Ash Wednesday

It's hard for me to grasp that mortality is my fate, too.

The prescription for the persistent malady of God’s people

Isaiah 58:1–12; 1 Corinthians 2:1–12; Matthew 5:13–20

Belief in the incarnation places suffering bodies within the realm of Christian responsibility.

The lectionary readings for Ash Wednesday are the same each year. So it almost doesn’t feel like Ash Wednesday if I go through the day without hearing Psalm 51: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.”

How on earth do we balance the quietness of our hearts with a public call to repentance?

How is thankfulness engendered? By giving thanks in all circumstances.

By the third century, the gesture of giving became miniaturized.

I believe God can make us completely over, but I also believe that this is not always necessary.

In my younger, decidedly anti-Christian days, I did not like the way Christians asked God for mercy. It reinforced my idea that “the Christian God” was cruel and punishing. After all, if God was a loving and compassionate God, one would not have to beg for mercy. And if God was cruel and punishing but at the same time righteous and just, then human beings were clearly bad and unworthy.

This whole system of thought—shameful people and cruel God—made me want to stay far, far away from Christianity and Christian churches.

As we contemplate mortality and finitude, I wonder if we could treasure washing the dishes.