Ash Wednesday: A Meditation

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The one thing we all must do in life is fall in love with Jesus.

There is nothing more important than that… because we are dust and unto dust we shall return.

Christ alone can make us rise from those ashes.

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Out of all the days in the liturgical year, I find Ash Wednesday to be the most personal.

That black smudge of ash on my forehead reminds me of the swift passage of time, that death – my death– is coming.

I know neither the day nor the hour, only that it’s coming for me.

It seems foolish, then, to presume that I can prepare myself for that moment in my later years.

Ash Wednesday tells me to prepare myself now, because I am returning to dust – and not just me, but everything and everyone around me…

… the people I have loved… the stained glass windows that frame our church… the sun that brightens them by day…. the stars that twinkle at night… even all of you.

Everything is returning to dust. 

And one of us here is next.

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Remember, however, some of the final words of Jesus. On the eve of his own death, he says to his disciples, “Do not let your hearts be troubled” (John 14:6).

To be “troubled” in the sense that Jesus used it meant to be, “overwhelmed by the fear of death.”

Do not be overwhelmed by death, he says.

Death is coming for us all. But we do not need to be afraid.

That cross of ash smeared onto our forehead reminds us that we’ve been saved by the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, who loved us to the very end.

Our mission in life is to do the same – to love our God to the very end… until the moment we return to dust.

If we do, then we shall rise from those ashes again.

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Make this Lent count – pray, fast, be charitable – for it may be your last.

“We have given up everything and followed you.” A morning meditation. (Mark 10:28-31)

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“Peter began to say to Jesus, ‘We have given up everything and followed you” (Mark 10:28).

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I once heard a story about two monks. One was an older monk who’d spent his entire life in the monastery.

The other was a young novice, who only recently entered.

One day, the older monk asked the novice to accompany him into town, as he needed several things from the marketplace.

On the way home, the monks came across a young woman struggling to cross a river. Naturally, they went over to help her.

But back at the monastery that night, the young novice was telling the other monks about this beautiful young woman he’d met earlier in the day.

The older monk, on the other hand, acted like he’d never seen her.

Pulling the novice aside, he said to him, “I left her at the river. It seems you’re still carrying her in your heart.”

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In the Gospel, Peter reminds Jesus that he’s left everything to follow him.

And that’s true on the surface: Peter’s left his home, his family, and his job.

But like that young monk, Peter’s carrying something extra in his heart… ambition.

Remember, just a few verses earlier Jesus catches him arguing with the other disciples over who’s the greatest.

They have yet to learn that the true disciple leaves his pride at the river.

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As we prepare for Lent, the Gospel challenges us to check our own ego.

For example, how often is life about me? In what ways am I selfish, making decisions out of a desire for personal gain?

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Even Peter, who gave much away to follow Jesus, didn’t have entirely pure motives yet.

He learned, as we all must, that our pride is the most difficult thing to leave behind.

But we will not be free until we do.

“I did it my way.” … But should you? … A morning meditation.

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“Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” (Mark 10:15).

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Have you ever seen a newborn child?

It’s amazing how utterly dependent babies are upon their parents for life, love, food and shelter.

But as soon as they reach the “terrible two’s,” children start thinking on their own. Even before the age of reason, they know that that toy is “mine,” not yours!

It’s the beginning of a child’s independence.

Any parent can tell you that independent streak only strengthens as children become teenagers.

And as we become adults our independence – or self-reliance – becomes even stronger.

For example, how many of us hate asking for help?

Or how many of us try shouldering life’s burdens alone?

Like a child with its toy, we say this is my problem, my stress, or even my life, not yours.

We celebrate that independent attitude Frank Sinatra sang about, “I did it my way.”

It’s a behavior we started learning as children.

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Today’s Gospel addresses that independent streak within us – a streak that may not be so healthy after all.

Jesus tells us plainly we must approach him like a newborn child, not like a strong, self-reliant adult.

If we do, then he’ll grant us the grace (you might say the milk) we need to grow stronger.

Away, then, with the self-reliant, “my way” attitude.

Whatever our prayers, our burdens, our sins or desires may be, they are not “ours.”

They belong to Jesus.