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The symbol of the Ashes still matters – an Ash Wednesday Sermon

GOSPEL: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Jesus said to the disciples:] 1“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven….

*Note: Sermons are posted in the manuscript draft that they were preached in, and may contain typos or other errors that were resolved in my delivery. See the Sherwood Park Lutheran Facebook Page for video

The ashy cross smeared onto a forehead on Ash Wednesday still holds a place of symbolic meaning in our world. You may have already seen a few folks out and about today bearing their ashes still on their foreheads. You might see some TV personalities who will wear their ashes on their news programs or late night variety shows. Today is that day when Christians can be seen out in the world with that black smudge on their faces, a visible sign that they have been to church in the middle of the week as Lent begins. 

Just a few days ago we were up on the mountain of Transfiguration, followed by the mountain that is our Annual Meeting. Places and moments to look around and survey the world around us, to see the paths that we have travelled and hopefully see the route of the journey ahead. 

But as Jesus and the disciples and us come down from that mountain top moment, we enter back into the fray of the valley and we soon encounter the symbol of the Ashes.

The Ashes that are imposed on our foreheads and their meaning transcend time and space. Even without knowing much about Ash Wednesday or Church or Christianity, the image of an ash marked face seems to say something profound, something important.  Something about impermanence and mortality, something about our limits and our finite nature, something about just how we live lives that constantly run parallel to death. 

Ash Wednesday not only reminds us of our mortality, but reminds us that death takes many shapes in our lives. From the small deaths of sin, conflict, division, suffering and strife to the way death is imposed our on emotions, our bodies and very beings. 

In this way, there is a discomfort that comes with Ash Wednesday. We work so hard to avoid thinking about and considering our own mortality. We strive to sanitize death, to make it clinical and distant and remote, very unlike the meshy smudge of ashes that will be stamped onto our foreheads tonight. We want to keep death far from our minds and experience for as long as we can. 

For many of the funerals that I did early on as a pastor, funeral directors would come prepared for the committals at the grave. They would often bring vials of sand for the moment when I would commend the deceased to the ground saying, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” As I said the portion of the prayer of committal, I would mark the casket with the cross with the sand. The little metal vial would make it easy to produce a cross in sand as it poured evenly onto the caskets. It was the correct liturgical action, yet it seemed careful and contained. The symbol was muted by the neatness. 

In more recent years as graveside committals have become more rare, funeral directors have mostly stopped bringing the vials of sand. So I have been required to go back to the traditional means for marking caskets with the symbol of the cross – I have been using dirt. Dirt from the grave itself, usually piled nearby under a green turf carpet attempting to hide the fact that this grave is a hole in the ground. 

The symbol changes when you go from holding a carefully filled vial of sand to grabbing a handful of dirt and marking a clumpy cross on a casket. The sand usually blended into the finished wood the casket, while the dirt feel like dumping a handful of soil onto a carefully set dinning room table. The dirt doesn’t feel like it belongs. And yet as the words are said, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust” it becomes a proclamation of defiance. Defiance against our attempts to contain death, to keep ourselves detached and removed from the messiness of death. Caskets and graves are not little condos in the ground, but in that moment we are returning a person, a loved one to the impermanent and mortal place from where we were created. 

Dropping those clumps of dirt on caskets and marking foreheads with wispy palm ashes are moments that go hand in hand. Symbols that say something more than words about them can, they are the very thing from where we come from and to where we return. As God took the dirt and formed the Adam – the dirt creature in Hebrew – God brought human beings into existence. Our bodies are destined to return to the same dirt and mud, the same dust and ash. And as we make that proclamation at Funerals and on Ash Wednesday, the dirt and the ashes bring us close where we came from and to where we return.  

And yet, the ashes aren’t just reminders of our mortality, they aren’t just the embodiment of our fragility and finitude. 

The ashes remind us that the God who first created life out of the mud and earth, dust and ash has now taken on our flesh, our dusty finite flesh. And in that earthy flesh destined to die, God will do again what God did in the beginning. From the ashy cross and the dusty grave, God will breath life in to these earthy bodies of ours. Even from the ash that we bear tonight, even from the clumps of dirt that will be place on our graves, God will create new and resurrected life. 

And so on this first step into the season of Lent, on this night of Ashes, we also are reminded of God’s promises made to the Adam, made again in the waters of Baptism, reinforced tonight and kept at the end – Remember that you are dust and even in the dust there is life. 

Getting from Transfiguration into Lent

On Valentine’s Day, I tried to order heart-shaped pizzas from Boston Pizza. I guess lots of other folks had that idea too, as their online ordering system crashed and no one would pick up the phone at our local BP. So we ordered from another place and from the time I left to get the pizza to about 12 minutes later when I left the pizza shop, the weather had gone from not snowing to a full-blown white out. 

I followed that up with a harrowing drive to Confirmation on the Perimeter Hwy (thanks for that suggestion Apple Maps GPS…).

It was all a potent reminder that even though our weather has been spring-like, winter is far from over in Manitoba.

In many ways Transfiguration Sunday, with its vivid story of Jesus going up the mountain with two disciples to be transformed into a divine figure surrounded by Moses and Elijah, is sort of like that spring-like time of mild weather in February –a respite. From Advent and Christmas through Lent and Easter, the pace of life in the church is busy and gets progressively heavier until Holy Week. 

Particularly, before we jump into the Lenten journey to Holy Week and the Cross, the Mount of Transfiguration offers a high-point vision that evokes the Risen Jesus and the Ascended Christ to come. 

The Transfiguration is an important hinge moment that holds Advent and Christmas together with Lent and Easter. It moves us from the story of the Incarnation and the Messiah being born into the world to Jesus’s work of Salvation and Resurrection. 

And yet, that mountaintop moment of Jesus’s Transfiguration is a tempting place to want to stay. Just like a mild winter without much snow to shovel is a thing we would love to be in full time, rather than a five-day respite from the cold and wind and snow. 

Similar to Peter, who wanted to build a dwelling on the mountain, we like the idea of a Church that looks and feels like the Transfiguration moment. The bright shining glory-filled moments feel good, safe and attractive. But it isn’t the norm. 

We know that the norm of faith and the day to day of life is a lot more like the journey of Lent – the wandering through the wilderness, the struggle to get from place to place, the uncertainty at where we will find ourselves at the end. Few days are spent on the mountaintop in life, but many are spent in the wilderness. This is true for communities of faith, for families and neighbourhoods, for nations and peoples. 

And while Jesus is TRANSFIGURED on the mountaintop, he was always the One who is revealed to be – he was always God come in the flesh. It is only his appearance that is changed this Sunday. 

In the process of faith, in the journey of Lent, through our time spent in communities of faith, we are TRANSFORMED. In the waters of baptism, through the hearing of the Gospel alongside our siblings in faith, through the Bread and Wine made Body and Blood, we are changed to our very core. Transformed from sinners into God’s beloved, made holy and righteous by the One who meets us with forgiveness and grace. 

The mountaintops feel great; they are respite for the moment. But it is along the way of faith that God is making us into new creations, into the people that we were first created to be in Christ. 

Remember the ‘Why?’ of Church – Pastor Thoughts

As you may have read last time, I spent last week in the mountains at the Alberta Study Conference. It is an annual event in Canmore (a beautiful little mountain town just outside of Banff), which is always a treat to visit. 

Study conferences are a chance to hear keynote speakers, spend time with friends and colleagues, and have the chance to get away for a bit. All important parts of finding some rest and rejuvenation in ministry, or really any vocation. 

But the other piece is having the change to step back and look at things with perspective. It is easy to get mired in the details and day-to-day of things, so taking intentional time to step back and ask some of the bigger questions is vital. Plus being surrounded by mountains has a natural way of granting some helpful perspective. 

Church life can be a race from Advent to Easter, a marathon and a sprint combined, that you are always feeling like you need to catch up. I was fortunate last week to have some good conversations with colleagues about ministry and to take the chance to sit with my thoughts. 

A lot of the conversation was centered on the fact that the church has a lot on our plate these days, change management chief among them. But along with navigating all the change that we facing, it is easy for us to forget why we are doing all this in the first place. 

This notion was confirmed again at our local clergy meeting here in Winnipeg this week. The Bishop remarked that 2023 will be a big year for the church, with several congregations facing big challenges and decisions. Change is happening already. But, along with the challenges due to pandemic, general decline, an aging population that isn’t replacing itself (our birthrate is only 1.4 in Canada!), climate change, political unrest, economic inequality and so on, the church seems to have difficulty articulating the purpose at our core. We can get so fixated on making sure we can keep the lights on, pay the insurance, fill council spots, print bulletins, find Sunday School teachers, etc., that we forget that all of those things actually have very little to do with our core mission. We aren’t communities whose core purpose is having money in offering plates, well maintained buildings and full council/committee rosters. 

Rather, all of those things are secondary or tertiary to why we exist. Offering and committees and buildings are simply the means to the end of “Church.” Our central purpose is to proclaim the Gospel, to tell the world of the Good News of Christ’s death and resurrection. 

Still, it can be hard to really know what that means. How do we proclaim that? Why is this 2000-year-old story important? It feels more concrete to focus on cleaning carpets, making sure the snow is shovelled and filling volunteer roles. 

I am someone who believes that we cannot talk enough about those big picture pieces that sit at the core of our being. Why Church? Why Jesus? Why the Bible? Why is all of that so important?

This Lent, we will be having Soup+Bread Studies after worship and we will talk about these questions. We will take the time to articulate – to say out loud again in conversation – why being a community of faith in this time and place is important, and why budgets, buildings and volunteers are needed to keep the church going. Not because we need budgets, buildings and volunteers, but because we are human beings living in a messy world in need of hope and light. Hope and Light that is found in the Gospel message heard in communities of faith just like ours. 

As we approach Annual Meeting Season, Transfiguration Sunday and Lent, I encourage you to take the time to get some perspective, to ponder ‘Why Church?’ and to be reminded of what the central things of faith are for us. 

Maybe that will be at our Soup+Bread study, maybe that will be by taking some time in prayer and scripture, maybe that is what we will be experiencing the entire Ash Wednesday-Lent-Holy Week cycle of worship or maybe it will be in another individual way. However you find that perspective, know that it will help you and us in following God’s call to whatever the church is going to go next, wherever God is calling us to follow in 2023 and beyond. 

Do we still feel called to this? – Pastor Thoughts

I have been thinking a lot about call lately. 

As in, you know, being “Called” to ministry. 

For most pastors, deacons and bishops, the sense of call to ministry isn’t a one-and-done kind of thing. It isn’t like turning on a light switch, but more a constant state of wrestling and wondering. Asking oneself “Am I still called to do this?” is always part of the gig. 

In recent years more than ever, I have watched clergy do a lot of wondering. From friends and colleagues, to clergy bloggers and writers… a lot of us are wondering if our sense of calling is sustainable through all the challenges facing the church. A lot of people are deciding it isn’t, and they are leaving ordained ministry for other work. 

Certainly, in the past number of years I have had my own moments of wondering how my calling to serve continues to fit in with where the church is at. 

That being said, I might be one of the worst examples of Pastors to talk to about wrestling with being called. I used to joke in seminary that I was born into the “Norwegian Lutheran Pastors Breeding Program.”

My grandfather was a pastor. So was his brother. And his brother-in-law. His closest friends were also pastors. Growing up, “church” was something that my immediate and extended family was always involved in. And wherever we traveled there were usually some church or pastor or church folks that we knew.  

For me, going to seminary and becoming a pastor was a possibility that was known from an early age. From when I played pastor dressup as a two -year-old, to career shadowing my pastor in grade 9,  to serving on council when I was 18, to working at camp throughout my university years, and to attending campus ministry, I always knew that being a pastor was an option and one that I wanted to pursue. 

But my story is uncommon. Lots of those called to ministry take very different routes. Some need the right encouragement at the right time, or need to get connected and involved in a church community at the right moment to be opened up to the idea of ordained ministry. Some go to seminary just to learn more and end up pursuing ordination. Some only experience that call later in life after establishing a first career or other vocation. 

This week, Jesus calls Peter and Andrew from their fishing boats, and they immediately drop their nets and follow. If only it were so simple. 

Though we tend to talk about calling as it relates to pastors, we are NOT the only ones called by God to serve. The call to follow, the call to minister is a calling given to all the baptized. We are ALL called to follow Jesus into the service of the Kingdom of God. We are ALL called to do our part in making sure the Gospel is preached to the world around us. 

In many ways it is this sense of call that I wrestle with the most. Are there enough of us who feel this baptismal call to be church together? Do churches today have enough motivation to pursue this ministry of the Kingdom of God?

“Being Church” is harder than it has been in a long time. For a while now, we have been finding ways to keep doing what we have been doing with fewer resources, smaller budgets and fewer people. But we are getting to the point where that is almost too exhausting to continue. The time has come for us now to be creative in finding new ways to organize ourselves. We need to be willing to change and adapt, to work with others around us in ways we didn’t have to consider before. The alternative is that keeping on as we are or trying to bring back what we used to be will overwhelm our diminishing resources. The models of church that we are used to – a church on every street corner doing all the same things that the church on the next street corner is doing – don’t serve us well anymore. 

Do we hear God’s call to adapt and change to the new thing? Or are we more committed to holding on to what we once had? The answers to these questions are complicated. 

What does it mean for us to be called these days? And what does “following” look like? I have been circling around these questions since I was two years old… and my sense of the answers are as unclear to me as ever.

And yet in the strangest way, I think I might be as intrigued and excited to explore their answers as I have ever been. In all my time wrestling with being called and what it means to be called, the potential of what the future could be is as great as ever. People and congregations are open to new things in ways that felt unimaginable just a few years ago. God is calling us and we are being invited to explore what that means for us and how we might follow, even as where we are going and how we will get there is still being revealed to us. 

The time it takes to figure church out – Pastor Thoughts

“Come and See”

This last week’s Gospel lesson from John contains this phrase. While maybe it doesn’t jump out a first, there are some preachers and scholars out there who say that John is the Gospel of “Come and See.”

Other scholars have described it as “Word and Sign.” 

Both are shorthand ways of saying that in John’s Gospel there is a repeating pattern of Jesus inviting people (the disciples, crowds, the religious authorities) to believe that he is the Messiah (Word) and when they hesitate, Jesus reveals who he is with a miracle or other divine act (Sign). 

This dynamic plays out most clearly in the story of Lazarus. Jesus comes late to heal Lazarus and so Lazarus’ sister Mary meets Jesus on the road. When she points out that Jesus could have done something to prevent Lazarus’ death, Jesus reminds her that HE is the resurrection and the life (Word). But then when they get to the tomb, Mary objects to the stone being rolled away because there will be a smell (hesitation). But Jesus commands it anyway, and out walks Lazarus (Sign). 

“Come and See” is the phrase that describes that invitation between the Word and the Sign, the invitation given just at the moment when we might be hesitating to believe that Jesus is who he says he is. 

This pattern that John lifts up is a way to make the Gospel all the more compelling. John recognizes that most of the people who come after him won’t be able to watch Jesus in action the way the disciples and crowds did. But if we can see ourselves in their hesitation then maybe we will see that the only necessary part is the Word. We will hear the Good News and come to faith. John basically says this at the end of his Gospel. 

While I think one of the challenges to faith in a world confident that science and technology will save us, is precisely the lack of “signs.” I also think that this dynamic of “Come and See” is a part of our lives and communities as Christians and as people of faith. 

It is just that the signs might not be what we expect. We are probably not going to head over to the local cemetery and see someone hop out of a casket.

But in our communities of faith we DO see people who are healed and brought to new life all the time. People who are dead in loneliness or isolation, people who are broken by fractured family relationships, people who have suffered illness and disease, who, by being a part of church communities, find hope and life and peace. 

We see people who hear the “Gospel Word” and are transformed into new creations. Who are so captured by the good news of Jesus’ love for them that it changes them to the core. 

In the past few months, I have been watching one such transformation in my own family. My son, who is 8, has been attending church almost weekly his whole life (pandemic lockdowns not withstanding). And of course he was a baby, a toddler, or little kid for a lot of that time. This past fall, he has begun telling me that he likes my sermons, not every week, but once in a while. I have asked him what he likes, and he has been able to tell me very accurately what my sermon for a particular Sunday was about. And over the Christmas season, I had the opportunity to sit with him in the pew for a few services. Together we found the hymns in hymnbooks and I taught him how to follow the verses of hymns. We followed the litany and psalm together, learning which lines were for us to say. We talked about the different parts of worship, as in when to stand (when we sing, pray and hear the Gospel) and when we sit (all other times). He often will sing liturgical songs at home (“This is feast!”) or repeat other liturgical responses at home. 

It only took him eight and a half years of attending church for it to take (especially since learning to read in the last two years). And, all of a sudden, worship and church and being together with all the people he knows at church (two churches!) have imparted to him that faith is important, that what God has to say to him and about his world and life is important, and that worshipping in community is important. 

“Come and See” is an invitation to witness how the Word of God is doing incredible things in our world and in our lives. Maybe as we start this New Year together, 2023 will be a year to “Come and See.’