Ash Wednesday 2003 Sermon by Carol Mumford

Friends, we find ourselves at Ash Wednesday, and what do we do with it? We’re people of faith or we wouldn’t be here, but this talk about ashes and dust can be somewhat of a downer. These topics are really not exactly readily “uplifting”, because they bring up images of things like death and mourning and—well, yes, sin—some of the harshest realities that enter our lives. Now sin’s a word we don’t talk about very much, as mainline Christians, but here we are in Lent and the word hits us in with full impact. Oh, the word transgressions or iniquities may be used, but it’s either those or sin that are repeated over and over and over in just our little lectionary scripture. It literally hits us over the head it’s so strong. We can’t avoid it, and the psalmist makes such a strong point of it that we can’t not deal with it. I mean, we love our church, but this stuff is just too heavy. I’m not at all sure we’re ready for it, and now we’re thrust into it. I don’t know about you, but just the other day I was back on top of the Mount of Transfiguration! Talk about highs and lows…

Why am I suddenly reminded of the Australian “bone?” Our friends who came from there tell us the aborigines simply point a bone at someone who has committed a sin against them---and the person it’s pointed at just falls over and dies! Aren’t you glad you don’t live there? I am. Oh, the inevitabilities of life. I’ve since learned a bone is a metaphor for a situation of distress. That fits, doesn’t it?

Or maybe it’s just as simple as a “Peanuts” cartoon. Linus was looking at his hands one day and carrying on about them. He observed, “These are magnificent hands!” He said, “These are hands that may create incredible works of art. These are hands that may one day shape the course of history. These are hands that may one day hold the future of the world!” Our friend Lucy had about all of it that she could stand, so she walked over to look at his hands and said, “They’ve got jelly on them.”

Do we have jelly on our hands? John Bunyan gives us a very vivid image in his writing “The Slough of Despond” from the classic Pilgrim’s Progress: (a slough is a tidal canal, kind of a muddy inlet, for those who may not have heard that term)

“Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk, they drew near to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of the plain; and they being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond. Here therefore they wallowed for a time, being grievously bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of the burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire.

Then said Pliable, Ah, Neighbor Christian, where are you now? Truly, said Christian, I do not know.” And a man named Help came along and explained “This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended; it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore it is called the Slough of Despond; for still as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears, and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this place. And this is the reason of the badness of this ground…”

And now we find ourselves back in the middle of our Psalm. We are led to believe this scripture is about David, an outstanding highly favored leader of early Biblical days. David is clearly mired in the ashes of his soul, most likely because of the improper relationship he has just had with Bathsheba, and the fact that he murdered her husband. He has actually broken 5 of the 10 commandments, is suffering tremendously, and has guilt! David knows his sins, in fact he can’t stop thinking about them. As he pleads with God for cleansing and pardon, he acknowledges that his bones are crushed. He can not sink any lower in his grief and remorse. Yet his pleadings take the form of a prayer. In this prayer he tries to bargain with God, and tells him he will teach people God’s ways, and sinners will return to God, if God will just have mercy on him and give him a clean heart.

I would expect that many of us have said a prayer like this. I know I have. One time that I recall early in my life was when I had just had a very bad experience. While walking across a major highway, I was hit by a speeding car and thrown 100 feet. I had multiple broken bones, including a smashed pelvis—crushed bones—then developed a life-threatening blood clot in my leg, and almost died as a result of it all. As I slowly recovered, the sins of my life came all too clearly into focus, and I, too, bargained with God, “If you’ll just forgive me and heal me, I will serve you for the rest of the life…” et cetera. Why is it that it’s in our most desperate times that we try to pull our lives together… and pray…? I’ve repeated variations of it a number of times since, finding myself in other very difficult and unexpected predicaments. My sins may be different, but they are just as real as those of the psalmist. On top of that, it seems like the older I get the more sins I can think of—sins of omission, sins of uncertainty, sins of judgment, sins of greed, idolatry, selfishness, hurtful words, and on and on--those things which seem to separate me from our Lord more than I really want to be… and we’re in a world full of sin possibilities and actualities.

It’s an awakening of the soul that happens at times like this. We suddenly see ourselves more clearly, while the relevance and the fragility of life come into greater focus. But it’s a time, too, when we must trust—and trusting seems to come easier when there are no other choices…

The Rev. Fred Craddock once said, “It is the nature of grace that it can only enter empty spaces.” As our hearts and egos are emptied, God’s great persuasive love enters our being, flooding us with a presence like no other. There is an awakening of our hearts to God and God’s gracious working in us and in the world. It’s the grace that had caused the prophet Micah to ask, so long ago,

“Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.” (Micah 7:18-19) And that’s all of us he’s talking about, friends… for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

Yes, the psalmist’s story belongs to all of us. Yet it’s one that, in our awareness, does not need to be repeated over and over, for we have the assurance that our God is with us always, loving and forgiving as God does. For if we do not limit God’s presence, we do not limit the possibilities for God’s presence to function as our agent of change.

There are three people of the past, men with histories, whose stories I will share. See if you can identify who these men are:

The first one associated with crooked politicians, consulted with astrologists, had two mistresses, chain smoked and drank 8-10 martinis a day.

The second one was kicked out of political office twice, would sleep ‘til noon, used opium in college and drank a quart of whiskey every evening.

The third was a decorated war hero. He was a vegetarian, didn’t
smoke, drank just an occasional beer and never cheated on his wife.

Can you guess who these men are? The first one is Franklin D. Roosevelt, the second one is Winston Churchill, and the third—the vegetarian with no apparent faults—that’s Adolph Hitler. Surprised?

In our psalm, remember David was a murderer and an adulterer, yet we know that he was wonderful in God’s sight. And our psalmist was not just talking about sin, he was actually confessing to it! The question is--Was he ready for what could happen next?

We can’t see the story of our lives go full circle, but there’s a true story of a poor farmer in a rural area of England, some years ago. The farmer was out tilling his field when he heard a cry for help. He turned to see a man stuck in a bog nearby. The man was slowly sinking after apparently having fallen off his horse-drawn carriage. The farmer ran to the bog and quickly pulled the man out, likely saving his life. Some years went by and the same well-to-do man in his elaborate carriage was traveling by once again, when the traveler happened to see a young man working in the same field where the farmer had been before. The traveler recognized the farmer nearby as the man who had helped him so long ago. He pulled up his carriage to address him. He inquired of the farmer, “Is that your son in the field?” When the farmer replied affirmatively, the man offered, “I’d like to pay for his education to the finest school.” So the wealthy traveler did, and the young man became well-educated and went on to become the discoverer of penicillin. It was not too long after that when the wealthy man became quite ill—and it was penicillin that saved his life! The wealthy traveler was Winston Churchill.

A hand extended offers the mercy of the Lord to someone who has become mired in sins and doubts. The hand that reaches out is an answered prayer of grace in a world of hurt. A spirit is renewed; transformation occurs. It starts with a heart that is ready, as the psalmist’s, for the ashes of our suffering provide fertile soil for growth and change. It’s those times we are confronted with our earthly existence, yet a heavenly perspective takes hold. It’s the story of our journey through Lent—the healing of the crushed bones of our lives—our story as we trust and praise our God.

Our talk about ashes, dust and death, is the most uplifting topic of all, for the way in which our God extends a hand that lifts us out of our sins, the ashes of our lives—a way that extends to anyone and everyone, wherever they may be.

An astute 17 year old girl by the name of Danae Jacobson, in her recent book, “Things I’ve Learned Lately,” shares that she’s learned “most people have the same feelings as me—they just express them differently. Everyone has faith and the best things in life are people.” In her book, too, in a chapter on God’s love called, “Love Has A Name,” she shares a quote from James Langteaux that is a response to the psalmist and to all of us: “The One who loves you most can do anything—except He cannot love you more.” And that is the hope for all of us, for the psalmist has demonstrated that we can always pray, even when we can do nothing else! As the phoenix bird, we will rise from the dust and ashes of our lives. Amen.