Ash Wednesday 2013

I both love and hate this day.
I love it because it once woke me up to my life as it was at 19.
“Remember that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return.”
Yes I know that feeling, the feeling of dust, of present but not of full worth.
Of so wanting to be of full worth and know my way there.
And I hated that feeling, a feeling cast by my adolescent/manhood,
      by a father... who knew this same confused worth,
     and cast just by trying to find my way,
      and finding God in silent twilight prayer and mornings early blush.
I spent that first true Lent wanting to know my value as dust,
      but not just dust, dust blown by the hope and will of God.

And every year Ash Wednesday comes and I both resent and hope in its visitation,
      its renewing and challenging rhythm.
Already with Jonah I have sat beneath the call to change and see and change again.
I have sat beneath the shading bush of Matins’ prayer and Psalm 142
     “Let me hear of your loving-kindness in the morning,
            for I put my trust in you; *
      show me the road that I must walk,
           for I lift up my soul to you.”
And here I have felt the bush begin to wither and seen the tracks of the worn.
I have seen a little into my sin and wondered at my road home again, the things I must confess.
I have missed the wise confessor of my first Lent who helped me know the way home
      and yet I know he lives both in me and beyond.
Now there is hope.

As I resent the Pepper steak I will not eat on this fast day and then resent it less,
I have remembered that I do not walk this day alone.
I walk it with God and the host of faithful who throughout time look inward to know the wisdom of God.
And even if I do not see the World use this day well,
I see the beginning of things that can be changed,
      the apologies that are to be tasted
      the silences that must remain and the amends that are within my heart,
I see the hypocrisy of wanting to be part of a community with care for all
      and wanting to pay less a contractor who insures his workers,
      and I wonder at my next decision.

And so I begin to open the closet doors of my existence,
      the places I often choose not to see.
And I see.

But I remember “That thou art dust and to dust…” But Adam was made from dust mingling with Divine hope and vision and intent.
Let me be that dust.
Let me see and return.
Let me remember that the scorching heat of God’s midday is intense with divine Love,
      means to create in me a thirst and show me a font that soothes,
And will again turn into twilight and sunrise.
    “Let me hear of your loving-kindness in the morning,
         for I put my trust in you; *
     show me the road that I must walk,
         for I lift up my soul to you.”
 Let me resent a little less this day’s journey and dust.