just assuming that he would go on being responsible forever, not needing, or maybe even wanting, any attention or gratitude.

And not inviting the older son to the party is just careless, at best.

And he probably did spoil the younger son.

But, to his credit, he has obviously missed his younger son, continuing to watch and wait for him.

And when the prodigal returns, he is welcomed and embraced, no questions asked. 

One of the things I love about this parable is that, just like in real life, there is no tidy ending.

Unlike an episode of a TV show in which the characters manage to resolve their problems and differences in less than an hour, with swelling music telegraphing to us that they will live happily ever after, here we are left to wonder:

Will the prodigal really change his ways, or once his hunger is satisfied will he start itching to hit the road again?

Will the older brother be able to forgive his brother and especially his father, setting aside his grievances, returning to his life of working and waiting?

And will the father be more attentive to his older son and, perhaps, a little stricter with the younger?

I wonder.

We probably don’t need to be reminded of the estrangements among our families and friends.

But, we can forget our estrangements from God. Sometimes we estrange ourselves from God in big, splashy ways, like the prodigal son. Or, more likely, it’s smaller, quieter choices that leave us feeling far from God.

Lent is a time to remind us of how we may have turned away, or drifted away from God – Lent offers us an opportunity to turn back, to return to God.

It feels like we just got started, but today is already the Fourth Sunday in Lent, often called Laetare Sunday, from a Latin word meaning “to rejoice.”

Now, the hard truth is that, there hasn’t been much to rejoice about lately, that is, unless of course you’re from Jersey City.

But, no matter where we’re from or what’s going on in our lives, today, on Laetare Sunday, with the change of liturgical color from purple to rose, the Church signals that there’s not too much Lent left. 

We’re meant to rejoice because soon it will be Easter, the day we celebrate the great reconciliation between God and us – the day that love and life defeat hate and death, once and for all.

And today we can also rejoice because the Parable of the Prodigal Son gives us a glimpse of what God is like.

God is always willing and able to heal the estrangement between God and us.

When the father saw his lost son off in the distance, making that hard return back home, the father runs out and embraces him.

There must have been a swirl of feeling: relief, forgiveness, joy, and most of all, love. So much love.

That is what God is like.

So, yes, there’s no denying that there are bitter and deep divisions in our world, our country, and in many of our families.

No matter how the war ends, it will probably take a very long time before there is true reconciliation between Ukraine and Russia, and among the many families torn apart by this conflict.

For us, estrangement can create a divide that is wide and deep – and the journey to reconciliation can be long and difficult.

But, it’s not so with God.

So, despite our many troubles, we can still rejoice, because God is waiting for our return, watching for us, ready to embrace us and forgive us, always eager to welcome us back home.

Amen.

Remorse, Repentance, Penance

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 20, 2022

Year C: The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

Remorse, Repentance, Penance

One of the great privileges and heaviest responsibilities of my job is being with, and hopefully comforting, people during some of the most difficult and frightening moments of their lives:

The doctor delivers a dire diagnosis, or there’s been a terrible accident, or a heartbreaking betrayal, or a job has been lost.

As human beings, we love to look for cause and effect. We search for patterns. We want to solve mysteries.

So, even for people of deep faith and with relatively clear consciences, in those terrible moments it’s common to ask:

What have I done to deserve this?

Why is God punishing me – or why is God punishing this person I love?

Judging by today’s gospel lesson, apparently people were asking those same kinds of hard questions two thousand years ago.

Today’s lesson begins with some people telling Jesus about an instance of Roman brutality, one that would have been especially horrifying to Jews. Apparently, Pontius Pilate slaughtered some Galileans while they were at the Temple, and their blood was mixed with the blood of the animals sacrificed there.

Without waiting to be asked, Jesus assures the crowd that the poor victims of this brutality were not worse sinners than everyone else.

And then Jesus brings up another event of suffering – one that might be the result of human error or neglect rather than cruelty: the tower of Siloam fell and killed 18 people. This must have been a terribly shocking and sad loss for the families and friends of these victims, who perhaps wondered why they were being punished when so many other people walked by that tower all the time.

But, again, without waiting to be asked, Jesus says that these poor people were not worse sinners than everybody else.

As an aside, except for the mentions here, we don’t know anything about those Galileans massacred in the Temple or the fall of that tower. Since there’s no evidence outside the gospel, some might question the historical truth of those events. But I think it just points to the hard truth that so many terrible things happen all the time that we can’t remember them all, most of tragedies are forgotten by most of us almost immediately.

Just think how quickly tragedies move from the front page, to the back pages, and then they’re gone and forgotten by most of us.

For example, I had forgotten about the shootings at spas in Atlanta until the other day, when the news reported on the one-year anniversary of that tragedy.

One year and forgotten.

But, although Jesus acknowledges that sometimes – often – bad things happen to good people, or at least to people no worse than the rest of us, that’s not his whole message today.

No, Jesus gives a stark warning: although the people who suffer may not be worse than anyone else, unless we repent, we will surely perish.

To get ready for our Lenten book study, I recently reread Barbara Brown Taylor’s Speaking of Sin. I guess I’ve read it three or four times now and I find it really holds up, offering insights that are timely and fresh.

One point she makes is that we often kid ourselves that just feeling bad about what we’ve done – just feeling remorse – is somehow sufficient.

We seem to think that if we feel bad – or, if we say that we feel bad – and ask forgiveness, well, we can then move on and never speak or think of this unpleasantness ever again.

Well, I suppose it would be nice if that worked, but Barbara Brown Taylor is clear that it won’t – and Jesus is clear about that, too.

Instead, the way forward out of our sin and guilt and back to wholeness and health is remorse, repentance, and penance.

Remorse we know.

And hopefully by now we know that repentance is more than just saying we’re sorry – it’s a change of direction, a commitment to changing our hearts and minds, with God’s help.

Remorse, repentance…and then there is penance.

When I got to that part of Speaking of Sin, I was immediately transported back to my Roman Catholic childhood in Jersey City (the college basketball capital of America!).

For us Catholic kids, “making our sacraments” was a big deal.

First Communion was a festive occasion for us second graders, with the girls wearing white dresses and veils and the boys looking very sharp in white jackets and black pants. I don’t know, there may still be pictures of me in my Communion outfit but, unfortunately, I just haven’t had the time to look!

Anyway, while receiving Communion was exciting, making my first confession in fourth grade was a scary experience.

I’m not sure how much we fourth graders understood about all this, but we knew that we would be one on one with a priest and would be expected to tell him our sins, such as they were.

I can still remember the day.

We were all in church and one by one we went into the confessionals.

I remember carefully watching my classmates as they came out, searching their faces for clues about just how terrifying it had been.

I remember sitting in the pew, trying to come up with what exactly I was going to confess – probably disobeying my parents and being mean to my sister.

And then, it was my turn.

In this case, the “confessional” was just an ordinary room in which there were two chairs, separated by a mesh screen with a kneeler, though I’m not sure how much privacy that actually afforded.

I don’t remember much about the confession itself, except that when it was over, I, like everybody else, I guess, was assigned what was called “penance” – which simply meant saying a number of “Our Fathers” and some “Hail Marys,” and then I’d be good.

How and why that worked, I’m not sure I ever understood.

Looking back on it now, as scary as that first confession was, the stakes didn’t seem very high – and so I’m sure that, for most of us confession and penance never became a big part of our lives.

And yet, Jesus warns us that, in fact, the stakes are as high as they get: unless we repent, we will surely perish.

That perishing is not the result of cruelty or disaster or even illness.

No, that perishing is a living death of carrying around sin and guilt in our hearts, and not taking steps toward healing, wholeness, and new life.

As is often the case, the Church can learn, or, actually, relearn a lot from the Twelve Steps of AA, especially Steps 8 and 9, which call for taking stock of all the people we have hurt and then doing our best to make amends to them.

Obviously, penance – which really is more about making amends than saying a certain number of prayers - is very difficult work – and it’s work that often remains unfinished, because some wounds just can’t be healed, some broken pieces just can’t be put back together.

But, this is what all of us sinners are called to do – and Lent – which, I’m sorry to tell you, is once again slipping away very quickly – Lent is the perfect time to get started.

So, with God’s help, we can follow the way of remorse, repentance, and penance – we can follow the way back to health, to wholeness, and to new life.

Amen.

God Invites Us to Have Faith in the Future

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 13, 2022

Year C: The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

Psalm 27

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Luke 13:31-55

God Invites Us to Have Faith in the Future

In last Sunday’s gospel lesson, we heard the story of Jesus’ forty days and nights in the wilderness.

It was a time when the devil tempted a starving and exhausted Jesus, offering him seemingly good things – making bread to eat, gaining authority over all the world, putting his complete faith in God – with just one catch.

All Jesus had to do was recognize and submit to the devil’s sovereignty.

Of course, Jesus successfully resists the devil’s enticements.

But Luke ended this story on an ominous note, warning that the devil and his temptations would be back at “an opportune time.”

Obviously, we face all sorts of temptations all the time.

But, in last week’s sermon, I suggested that, unfortunately, once again the devil has found an opportune time to tempt us.

Faced with an ever-growing pile of crises – around the world and in our own land and in many of our families - lots of us are sorely tempted by despair.

Some – maybe many - of us are even losing faith in the future.

In today’s lesson from the Book of Genesis, we meet someone who, it seems, has also lost faith in the future.

Right from the start, God made some big promises to Abram, calling him out of his homeland, assuring him that he would be the father of a great nation. 

But, as we heard today, Abram’s faith in God faltered because he just couldn’t imagine a worthwhile future without children of his own. 

In response to Abram’s gloomy view of the future, God made an amazing pledge, promising that this old man (and his old wife) will have descendants as numerous than the stars in the sky.

And now, for whatever reasons, Abram chose to trust God’s extravagant, even outlandish, promise.

And then we heard about a strange little ritual.

Abram is instructed to gather some animals, cutting most of them in two. 

And then, that night, Abram witnessed “a smoking pot and a flaming torch” pass between the animal pieces.

It all sounds pretty bizarre to us, but this ritual was a way that some contracts were made in the ancient world.

The idea was that both parties would pass between the animal halves, symbolizing that if either party broke their end of the deal, well, they would end up like the cut up heifer, goat, and ram.

A crude, but effective, contract enforcement tool, I guess.

But notice that in this particular contract – this covenant between God and Abram and his descendants – it is only God who passes through.

God will keep God’s end of the deal but God knows that Abram’s future descendants will break the covenant, yet they will not pay the ultimate penalty for their unfaithfulness.

God knows only too well that we will continue to mess up and fall short. 

I mean, just look at the world today.

Yes, God knows that we will give into temptation – but, despite all of our failures, God will not give up on us, no matter what.

And so, just like with Abram long ago, God invites us to have faith in the future.

At the start of today’s gospel lesson we heard some familiar posturing and plotting.

The Pharisees, members of a movement within Judaism who are usually depicted in the gospels as opposing Jesus, warn him that his life is in danger. Do they tip him off because they are genuinely concerned about his survival or are they playing their own game?

We don’t know.

In any event, Jesus uses this opportunity to remind everyone of the work he’s been doing - casting out demons and healing the sick.

And then Jesus turns his attention to Jerusalem – that holy city that had been – and continues to be - the site of much holiness and much suffering – the place where Jesus will complete the sacrifice of his life.

It’s important to remember that during Jesus’ earthly lifetime, Jerusalem was an occupied city – ruled by the brutal Romans, assisted by local leaders who tried to keep the peace, as uneasy as it was.

And it’s also important to remember that in the year 70, a few decades after Jesus’ earthly lifetime, the Romans will destroy Jerusalem, burning the Temple, sending Jewish refugees fleeing for their lives.

So, for the first hearers and readers of the Gospel, that was all the recent past – and the aftermath of Jerusalem’s destruction was their frightening and disorienting present.

Faced with so much terror and tragedy, it must have been hard to have faith in the future.

But, perhaps they were comforted by the remarkable motherly language and imagery that Jesus uses when he talks about Jerusalem:

“How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…”

Beautiful, right?

And so, God our Mother invites us to have faith in the future. 

And now here we are today.

The war that Russia has unleashed on Ukraine has upset a lot of our assumptions about the present and the future.

Until a few weeks ago, most of us had assumed that the Cold War was long over, but now it looks like maybe we were just living during a pause in the tension, hostility, and danger.

Back in the 1980s, I was fortunate enough to visit Berlin a couple of times – a place scarred by the Cold War.

As you’ll remember, the former and future German capital was a divided city back then, with a wall – or, actually a system of fortifications and a wide no man’s land laced with landmines – meant to prevent people from the Communist East from escaping into the free West.

I had the unnerving and unforgettable experience of passing through a checkpoint into East Berlin – a place that looked and felt pretty much like any modern city, that is, until you remembered that most of the people passing by on the sidewalk going about their business were, in fact, living in a giant prison.

Seeing the wall and the guard towers and fortifications – and hearing about the brave and often tragic stories of escape attempts, it seemed to me back in 1988 that the wall would surely stand for the rest of my life, and probably a lot longer than that.

But, just a year or so later, it was gone – the gates opened and the barriers brought down, all without one shot having been fired.

And, if you visit Berlin today you have to look very carefully to find any evidence of the brutal gash that once divided the city.

God invites us to have faith in the future.

Two thousand years ago, out of the rubble of Jerusalem and the scattering of the Jewish people, a new Judaism arose, led by the Pharisees and their descendants, the rabbis.  

And thousands of years before that, the old childless couple Abram and Sarai became Abraham and Sarah, the father and mother of descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky.

And today, while there’s no question that we are in a tragic and dangerous moment, with much suffering all around, we can trust that the God who made an eternal covenant with Abram – the God who longs to gather us like a hen sheltering her brood under her wings – this God who will not let go of us, will not give up on us, no matter what.

And so, despite all the pain and sorrow and fear we see and experience, God invites us to have faith in the future.

Amen.

Marked As Christ's Own For Ever

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 6, 2022

Year C: The First Sunday in Lent

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

Romans 10:8b-13

Luke 4:1-13

Marked As Christ’s Own For Ever

For several reasons, my first Ash Wednesday here at St. Thomas’ was one of the most meaningful of my life.

First, as you can see, members of the Altar Guild did an amazing job getting the church ready for Lent.

I don’t know how you feel about it, but I love the simplicity and starkness, which match the season perfectly.

And at our noon service on Ash Wednesday, Wanda and Jim provided us with such beautiful music. And at the evening service they were joined by Tess, making the music even more evocative.

And, all three of our services were well attended.

I’m not sure why so many people turned up - maybe because it’s been a couple of years since we had a normal Ash Wednesday service.

And, I’m sure we all feel the need to pray even more fervently than usual, as we watch the horrifying and completely unnecessary tragedy unfold in Ukraine, and wonder how will it end, worry about what is yet to come.

Over the years, I have made an ashen cross on many foreheads. I have told a lot of people that someday they would return to dust.

And, somehow this strange little ritual never loses its power or its discomfort, especially when the people who come forward are old or sick, or when they are very young.

This year a mom came up with her little girl, who looked at me with hesitancy and uncertainty, and maybe a little fear. And her mom whispered, it’s her first time.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

This year, when I “imposed” ashes on many of you – members of this amazing community that I have come to love so much – I was reminded of another time when I get to make the sign of the cross on foreheads.

Near the end of the Baptism service, after the brand new Christian has died and risen with Christ, they are anointed with oil and told:

“You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.”

The seal of the Holy Spirit is impermeable and eternal, sustaining us in good times and bad, bonding us to God even when it doesn’t feel that way, giving us hope even when all that seems to remain is dust.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

“You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.”

As we do each year on the First Sunday in Lent, today we heard the story of Jesus’ forty days and nights in the wilderness, this time of testing and temptation.

It’s a story told by Mark, Matthew, and Luke, and it’s important to remember that all three of these evangelists place this story of wilderness temptations immediately following the story of Jesus’ Baptism.

In his Baptism, the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus.

And the voice from heaven told him, or reminded him, of who he was: God’s beloved Son.

Like us, in Baptism, Jesus receives all that he needs to sustain him in good times and bad, especially the very bad, like the forty days and nights in the wilderness - and the worst of all, later, when just about everyone turns against him or abandons him, leaving Jesus to a bloody and humiliating death on the cross, when all hope sure seemed to be lost.

In the story of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness, the devil is not what we usually think he is: the embodiment of evil.

No, true to Jewish tradition, here the devil is simply the tempter, offering options that, if you stop and think about it, actually aren’t so bad.

What’s so bad about a starving Jesus miraculously making bread to sustain himself?

What’s so bad about Jesus ruling the whole world?

What’s so bad about Jesus leaping off the Temple, putting his whole trust in God?

Well, the problem was that the devil tempted Jesus to use not so good means to achieve good ends – a temptation that maybe some of us are familiar with, too.

Jesus, of course, withstands the Devil’s temptations.

But, Luke concludes on an ominous note.

Yes, the devil was finished tempting Jesus, but only for now. The devil would return at “an opportune time.”

It’s clear that we are living in one of those opportune times right now.

A cascading series of crises – environmental degradation, political division, plague, economic upheavals, and now war in Europe – plus all of our own worries and challenges – all of it tempts us – tempts us to give into despair.

Despair is the great temptation of our time.

With God’s help, despair is a temptation we can resist by being here together in this holy place with our sisters and brothers. 

And, with God’s help, we can resist the temptation of despair by looking for God at work in the midst of the mess, looking for signs of hope among the rubble of our broken world.

On Thursday morning, when I was still buzzing from Ash Wednesday, I found a most powerful sign of hope, a way to resist the temptation of despair.

Betsy Wilmerding and I went to visit someplace I’ve been eager to see since even before I arrived here: Viva House in South West Baltimore.

In 1968, inspired by the Gospel and the example of Dorothy Day, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement, the husband-and-wife team of Brendan Walsh and Willa Bickham opened Viva House in a classic Baltimore row house.

And for more than 50 years they have chosen to give much more than their first fruits to God.

Obeying Jesus’ most challenging and radical teachings, they have chosen poverty and radical hospitality, living among the poor, giving away their lives in service to the forgotten and the despised.

For more than fifty years, they’ve opened the doors of Viva House, which is also their home: feeding and clothing people, offering after school programs, free legal assistance, and much more.

Like all of us, during the pandemic they had to adjust – no more sit-down meals in the narrow dining room. But the generosity has continued, with hundreds of take-out dinners continuing to go out the door.

As Betsy and I sat with Willa and Brendan, in a room decorated with beautiful religious art, much of it created by Willa herself, they spoke frankly and sadly about how, despite all their good work, their neighborhood has tragically declined since 1968.

It’s a familiar story – as industry closed up shop, most anyone who could moved out, leaving behind people doing their best to survive amidst vacant row houses, trash-strewn lots, and crime.

The nearly empty elementary school right across the street from Viva House is scheduled to close, another sign of neighborhood life about to be extinguished.

Hearing and seeing all of this woe, I was going to ask Brendan and Willa how they could possibly keep going even into old age – what sustains them – how do they resist the temptation to despair?

But, sitting in the presence of such obvious holiness and persistent joy, I already knew the answer:

“You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.”

So, yes, the devil has found yet another opportune time to tempt us – to tempt us to give in to fear and despair.

But, just like Jesus, in Baptism we have been given all that we need to resist and defeat temptation.

Just like my new friends Willa and Brendan, with God’s help, we can keep going, keep giving, keep loving, knowing that the seal of the Holy Spirit is impermeable and eternal, sustaining us in good times and bad, bonding us to God even when it doesn’t feel that way, giving us hope, giving us confidence that, out of the dust, love and life will ultimately triumph.

Amen.

Ashes of Grace

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 2, 2022

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103:8-14

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Ashes of Grace 

I guess about ten years ago now, lots of Episcopal churches began a new Ash Wednesday tradition: “Ashes to Go” 

Because lots of people can’t or won’t come to our Ash Wednesday services, we decided to bring Ash Wednesday to the people.

So, since then, all across the church, including I’m told here at St. Thomas’, clergy and lay people have fanned out to train stations and bus stops, with signs announcing that ashes were available. 

And because these days nothing really happens unless it’s posted on social media, there are always lots of Facebook photos of clergy and lay people ready to impose ashes on commuters and other passersby, ready to say those familiar words:

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

At first, “Ashes to Go” did stir up a bit of controversy, with some arguing that it was a bad idea to separate the ashes from everything else we say and do in church on this day.

They suggested that just smudging ashes on foreheads and telling people that they were going to die did not make much sense, and was not particularly pastoral or even kind. 

I understand those objections, and I even agree, somewhat.

But, since I like to try stuff, back in my former church in Jersey City, we did indeed offer “Ashes to Go.”

During both the morning and evening rush hours, a hearty little band of us would set up shop at a busy bus stop a few blocks from church.

I have to tell you, it was usually so cold and windy.

And as we stood there, offering ashes and a prayer card, people reacted in different ways.

Some people refused to make eye contact with us and others rolled their eyes at us.

Many people paid us no mind at all.  

But, lots of people did stop and come up to us.

Some just out of curiosity, while others were grateful that they had this opportunity at the start or end of a busy day.

Sometimes they remembered us from previous years, like the two women who spotted us from across the street and ran across five or six busy lanes of traffic, just to get their ashes.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Some people would hear those words and receive the ashes on their forehead and they would tear up and whisper words of gratitude, or “God bless you.”

Sometimes people would give a broad smile and be on their way.

To my surprise, even without everything that we say and do in church on this day, for these people it was a holy moment to be reminded that someday they would be dust. 

Somehow, the ashes were ashes of grace.

How is this possible?

Well, you know, I’ve already officiated at many committals in our cemetery. And in most cases the deceased loved one has been cremated. And every single time, family members have held those cremains with so much love and tenderness.

Of course, right?

And, if that’s how we care for the ashes of those we love, how much more will God care for our dust?

That’s the grace of Ash Wednesday.

That’s the grace that the people at the busy bus stop somehow received and recognized.

And that’s the grace that I hope we will receive and recognize here today, and all throughout Lent, as we journey with Jesus to the cross and finally to the empty tomb.

As the Prophet Joel wrote long ago, God is gracious and merciful, always calling us back.

And so these ashes of grace are a reminder that God will never forget us, God will never let go of us, even when it looks like all hope is lost, even when all that seems to remain is dust.

Amen.