Ashes to Ashes - it's that simple

Just returned home from an afternoon Ash Wednesday service. The service, for the Ladies Guild, was held at the Scout Hut. Most appropriate on this day – the joint birthdays of the Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell and his wife, Olave Baden-Powell - founders of the Scouts and Girl Guides movements. (I was a Brownie and Girl Scout!)

As I sat listening to the words calling us to take these forty days from Easter to pause, reflect, repent and re-focus, I was challenged (yet again) by the concept of self-denial and sacrifice – which is of course at the heart of Christian faith (or should be).

“What are you giving up for Lent?”  - I remember being at school, and all the half-hearted Lenten intentions that fell swiftly by the wayside. 

Or, the rather dubious attempts to “give up” things one didn’t like very much in the first place: vegetables, exercise, homework, doing laundry, and the like. 

Or, better still, the giving up of things one perhaps might be better off not doing at all: gossiping, swearing, fibbing, fighting, &etc.

I felt truly challenged today by this very familiar and age-old concept, and hope that I can truly strive to take this act of self-denial seriously. 

Challenged I was also by the simplicity of the Scout Promise that holds pride of place in the Barford Scouts Hut:

“I promise to do my best to be kind and helpful and to love God.”

From the Liturgy for Ash Wednesday - "We are but dust, and to dust we shall return." 

Perhaps, in matters of faith, with two these principles at the fore, things really are quite simple.

Olave Baden-Powell
 (22 February 1889 – 25 June 1977)

Ashes to Ashes

Sometimes, I wish we could be a bit more Medieval.

Allow me to explain. Witch-hunts, the Crusades, and the plague aside, the Middle Ages were a key time in Christian spiritual development. The Church, held a pivotal place in people’s lives, not only as the central authority, but as the central hub of life.

Every significant moment in a person’s life from birth to the grave was punctuated by ritual -- an outward, public expression of the inward spiritual journey. In addition, the church was also the cultural hub in terms of art, music, literature, education and thought; as well as the epicentre of social and community life. It was where you went to meet people, to seek advice, support, &etc.

We have lost this very ordinary and direct connection to/with ‘the church’. And I believe there is no time that this is more evident and noticeable than Ash Wednesday, and the start of Lent.

Tonight’s service at St. Peter’s was beautiful and deeply moving. Heartbreaking it was, though, as there were more people in the Choir, then there were sitting in the congregation. 

Let’s face, apart from the fact that the vestments for Lent are a luscious, regal purple, it’s a pretty dour time.

The readings, collects, prayers, and anthems for Ash Wednesday all centre on themes of repentance, redemption, sin, self-denial, and sacrifice. We are reminded how we have fallen short of the mark, and admonished that we’ve got 40 long days to think about it. 

But, more than this, Ash Wednesday requires us to actively contemplate our own mortality: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

We’d rather skip that part, and cut straight to Easter. How easy to forget that there is no light, without darkness. No resurrection, without death. No glistening Spring, without the chill of Winter.

I was surprised by the “tweet” (yes, I vowed never, ever to join Twitter…) that popped up on my screen: “What are you giving up for Lent?” 

I was surprised to find such a spiritual query in that secular space. I have decided this year to “give up” something very precious to me: my time.

I run in circles everyday looking for more time to complete tasks, meet deadlines, work out, train for the Swimathon, send email, tweet (ugh!) -- never enough hours in a day.  

So, instead of denying myself chocolate, wine or popcorn, I want to ‘hit where it really hurts’ and give time to my community, and find new ways of serving. 

And, just maybe, perhaps, helping St Peter’s become a bit more, well, ... Medieval.