A Sermon for Ash Wednesday
March 5, 2025
Text: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17
Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
There are so many things I love about being a priest. I love getting to walk alongside people in their journeys with Christ, to see them grow in their faith, and to remind them that God loves them more than they can possibly imagine.
I love getting to celebrate the sacraments and to share them with God’s people, those outward and visible signs of God’s inward and spiritual grace, like Baptism and Eucharist.
They remind us that God is always at work in our lives, leading us and guiding us with his Spirit and giving us the strength we need to continue our walk with Christ.
I love getting to pronounce God’s blessing over God’s people and to assure penitent sinners that they are indeed forgiven by a merciful Lord who wants nothing more than for all of us to be in right relationship with him.
But, if I’m being completely honest—and Ash Wednesday seems like a good day to do that—there are some things I miss about being a layperson.
One of the things I miss most is being able to simply sit in the presence of God in worship and not have to focus on anything but participating in the service.
Now, don’t get me wrong.
It’s an incredible blessing and privilege to be called by God to lead worship, and I try my best never to take that for granted.
Because it really is a wonderful gift to be able to serve as a priest in God’s church.
But, sometimes…I really do miss being able to just soak it all in, without any responsibility of leadership or making sure the service runs smoothly.
Sometimes, I miss the rhythm of sitting in a pew, holding my Prayer Book and hymnal, and waiting for someone else to direct the congregation on what to do next.
Sometimes, I miss being able to walk up to the altar rail during Communion and kneel alongside everyone else, waiting expectantly to receive the Body and Blood of Christ.
To me, there’s something special about being able to just worship—to simply sit in God’s presence without any other responsibilities or thoughts running through my mind.
It’s hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with getting back in touch with who I really am at the center of my being.
On those rare occasions when I do get the chance to just sit in a pew and participate in the service, I’m reminded of the fact that, first and foremost, I am a child of God—just like everybody else.
And, just like everybody else, I’m in desperate need of a Savior.
That’s the power and beauty of our worship.
It humbles us and reminds of who we are and who we were created to be as God’s beloved.
In our liturgy, in our prayers and every time we confess our sins to God, we’re reminded that, without him, we are helpless.
We feel it in our bodies every time we stand to sing God’s praises and every time we sit to hear the Word of God proclaimed in Holy Scripture.
And we feel it, especially, when we kneel.
Sometimes, we kneel to pray and confess our sins because it’s the only posture that seems appropriate.
Sometimes, we kneel, not because we’re afraid of God, but to show our love for God and express our gratitude for all the many blessings we’ve been given.
Sometimes, we kneel to receive the Body and Blood of Christ and to recommit our lives to serving only him.
And sometimes, we kneel to receive a cross of ashes on our foreheads, not because we’re worthless, but because we realize that, sometimes, we need to be reminded of our own mortality and need for repentance.
Sometimes, we need to be reminded, once again, that our lives belong to God and that we need to make amends, for things done and left undone.
That’s why we’re gathered here today as we mark the beginning of our journey through Lent.
It isn’t to beat ourselves up or to dwell on past mistakes.
It’s to be reminded of who we are and to be reconciled with God, to confess our sins and acknowledge that our only help is in the Lord our maker.
The prophet Joel put it this way in his call for repentance to the people of Israel:
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.”
It was a practice in ancient Israel for people to mourn their sins and express their grief through outward signs like wearing ashes on their heads, wearing sackcloth, and tearing their clothes.
But, to me, what Joel is really saying in this passage is that God doesn’t care so much about outward signs if they’re not also expressing a deep, inward desire to change one’s life.
So, on this day, we come forward and kneel at the altar rail to receive a cross of ashes on our foreheads.
Not just for the sake of doing it.
And not because it’s something we’re obligated to do once a year.
We do it because we know we’ve fallen short of our call to walk in love as Christ has taught us.
We do it because, deep down, we long to be reconciled with our Father in heaven.
We receive the ashes on our foreheads because we know that God is our God, and we are his forever.
From the dust of the earth we were created, and to dust we shall return.
On this Ash Wednesday, be comforted in knowing that God loves you and cares about you in more ways than you can imagine.
But, also know that God cares deeply about the way you live your life and wants nothing more than for you to draw closer to him.
Listen once again to the prophet Joel and his call for repentance:
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.”
Amen.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 