Beloved Child of God

The right words are sometimes difficult to find.

Last night was my second time on the other end of Ash Wednesday. I stood at the front of the sanctuary in my robe (I was also wearing a tie, which is a bit unusual seeing as if I had a dollar for everyone who mentioned the fact that I was dressed up, I could have taken EA to a nice Valentine's Day dinner) and administered ashes. And I found myself struggling with what to say as I made the sign of the cross on each individual's forehead.

The fretting is on me. These women and men weren't coming to hear whatever I said. They were here for the ashes. But I still didn't want to be pithy. I didn't want to water down this holy moment that has meant a great deal to me. I still remember Lisa Allen speaking to me one Wednesday many years ago and how her words were like oxygen to my spirit. It's not that I wanted to be grandly eloquent, but I wanted to minister. I'm probably too lost in my own head sometimes.

The right words are sometimes difficult to find until you realize they are right there in front of you.

I didn't feel the need to remind each person that they were dust. The tragedy in Florida was ringing in our ears and numerous sirens ominously wailed during the sermon. We all knew that we were dust. We were all too aware of our fragility. But there is the other end that I always hear on this Wednesday at the beginning of Lent. It is the admonition to turn away from our sin and believe in the gospel.

"Beloved Child of God, repent and believe the Good News of Jesus."

That's all I could say. It is not particularly profound, but I felt like it was right. Because for every person that came up to me, I wanted them to know that they were loved. Not only are they loved, but they are loved by God. I wish I could open up my heart and mind and write that on its walls. I wish I could write it on the walls on the being of my sons, of the students I see each week. We are loved by God. How insane is that? How beautiful? To know that you are truly loved can change things in a dramatic way.

And so I hope that love serves as a catalyst to move: to turn from the paths of pain and believe in the depths of their soul the Good News that Jesus brings.

To believe, of course, is not just a mental assent. To believe the Good News of Jesus is to change the trajectory of our lives. It means to love God with our entire being. It means to love our neighbor as ourselves. It means we look out for more than our own well-being, our seat at the table, our purported reservation for the afterlife. To believe the Good News is to move. It is to serve. I know I hit on this again and again, but to believe the Good News is to love in a way that the world and very often the church doesn't grasp.

It's not solely an Ash Wednesday reminder, is it? It's good for Day 2 of Lent. It's good as we stare down another unspeakable tragedy that hurts all the more because it seems like nothing is being done to stop another from happening. It's a good reminder when the sky is dark and gloomy. It's a good reminder when the shines brightly in a bold blue sky. It's a reminder that I need every single day.

You and I are beloved children of God. Let us repent and believe the Good News of Jesus.