Side-profile-Note

P.S. I was just looking at my Blogspot profile and noticed that I had put my occupation down as "In transition". Not sure when exactly I wrote that, but I think after I graduated from college 3 years ago... and it's still true. I wonder if I'll always be in transition, or if someday settling down a bit will be in the cards for me. Or whether I would go crazy in the same place for a long time. Oh, and did I mention that I've moved 5 times in the past year? Yeah. 'In Transition" does, indeed, continue to be appropriate.

Ash Wednesday. Lent. Holy Lent.

Church of the Apostles rocks my face off- and I always seem to forget that until the next time that I actually go back.

Tonight was a wonderful Ash Wednesday service, complete with a calling to reflection, forehead markings of ash crosses reminding us that we come from dust-- and it is to dust that we shall return, and communion; which seemed to bring it all together for me mysteriously. I say mysterious because communion doesn't often do much for me. I reflect; I pray; I try to grasp the meaning in what I'm doing. But more times than not, I don't understand at all what it all actually means. Tonight was different. I'm not sure what it was about the service- perhaps the additional promotion for reflection; perhaps the somber mood; perhaps the music and choice of readings. Whatever it was, I began to understand Lent and Humility and Jesus' sacrifice unlike before.

Psalm 51 was read and soaked into my being. Perhaps a good way to start a repentant Lent (I highlighted the parts that stood out to me):

Psalm 51:

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
and blameless in your judgment.
Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
and in sin did my mother conceive me.
Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,
O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
build up the walls of Jerusalem;
then will you delight in right sacrifices,
in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.

I was brought to reflection. And in reflection came about pride and stubbornness. And from that a simple prayer spilled onto my journal pages:

"Continue to teach me, God, that I don't know everything. That I don't know best- but you do. Humble me."

Humility, all of the sudden, took on a whole new meaning for me. Perhaps something I've understood in the past, but easily forgot without constant reminder. Humility is simply acknowledging that God's way is best. And somehow, I imagine it becomes quite a bit easier to follow the will and way of God when we can accept that that way is best.

This understanding, in turn began answering a question-- or perhaps more of a curiosity-- that I've had for weeks. In a liturgical church (i.e. Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran), it is customary for the celebrant (pastor/priest doing communion) to explain the last supper. It's usually read from a script which seems to be common among most churches, and one that I've been reciting in my head along with the celebrant since I was a kid (corny, I know- but it kept me entertained).

It goes something like this:

"On the night he was betrayed he took bread; and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, and said, 'Take, eat; This is my Body, which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me.'

After supper, he took the cup of wine, gave thanks, and said. 'Drink this, all of you: This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this for the remembrance of me.'"

What has stood out to me for the past few weeks was that highlighted phrase: "Do this for the remembrance of me." He says it both times, and I thought, if those are the only things Jesus actually says while he's canniballistically offering himself to his friends, they must be important. Now what does that mean? Remember me. When you eat my body and drink my blood, remember me. Seems simple enough. But why?

Perhaps it means this:

Remember how I lived; not for myself, but for God's will. And how I obeyed His will unto death.

Remember how I love(d) you.

Remember that I struggled as a human- just as you do. Don't think that listening to and following the Father's will is impossible... Because I did it. I overcame the grip Satan has over humanity- on death giving choices- because I always chose life, in order to give you life. Day by day, moment by moment, thought by thought, I chose life- with God's help.

Remember my sacrifice in my body and blood. Remember my choice for life in my bodily death. Remember that you are faced with the same choices that I was- because you are still in the body.

Life is a choice. Choose death of your own advancement, you're own bodily desires, that you may truly live.

There's a lot here, but it's given me hope that this Lenten season CAN be holy. In choice. In sacrifice. In effort. In looking for strength outside of myself to do what is seemingly impossible on my own.

May your Lent, too, be Holy.