Ash Wednesday

Today I went to my first Ash Wednesday service.  I decided to go to Trinity Episcopal Church, right next to where we used to live and now only a short drive away from our new home.  I had decided about a week ago that I must take this entire day off.  My main goal then was to have some time off to rest and reflect.  But I had been thinking for a while, for years actually, about beginning to observe the church calendar in the rhythms of my everyday life.  Last night it became clear to me.  Rather than taking the day to engage in random recreation, I should take the opportunity to fully participate in Ash Wednesday, and to make—for the first time in my life—a Lenten commitment.  The commitment I’ve made is to take at least 15 minutes during the day each day of Lent for prayer and reflection.  I’ve also committed to get to bed on time, no later than 10pm each day of Lent.  This last may seem odd, but I’ve developed the bad habit of staying up later than I know I should.  The later night hours are the only time I have after the children have gone to bed to rest, watch TV, focus on myself.  I’m very selfish about that time.  This is fine, up to a point.  I go beyond that point when I consistently go to bed late because I am watching TV or doing something else to try to have “me” time.  The problem is that I still have to wake early, and without sufficient sleep it is difficult or impossible to do morning prayer because I am so tired.  Then also when I am tired I am not good company for anyone and I’m impatient with my daughters.  None of this is good or productive.  So with these two commitments—to daytime prayer which requires me to interrupt the day’s busyness, and to getting to bed on time—I aim to bring myself into a rhythm of rest and prayer that will be restorative and transformative.  I am eager to see what kind of transformation this brings about after forty days.

Today when I went to Trinity and received the ashes, communion wafer, and wine, I entered a wonderful window into a new way of seeing and living—a way where the mundane time of everyday life is continually made holy with the punctuation of prayer throughout the day and throughout the year.  As I sat in this beautiful sanctuary, allowing scripture and song to roll over me, I was struck by the sadness, even the tragedy of the various schisms of the church.  How much we miss in the non-liturgical evangelical Protestant world by ignoring the grace of these traditions of prayer and observant celebration.   And on the other hand, would not the beauty and grace of this Episcopal church experience with its wonderful life of traditional prayer be enriched and blessed by dwelling for a while with my earnest evangelical brothers and sisters who live out the call to make disciples and to share the love of Christ by living in difficult places, by encouraging and guiding each other in small Bible studies and prayer groups; through praise songs that resonate with a variety of local popular cultures—in short, through a form of church that feels more informal, closer to the everyday lived realities of people far removed from much older church ways and hymns?  Both these “high” and “low” manifestations of church have much to offer and much to share.  I intend to use this Lenten season to explore the liturgical tradition my church circles have cut me off from. As I face the beginning of this season, I am filled with joy and anticipation.