Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday typically represents the beginning of the Lenten fast. Characterised by a cross smudged on the foreheads of episcopal church-goers, this smudge is made by a mixture of holy water and the ash of burnt palm crosses.
The first day of the fast and too frequently all we know is that we need to give up something we 'like' until Easter. The Sunday School story about Jesus' 40 day fast is a vague memory accompanied by pickled fish and the Easter Bunny (who is relevant, how?)

Let's go into Sunday School mode and try and recapture that story...

It is about CE 33, and Jesus, the Son of God, retreats into the desert to fast for 40 days and 40 nights befoe he begins to minister. He had been baptized by John the Baptist and has stopped his work as a carpenter so that he may preach, teach and heal.
Jesus fasts so that me may be purified and by the end of the 40 days he is hungry. It is at this point that the Devil tries to tempt him. The Devil tries three times with no success.
The first time the Devil tells Jesus that if he is the Son of God, he must demand that rocks turn to bread. Jesus replies that human beings cannot live by bread alone, they need every word that God speaks.
The Devil then takes Jesus to Jerusalem and sets him on top of the highest temple telling him to throw himself off, surely God would send his angels to save him? Jesus responds by telling him, the scripture says, do not put the Lord your God to the test.
Finally the Devil takes Jesus to a very high mountain and shows him all the Kingdoms of the Earth. The Devil tells him that if he kneels down and worships him, all that would be his. In response to this Jesus shuns him saying: 'go away Satan! The scripture says, worship the Lord your God and serve only him. And away the Devil slumps as faith triumphs over temptation.

What do we learn from this? We learn that in these forty days we are given an opportunity to re-affirm our faith. We must consciously ignore temptation.

The fast is only a physical manifestation of what we need to do spiritually. We must hold on to what is right and rebuke what is wrong. This time of penance, self-denial and quiet offers us the chance to find an inner calm. When someone makes you angry, don't curse them, pray for them. It is in actions like these that you not only help set them free, you set yourself free.
Later on we will remember the depths of Holy week, the passion of Christ, and the ressurection.
For now let us sit quietly and think upon ourselves. Let us wait in forboding for God's miracles, not only for the miracles we celebrate from a time long ago, but for the miracles he will do now in our lives.

In the mean time, lets have faith and sit quietly with our God.

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For the more literary-minded here follows TS Eliot's, Ash Wednesday

Ash-Wednesday by T S Eliot

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that
man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch
its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual
reign? Because I do not hope to know
again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and
springs flow, for there is nothing
again Because I know that time is always
time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for
one time
And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are
and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn
again Consequently I rejoice, having to
construct something
Upon which to rejoice And pray to God to have mercy
upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too
much discuss
Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done
again
May the judgement not be too
heavy upon us Because these wings are no longer
wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly
small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still. Pray for us sinners now and at the
hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of
our death. II Lady, three white leopards sat
under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to
satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and
that which had been contained In the hollow round of my skull.
And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had
been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this
Lady
And because of her loveliness, and
because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I
who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and
my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and
the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady
is withdrawn In a white gown, to contemplation,
in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to
forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am
forgotten And would be forgotten, so I would
forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in
purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind
only for only The wind will listen. And the bones
sang chirping
With the burden of the
grasshopper, saying Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends. Under a juniper-tree the bones
sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did
little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day,
with the blessing of sand, Forgetting themselves and each
other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the
land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither
division nor unity Matters. This is the land. We have
our inheritance. III At the first turning of the second
stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the
banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air Struggling with the devil of the
stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of
despair. At the second turning of the second
stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the
stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged
shark. At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like
the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom
and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an
antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair
over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair; Distraction, music of the flute, stops
and steps of the mind over the third
stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond
hope and despair
Climbing the third stair. Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only. IV Who walked between the violet and
the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's
colour, Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of
eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as
they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the
springs Made cool the dry rock and made
firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's
colour,
Sovegna vos Here are the years that walk
between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes,
restoring
One who moves in the time
between sleep and waking, wearing White light folded, sheathing about
her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the
years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher
dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by
the gilded hearse. The silent sister veiled in white and
blue
Between the yews, behind the
garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her
head and signed but spoke no word But the fountain sprang up and the
bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard,
unspoken Till the wind shake a thousand
whispers from the yew And after this our exile V If the lost word is lost, if the spent
word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word
unheard, The Word without a word, the Word
within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness
and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word. O my people, what have I done
unto thee. Where shall the word be found,
where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not
enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the
night time
The right time and the right place
are not here No place of grace for those who
avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who
walk among noise and deny the
voice Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who
chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn
between season and season, time
and time, between Hour and hour, word and word,
power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister
pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and
oppose O my people, what have I done
unto thee. Will the veiled sister between the
slender
Yew trees pray for those who
offend her
And are terrified and cannot
surrender And affirm before the world and
deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last
blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden
in the desert Of drouth, spitting from the mouth
the withered apple-seed. O my people. VI Although I do not hope to turn
again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn Wavering between the profit and
the loss
In this brief transit where the
dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between
birth and dying (Bless me father) though I do not
wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the
granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward,
seaward flying Unbroken wings And the lost heart stiffens and
rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea
voices
And the weak spirit quickens to
rebel For the bent golden-rod and the
lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling
plover
And the blind eye creates The empty forms between the ivory
gates
And smell renews the salt savour of
the sandy earth This is the time of
tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from
the yew-tree drift away Let the
other yew be shaken and reply. Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of
the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves
with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the
sea, Suffer me not to be separated And let my cry come unto Thee.

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