Facing the Abyss

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Sermon for Ash Wednesday 1 5 March 2014

Emmanuel Church, Greenwood Parish Fr. Christopher Garcia

Facing the Abyss The old woman was dying, and she knew it. She sat up in a chair next to her hospital bed, swathed in blankets, in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. Her heart was failing, so she was cold all the time. The doctors had run out of chemical magic to goad her heart into further action. She was not a candidate for a heart transplant. She refused to graft herself onto machinery. So she was dying. She was doing to the hard work needed to prepare for death. She did not fear her death. Her faith gave her a clear view of her Jesus, waiting for her in love, on the other side of the Abyss. She was sad that she would have to leave her family for a time. The Abyss itself was frightening, because no one who had ever entered it had ever come back. Well, almost no one. Jesus had. Her Jesus had promised that he would provide a way across the Abyss. She trusted that promise. She was doing the hard work to prepare for death. She prayed. She prayed often and quietly and long. She went into the room of her heart, and shut the door, and prayed to her Father who is in secret, and her Father who sees in secret was with her, preparing her to walk through that dark Abyss. She was getting ready for her home going. The old woman was proud of her grandson. He was a preacher. Yet the preacher grandson, like most of her family, was taking the news of the old woman’s coming death hard. The old woman was the strength that held generations of this family together, and so they feared her death. Her preacher grandson tried to put on a brave face. He came into her room and kissed her and asked her how she was doing. She smiled peacefully and patiently and told him that she was fine. She looked at him and said, “I’m getting ready to go home, baby.” She said home with the intensity not used in everyday conversation. All RCL Years. Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 (or Isaiah 58:1-12); Psalm 51:1-17; II Corinthians 5:2b6:10; Matthew 6:1-16, 16-21. “Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou hast made and dost forgive the sins of all those who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.” 1

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But her grandson chose to hear those words with their every day meaning. He put on a brave and cheerful voice and said “That’s right, Granny. You’ve got to have faith. You’re going to be fine. The doctors will have you walking out of here before you know it. You’ve just got to have faith.” The old woman refused the polite deception. She saw the Abyss clearly and she was not going to deny it. She said “Oh baby, that’s not what I mean. I’m not going to walk out of here this time. It’s time for my home going.” Despite her peaceful smile, tears began to trickle down her face. She was crying not because she feared her death, but because she was frustrated at her family’s obfuscation. Her preacher grandson saw her tears, and he choked back his own as he said, “No, Granny, you’ve got to have faith. You have to believe. You’re going to be fine.” Her grandson refused to acknowledge the Abyss. Although I did not meet this woman during the liturgical season of Lent, she was going through a holy Lent of her own. Our liturgy today invites us to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. The old woman was not preparing for just any Easter; she was preparing to meet her risen Lord face to face. Even as she went down to the grave, she made her song “Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.” Her religious observance, her piety, was directed towards God. She was not interested in religiosity to impress anyone. She did not pray to give a good impression. Her only desire was to know God, to be known by God, so that she could prepare for her own death and resurrection. She wasn’t out to impress her family. Religion was not a feel-good crutch for her. Lent is about honesty. Lent is about unflinching frankness. Jesus reminds us today that all religious duty is directed towards God. We give alms, we pray, we fast, we smear ashes, not for others, but for God, to orient ourselves to God. Every year on Ash Wednesday I struggle with the irony implicit in our Gospel reading. Jesus exhorts us to beware of how we practice our piety before others. We are not to look dismal when we fast. We are not to disfigure our faces. We are to wash. Yet mere minutes after we hear these words we will kneel at the altar and smear ashes on our foreheads. Generations ago virtually everyone would have ashes on their heads today. But as the years go by, fewer and fewer Christians accept this ancient discipline. So we will stand out. We hear Jesus’ ancient words calling us to private humility, yet we will stand out as public examples of piety.

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In this very tension, this pinch of recognizing the irony of this Gospel lesson, is the key to Lent. In Lent, God urges us to unflinching frankness as we face our motivations, our lives, our selves. Yes, we are made in God’s image, but we must also recognize our own brokenness, our own failure, our own Abyss. We do so not to wallow in self-blame or guilt or despair. All of us have muck in our lives that we need to get rid of. God already knows all about it. God wants us to recognize the mess with him, so that we can let him do something about it. What treasures are we trying to store up here on earth, where moth and rust and recession and inflation consume and where thieves and taxes break in and steal? How silly we are to think that such things can save us! Lent is the time to face those idols with unflinching frankness, and to see them for what they are, to stop worshipping them. During this holy season of Lent, I challenge you to start living like you are dying. Live as if tomorrow you will face your own Abyss. We are all dust, and to dust we shall return. We are all created by God, in love, and to God we shall return.2

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Last paragraph adapted from the Rev. Jimmy Abbot, “Dusty Death,” sermon for Ash Wednesday, 13 February 2013.