Wednesday, February 25, 2009

My dearest God,

"...we beg you who have received grace not to let it be wasted." The line from 2 Corinthians lifted off the page as I prepared for my Ash Wednesday message. Grace, wasted.

Grace, that unmerited, unlimited, unconditional love you offer. My mind went sailing and reeling at the same time. The countless times you have touched my life with forgiveness, compassion, comfort, and mercy. The moments when light broken into my darkness, when you picked me up from the abyss and lifted me to heaven, when your warmth held me, when an answer came, when I was loved being my ability to comprehend it. Those experiences of faith conquering fear, hope destroying despair, joy dissipating sorrow. I realized how full my bucket was, a full bucket of grace.

But the second part struck me equally. This grace wasted. The times I turned away, separating myself from you. When I sinned, mocked someone, forgot you, failed to care for my neighbor in need. When I received grace but did not give grace to someone else. When I was stingy and neglected to help another. When I took matters in my own hand and ignored your warnings. When I said no, knowing yes was the better answer. When I did not forgive, provide mercy and compassion. When I was ugly, mean or cruel. When I massaged the truth, making myself look better that I really was. When...

Oh, God, how I have wasted your grace. I have grabbed hold of the shiny tin rather than the gold of heaven. I have disappointed you again and again. My bucket, so full of beautiful goodness became nothing more than a mess of pottage. I took what was beautiful and made it into something cheap and unusable.

This exercise, this self examination, wrought sorrow in my soul. I felt sad. Knowing the truth of myself, I felt my own self condemnation, my self loathing. How could I? Why would I?

But perhaps saying the truth aloud in my own soul is in itself an act of grace. On Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, you gave me another chance to redeem myself. And as we sang the last song, "When we are living, it is in Christ Jesus, and when we're dying, it is in the Lord. Both in our living and in our dying, we belong to God, we belong to God," I knew that grace had come again, yet another gift of your love.

Dearest, Wondrous God,
my flawed faith
is all
I have
to offer.
My inability
to follow,
to be obedient
at times
is simply
the truth
of who
I am.
My self will,
my broken places
my stubbornness
I place
before you.
Ashamed
I still long
for you.

Love, Andrea