Here’s a preview of my sermon/meditation for tonight’s Ash Wednesday service. Following the sermon, participants (on Zoom) will self administer Holy Communion and the imposition of ashes. The sermon celebrates the mystery of God in us and the deep truth that “You’re not busted, not broken, not beleaguered, only unfinished. Only unfinished. You have farther to go, you can be more than what you have become, if only you’re brave enough to imagine what you can yet be. If only you’re brave enough to take stock of what holds you back now. If only you’re brave enough, now, right now, to say your finished with what you’ve finally outgrown.”
At the Inauguration of President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris, the young poet, Amanda Gorman electrified the world with her reading of her original poem, The Hill We Climb. It was an articulate assessment of the crossroads at which America now stands—the loss that’s nearly wrecked us, the bravery that’s sustained us, the injustices that plague us, and the light of opportunity that’s breaking upon us, if we have eyes to see it and hearts willing to pursue it.
“We will rise from the golden hills of the West,” she chanted, “we will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution, we will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states, we will rise from the sunbaked South, we will rebuild, reconcile, and recover in every known nook of our nation in every corner called our country our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful when the day comes we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid, the new dawn blooms as we free it, for there is always light if only we’re brave enough to see it, if only we’re brave enough to be it."
She testified to America that we are not busted, not broken, not even beleaguered, only unfinished. Only unfinished.
What’s true of America is also true of each one of us. None of us is busted. None of us is broken. None of us it ultimately beleaguered. No . . . we’re only unfinished. We have farther to go, we have more we can each become, if we will rise up from the ashes of grief and loss and entanglement to dysfunction and frustration and procrastination.
We are only unfinished. We have farther to go. We can be more than what we have become, if only we’re brave enough to imagine what we can yet be. If only we’re brave enough to take stock of what holds us back. If only we’re brave enough to leave what we have outgrown.
Ash Wednesday is the day we take a fresh look at the crossroads we’re facing now, whether we know it as one or not.
Ash Wednesday is the day we followers of the Christ in Jesus, take seriously the Christ in us and say, “Something’s gotta go in order for me to grow. Something’s gotta die in order for me to fly. Something’s gotta give if I’m finally gonna live.”
Jesus once said, “Do your inner work and come to know who you are. Then you will be called, ‘One-Who-Knows-the-Soul.’”
When you drop the masks you’ve worn too long; when you’ve said, “Enough!” to the pretense and performance that you’ve kept up to keep momma happy, daddy happy, everybody else happy but your own soul; when you’ve said, “I’m dong with you!” to the withering lethargy of repressed desire that keep you dull and nearly dead; when you’ve come to feel the weight of your false self and dared to give the prime place in your life to the sacredness of your soul—then you’re gonna grow, then you’re gonna fly, then you’re gonna live—or at least you’re finally gonna begin to move in that direction.
Ash Wednesday is the day we followers of the Christ in Jesus take seriously the Christ in us and perform a radical reassessment of how we’re living now and if we’re living in such a way that what is unfinished in us can finally move more daringly toward the finish God has in mind for us.
For none of us is finally busted, none of us fatally broken, none of us is futilely beleaguered. No, we’re only unfinished. We have farther to go.
And so, you’ll honor the Christ in you tonight when you take Holy Communion and say, “Finish me God.” God meets you in communion and will say to you, “Whats holy isn’t outside you somewhere else; what’s holy is inside you now. The common elements of your home are mysteries of grace and goodness, verifying the great truth of the universe that the My presence that set the universe in motion and gave birth all we know, resides in you. Therefore, anything is possible.”
And after Communion you’ll take some dirt or dust or ash and make the sign of the cross on your own head. And you’ll do it yourself this year. I won’t do it for you. Pastor Eunbee won’t do it for you. Instead, the holiest person you know will do it for you. You will do it for yourself, even if there’s someone else beside you. Tonight, you do it to and for yourself. And you’ll tell yourself in doing so, that you’re gonna die one day, but today is not that day. And tonight is the moment for you to choose to really live, now, before you die. And you’ll tell yourself that your body is marked with stuff— dirt, ash, or dust—that’s never really dead after all. There is divine light, sacred energy in it. And, therefore, in you. Therefore anything is possible.
You’re not busted, not broken, not beleaguered, only unfinished. Only unfinished. You have farther to go, you can be more than what you have become, if only you’re brave enough to imagine what you can yet be. If only you’re brave enough to take stock of what holds you back now. If only you’re brave enough, now, right now, to say your finished with what you’ve finally outgrown.
Shhhh. Your soul is calling. Listen.
Silence.