do you all

when you find yourselves in the late morning come awake yearning

 

 

 

For as long as you all have known me, it has been just me; but I have been in relationships. In fact, there was a time when I was engaged. It was an engagement that was called off; obviously.

Things began to unravel the second summer of our relationship. That summer I would serve as a chaplain in Missouri and Kristen would work as a nurse in Africa. It was a very difficult summer.

Not only was it difficult because we were apart, although that was a large chunk of it, it also had to do with the kind of summer each of us were having.

I had a miserable experience as a chaplain. It was hard, I had to deal with a lot of death for the first time, and so on.

And for Kristen it was a hard summer, too. She was in Libera; there weren't many ways to speak with her family and friends, and on top of that she was struggling with her vocation.

We were each in our own little miseries.

 

Occasionally we would be able to talk, but the brief conversations were expensive and with our busy schedules and the time difference, it was hard to even get those conversations in.

It was in those trying circumstances that our relationship began to unravel.


It took me awhile to remember what, exactly, the argument that started it all was about, because the whole thing was such a mess. What started it all, though, was a call that wasn't placed.

We had agreed to talk on a certain evening; which would mean she would wake up early to receive that call. As it turned out, I got assigned to be on-call that evening. After Kristen and I had planned to talk, something happened among the chaplain staffing and our schedules had to be changed.

So I found myself on-call that night we were going to chat.

That night was a miserable one. I was paged from crisis to crisis, from death to death. It was exhausting and when the 9 am chaplain meeting began, the pager went off again. Thankfully I was able to get someone else to cover that page.

Right after the meeting I went to the chaplains house and fell asleep. Honestly, I had forgotten about the call, and didn't even think to try to call Kristen that morning.

 

Well, obviously, she was upset.

And when we were able to speak, she let me know she was upset.

 

...And then I did something foolish:

In the face of her pain I explained why I was innocent. I explained all the extenuating circumstances, I gave all my valid excuses.

 

We can all imagine how that went.

It didn't help things at all, in fact it made them worse. From that strained point, from the missed call and our stressful summers, all the junk came out. All the things we had tried to cover, all the strains; they all came out.

As the argument would move from one thing to another, in the terrible way arguments do, occasionally it would come back to that call I didn't make.

Never did my explanation of why I was in the right help things.

That whole mess was the beginning of the end.

There are those of you, who as you listen to this story, think easily enough of one thing I never did.

It is true, I never apologized; I guess I wasn't able. There was something dark in me that wouldn't allow me to say, "I'm sorry, I messed up. I am wrong." I never could ask, "Will you forgive me."

 

Theologically what was going on is that the Old Adam, the old sinner, in me was refusing to die. We also call it, "being self-righteous," trying to prove our own worth.

Emotionally what was going on was that in my mind and in my heart, I couldn't handle the idea that I had messed up, that my actions hurt someone else, and selfishly I did all I could to deny my fault.

 

I felt I needed to keep up the charade that I was the Ryan who had it all together, that I was innocent. I was unwilling to let that image die, and so I helped kill-off a relationship...

 

That is all too often the tragedy of life, isn't it?

We refuse to drop some act, so we get into silly arguments with others, we force folks to deal with us in prescribed ways, we push people from us, and so on, all so we can keep from admitting we're in the wrong.

It is tragic.

 

And that is why Ash Wednesday is so important. Our terribly tendency toward self-righteous living probably has something to do with why this ancient tradition of Ash Wednesday has continued to persist.

Today, Ash Wednesday, is an occasion to drop the act, it is a chance to finally confess who we are, what we are.

 

Today is a day to remember, a day to hear, that in our sin we have turned from God and the consequences of our turning is that we will die.

Today is a chance to drop the act that we've got it all together, and just admit that we've missed up, that our actions have hurt others, that our actions have brought death upon others; upon ourselves.

 

It seems that the tradition of Christianity has insisted that for a person to have mature faith, they need to know how to confess their sins; to say "I'm wrong. I've messed up." To ask, "will you forgive me."

 

That is what today, Ash Wednesday, is. Today is an occasion to admit our guilt, to finally confess who we are. In other words, today is a chance to drop the act.

Ash Wednesday is day to stop chasing images of who we think we are, and instead return to God. Ash Wednesday is an invitation to drop that terrible act, that act we all do that strains relationships, puts others, puts ourselves and puts Christ to death.

 

In our confession, our sins cease to be something that separates from God. In our confession to God, our sins become a bridge God travels upon to claim us.

 

Isn't that remarkable?

It is also true.

It is true because after all, that story we confess today, that we are sinners, that we're dying, is only half the story. When we finally drop the act and confess who we are; we only tell half the story, we only tell the first and tragic half of the story.

When we confess our sins, that we're dying, God comes in and gives us a new story. When we tell our broken story, God comes in and fixes that story. When we give up the charade, when we confess that we've messed up, God who is faithful breaks into our story, breaks into our story and fixes it.

 

After all, the cross that will be imposed on your foreheads is only a tracing.

Yes, it is a mere tracing...

 

Those ashes will be affixed our forehead and we will hear that we are dust returning to dust; but that cross that is made on your forehead with ashes is a mere tracing of the first cross that was marked on your forehead.

In your baptism God claimed you, God sealed you with the Holy Spirit, and so even that broken story of sin and death will not have the last word on you.

That is the whole story, fellow dying ones.

 

Yes, we have turned from God, yes our turning has had terrible consequence; but no. No God will not leave us to that broken, sinful story. God comes in and claims us again and again. Give us a new, a whole, a complete story.

 

Now I may not have able to bring myself to apologize to Kristen at the time. It wasn't until much later, when we became simple acquaintances, that I was able to apologize. During that time, in that hell I created for myself, when I wouldn't apologize, I came face to face with the death that sin always heralds.

I don't need to tell you it wasn't any fun.

And in that destruction that my need to keep the old sinner alive created, I found myself with nowhere to turn. When I couldn't keep up the act of a Ryan who had it all together, I was finally able to say what needed to be said.

 

I admitted that I had messed up, that my actions had caused another one of God's creatures pain; that worst of all, in my refusal to apologize, I hurt God's creature even more.

Finally I was able to admit to God and myself that I had messed up, that I was wrong, that I needed to be forgiven.

 

And do you know what God said?

God said, "I know Ryan. I know. I know and I love you. Have life, have new life in my love."

 

It was hard to believe.

Yes, that old sinner is never far from us, and that old, self-righteous, Ryan that needed to believe I could prove how lovable I was, felt I needed to do something before God would just say, "I know and I love you - have life in that love."

But God was resolute. God had already claimed me long ago in that baptism. God had already given me new life in my baptism. God would not allow me to feebly buy what God had already given me long ago.

And really, that extravagant grace of God killed that old sinner too, because in that moment I found myself wholly dependent on God's love.

 

 

That, finally, is what Ash Wednesday is about. That, finally, is what the Christian tradition insists we must know to be mature in our faith.

 

Yes, we must know how to confess our sins and to ask for forgiveness; but it is only so important that we know how to do this, so that we can hear, that we can receive God's incredible grace for us.

Yes, we are dust returning to dust, but no God will not leave us that way. God comes and redeems dust like you and I, giving us new life in the baptismal waters.

Remember that you are dust, but even more importantly, remember that God loves dust-creatures like you and me.

Amen.