Sitting on their floor he looked at me and asked if I would pray after we had eaten the torn bread and sucked down the bitter red wine. And I looked at him and then to the empty space to my left and looked back and asked "me?" and he nodded and I wanted to refuse.
But how could I refuse in a room of people and what would I tell them?
"Don't you understand what we're about to do?! We're remembering that the master mind of flesh put on skin and broke 400 years of silence with his own infant cry. Guys don't you see we're about to drink the reminder that his heart beat for 33 years so he could live well, could live right, could live perfectly so we could get the right things on our life list! I can't pray, I can't talk to Jesus, I can't! I'm a repeat offender. I'm a willing offender! I didn't repent well. I haven't repented long. There have been no tears, no real want to change. Guys I'm smothering my own joy with anger and I don't even care!"
But I just shrugged and nodded and thanked Jesus for his body and thanked him for his blood and silently promised I would repent well, repent better when I got home.
Yeah, but Wednesday just kept going. And five of us girls sat in a room with only two chairs and lots of carpet and the blond that loves Jesus well and speaks softly about her anger and frustration asks us all to pray.
And it should be freeing. The thought that I'm not alone. If that tiny, Jesus loving, people serving blond can want life to work right and people to do right and get angry when people don't, shouldn't I have felt freedom to tell her that my heart has the same cry and some days I too just don't know how to get rid of it?
But I watched her, listened to her and sat silent.
And I went home and covered my head with a thick white comforter and promised I'd work up good repentance in the morning. Promised I'd find the way to do right, to act right, to feel right and not choose the smothering of communion with Christ again.
But I woke up to a room strewn with unwashed clothes and unfinished projects and walked to a bathroom covered with dirty towels and the dripping bottle of shampoo that I paid way to much for to feed my own vanity when it could have fed hungry bellies and vitamins that I can never remember to take and cups that need be taken to the sink, the sink that I can't keep empty. Me, a single person, a singular person can't keep empty.
And I remember the girl who had talked about how organized I was and I had thought it was a jab at how inflexible I am, looking around all I could think was "I'm unorganized and a stick in the mud."
And it's like this reminder that I can't do it right. And I pull on a white dress because who can remember all the rules about white and when to wear it and not wear it. And brown tights and brown boots and drive to work in the car that has one mismatched tire because I tried to drive in the ice.
And it all just makes me frustrated and feel behind and my heart is angry. And I realize all morning I have chosen to smother joy instead of rejoice. I have chosen only to acknowledge the goriness of everyday living instead of the glory that is always around.
And I turn on the radio even though I had given it up for lent and think that if I can't get this sin of anger out of me at least I can quiet it down with noise.
She's talking about Ash Wednesday and how there's a water that doesn't leave us thirsty and how we live lives marked by the water we drink. How Lent is not all about what we can give up but who us repeat offenders can lean into.
And that's when I remember, yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The Wednesday when you mark your head with the cross and wear it proud and don't wash it off even when people tell you there's dirt on your head. Because you know there's something beautiful about that ugly mark.
Ezekiel it says that the ones who tore their clothes and lay in ash were to be marked- the actual Hebrew word is Tav and it looked like an "X" the first letter in the name "Christ". So the angel went and marked all those repenters with the likeness of Christ's name.
And it's there that I remember I am not marked "approved" because of my ability to repent. I am able to repent because I am marked by Christ.
He marked me pure by scaring his own hands.
He marked me righteous by resurrecting from his own death bed.
He marked me acceptable by living his life perfectly.
He marked me his by writing my name on the palm of his hand. By cutting me into the valley of his ability to hold.
He marked me by going into the belly of the earth and giving up his own spirit so my rebel spirit can be gutted right out of my innards and my spirit can be new. Different. Just like him.
So I walk around like them with the smudge of dirt on their head. Knowing there is something about me that still looks ugly, still resembles the dirt of the past. But me-the repeat offender-I'll invite you to look closer at my marks. I'm marked by the cross this billboard advertisement that I need his marks. So come let's repeat repent and let's obey because he's told us we can. Let's image him well and when we can't tell the difference between the cross and the smudge let's not get stuck in ash Wednesday let's look to the tomb-empty-Sunday.
That's what us ash-Wednesday repeat offenders need to remember.
There was a tomb-empty-Sunday.
There is coming a heaven filling, someday.
Yeah, us repeat offenders repeat this to ourselves.
Our specific sins weren't just put on the cross for payment.
A perfect record was given to us specifically.
And it's there that I remember I am not marked "approved" because of my ability to repent. I am able to repent because I am marked by Christ.
He marked me pure by scaring his own hands.
He marked me righteous by resurrecting from his own death bed.
He marked me acceptable by living his life perfectly.
He marked me his by writing my name on the palm of his hand. By cutting me into the valley of his ability to hold.
He marked me by going into the belly of the earth and giving up his own spirit so my rebel spirit can be gutted right out of my innards and my spirit can be new. Different. Just like him.
So I walk around like them with the smudge of dirt on their head. Knowing there is something about me that still looks ugly, still resembles the dirt of the past. But me-the repeat offender-I'll invite you to look closer at my marks. I'm marked by the cross this billboard advertisement that I need his marks. So come let's repeat repent and let's obey because he's told us we can. Let's image him well and when we can't tell the difference between the cross and the smudge let's not get stuck in ash Wednesday let's look to the tomb-empty-Sunday.
That's what us ash-Wednesday repeat offenders need to remember.
There was a tomb-empty-Sunday.
There is coming a heaven filling, someday.
Yeah, us repeat offenders repeat this to ourselves.
Our specific sins weren't just put on the cross for payment.
A perfect record was given to us specifically.
