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.
