Thursday, February 22, 2007

My dear God,

Ash Wednesday always begins at the monastery. Early in the morning I don the cross of Christ. But yesterday was surgery day for a church member. I couldn't be in two places at once. I phoned my colleague and told him I couldn't come to our covenant group.

It was still dark when I started for the hospital. The thick fog hung heavy in the air. As I turned on the county road I drove into a truly exquisite winter wonderland. The fog mixed with snow gripped everything in its path. Bare tree limbs and branches glistened. Fences and signs offered a shimmering display of rare beauty. Bushes and driveways sparkled. At moments when I was alone on the road, I could have sworn I was driving into heaven.

My voice gave praise. "How lovely are thy dwellings, O Lord of Hosts. My soul longeth, yea fainteth in the house of the Lord..." A teenage girl had sung the song in church on Sunday, taking me back to the eighth grade where I stood at an Anderson coliseum singing the same song. Tears formed in my eyes. Ash Wednesday had already begun. My mortal self imagined my being beside the immortal God. I confessed my longing for this God who makes sense of my fragile existence. I would gladly bear the cross of this God.

By evening the faithful gathered in a dimly lighted sanctuary, two candles burning on the altar, a light revealing the wooden cross hung high on the gray stone wall. Dressed in my black robe with purple stole I was fixed on the brass cross as I sojourned down the aisle. Silence pervaded the space as worthy souls waited on God. I stood at the altar opening my heart, "Crack me open, wide open, dear God, revealing everything you want me to see. A holy Lent, make me to celebrate a holy Lent." I moved to the pulpit and broke the silence.

I had decided early in the day that there would be no Holy Communion. We would instead focus on the ashes, our mortality, our need to return to God. I looked at the faces of my flock, the beloved of the Almighty. I knew many of their stories, understood their pain and suffering, their questions. Humbly, I placed the sign of the cross on each one as they stood in line at the chancel steps. "You are dust and to dust you shall return." I spoke quietly, looking into the eyes of the faithful.

We wore Christ as we sang, "Lord, I Want to be a Christian." In moments the service was over. Most had departed. I walked back down the aisle to extinguish the lights. Cupping my hand around the flame, I blew gently and the lights went out. In the darkness I realized the cross marked on my forehead was the light of the world. I would carry the light all during Lent.

As the evening drew to a close and I drove once again in the darkness, I felt blessed. Ash Wednesday had been God's design. Lent had begun. Day one.

I love you,
my dearest God.
I declare to you
my love,
recognizing that I will fail to love
at times during the Lenten season.
I will falter,
stumble,
forget.
By your grace I will be drawn back
at Easter time,
having gone full circle
to love.
I pray my steps
will walk the path
of Christ
during these 40 days.
My own questions and doubts
will lead me always
to your side,
to the cross,
where all things lead.
Humble my pride,
chip away my arrogance,
restore my faith
as I seek your face.

Humbly yours, Andrea