Sermon: Ash Wednesday

It’s Ash Wednesday so it must be time for an oil change.

We Episcopalians don’t use as much ‘sin’ language in our liturgy as we used to. But penitential expressions are still with us, especially on days like Ash Wednesday and, to some degree, throughout the season of Lent.

There’s a calendar put out every year by Church Insurance Group. I suspect Judy has it hanging around somewhere at St. Bede’s unless, that is, somebody hid it because of its irreverence. Each month features a cartoon portraying some aspect of parish life, and it’s pretty ‘equal opportunity’ in poking fun at clergy and laity, altar guild and choir. Left to my own devices, I would reprint those cartoons on the front of the worship bulletin. One of my favorites depicts an Ash Wednesday service. The priest is imposing ashes upon the forehead of a member of the congregation, saying, “Remember that you are dust…”, to which the parishioner responds, “Thanks for reminding me.”

Every so often someone will ask me about sin. Most typically, it’s someone who, in response to a service like this one today, might be inclined to say, “Gee. Thanks for reminding me.” It’s like the person isn’t comfortable being reminded of his or her sin and yet, even so, yearns to know more about it. Perhaps it’s a matter of getting close but not too close.

I might say to such a person asking me about sin or penitence, that Ash Wednesday is rather like taking your car in for an oil change: It’s Ash Wednesday so it must be time for an oil change. Even better, I might expand the idea by describing Lent as rather like a major maintenance appointment, say, the 50,000 mile check-up. We’re not talking Jiffy Lube here. I’ve inherited my big brother’s car, and a few weeks ago I spent half the day driving all over Pine Bluff looking for the quickest place to get an oil change. Now, think about it: I spent hours to save 15 minutes. I was sort of like that person who drops in on an Ash Wednesday service and then says, “Thanks for reminding me.”

So, no, we’re not talking Jiffy Lube but a real garage where things are given, more time — where they do a real overhaul and even check for recall notices from the manufacturer. (That’s big deal these days.)

I’m fond of asking God if there are any current recalls out on Joseph Lane. Today, through Lent, and on to Good Friday, we’ll be pulling the cars and trucks and SUVs of our faith into the mechanic’s garage, and adding the oil of that old penitential language. Powerful language it is, too — thick oil for our souls. It’s the abundant oil of God’s forgiveness that we heard about a few moments ago in Matthew’s gospel.

We set aside the time for an infusion of this powerful language every year, but it’s not because we want to over-blow what we used to call our ‘manifold sins and wickedness’ or, in terms of today’s collect, it’s not to lament our sins and wretchedness apart from God’s forgiveness and mercy. We invoke the penitential language for a time because, in spite of our mistakes, we truly do delight in drawing near to God.

I’m fond of talking about the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus, in a way that stresses that God loves you, period. Whether you’ve been good, bad, or mediocre, God loves you. That’s true whether you have a lot of faith, no faith, and even if you’re indifferent. God’s love is not a reward, it’s a gift, and the gift is yours no matter what kind of spiritual driver you happen to be.

Some take issue with such a generous proclamation of the Gospel, as if the ‘good news’ is simply too good to be true. I’m too light on sin, they say. Hmmm. In this day and age, with miles and miles of having so many people, even some, presumably in the name of God, telling us how bad we are — or having so many advertisements and do-it- yourself programs on cable TV reminding us of our imperfections — I can’t imagine anyone not having an awareness that sin is part of the picture. I just don’t think people need us to go to great lengths to remind them of their sin — to point out the dings in the side of their car. And Lord knows, I don’t need to be reminded of my spare tire. We all experience sin and brokenness as part of the road we travel. Hence, the cartoon character’s knowing response, “Thanks for reminding me.”

No, we don’t observe penitential seasons in order to beat up on ourselves; we observe penitential seasons in order to run a diagnostic check. It’s good, every so often, to visit a garage, to check the front end or the alignment of our wheels. Maybe your tires will be just fine when you check them, and good for you if that’s the case. My wheels usually need a bit of adjustment because I tend to bump into curbs when I’m parking. I don’t get my tires out of alignment because I’m a bad person, or even a bad driver (Okay, that’s another topic.) but because I don’t always pay attention to how I’m driving.

Then there are the folks who say we talk about sin too much. Whenever someone asks me to explain the reasoning behind the language of sin we employ regularly in our worship — for example, in the confession we say most Sundays — I’m quick to explain once again that we’re not talking about being horrible people, necessarily, we’re talking about sin as falling short, missing the mark. That’s what the Greek means — like overshooting an exit or making a wrong turn down life’s freeway.

Who among us has no sense whatsoever that we’re on a journey — that we haven’t yet arrived at our final destination? Is any one here not aware of some need for a realignment now and again as we travel our bumpy road? How many of you have AAA cards in your wallets or purses? I’m not going to ask for a show of hands but I’ll bet almost everyone in this room carries an AAA card or some equivalent.

The word ‘penitential’ sounds like penitentiary, but Lent isn’t a form of imprisonment. It’s not even a traffic ticket. It’s more like driver’s ed. or paying attention to a map or, should I say, like using a GPS. My brother John Paul’s Honda Element came with a GPS, and I’ve had fun loading in addresses, even to familiar places, just so I could pay attention to the map. Lent is for cleaning the trash out the fuel line and the carburetor in preparation for Easter, making sure our valves are set so we can rev it up for the celebration that returns with Resurrection, when we’ll praise God with all of the horsepower we can muster.

Well, I don’t know much about cars and besides, I’ve driven this metaphor about as far as it’ll go. But I do know a few things about the benefits of periodic thoughtful, inner realignment, adjustment, clearing out and cleaning away. I hope you’ll join me at the garage.

Pull ‘er up right here.

The Rev. Joseph Lane