If I speak in tongues of justice or spirituality,
but do not have ashes,
I am a self-congratulating vigil,
a Sunday service inspired by itself.
If I have social media outreach,
a labyrinth in the church garden,
Bible study in the brewpub,
and if I have a capital campaign
to remove pews, put in church chairs,
and even add a coffee shop,
but do not have ashes, I am nothing.
If I give to church-wide offerings,
and go on mission trips so that I may boast,
but do not have ashes, I gain nothing.
Ashes are awkward; ashes are dirty;
ashes, like love,
are not envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude.
Ashes do not insist on a perfect Lent;
they do not even need to be in church
or be a gimmick getting folks to church;
they do not inventory wrongdoing,
especially the wrongdoing of others,
but rejoice in the precious now,
the very fragility of life.
Ashes bear love, believe in love,
hope in the possibility
of forgiveness for everyone,
endure even times of lovelessness.
Forgiveness never ends.
As for spiritual practices,
they will come to an end;
as for precious old hymns
and passionate praise songs,
they will grow quiet;
as for theology and faith formation,
believe me, it will shift and change again.
For churches are always reaching
for a part of things,
while those who flee church
reach for another part,
but when the full forgiveness comes,
it will look more like Valentine’s Day.
When I was a child, I said, “I love you,”
I cut out pink and red hearts,
I sent them to everyone, even the bullies,
but when I became an adult,
I decided to make it more complicated.
Now in our churches and lives
we have become too fond of mirrors,
but someday we will see each other
face to smudged face.
Now I love only in part;
then I will love fully,
even as I have been fully loved.
Today ashes, dust,
and a child’s pink paper art abide, these three;
but the greatest of these is the heart.
Source: https://www.facebook.com/maren.tirabassi/posts/7212956592101295 [HT]
Art & Theology 