Ps 51:1-17

1 March 2006

Ash Wednesday

“Strength from Ashes”

            Psalm 51 has been called “one of the most moving prayers in the Old Testament.”[1]  Traditionally, it’s been ascribed to David, though parts of the psalm refer to events hundreds of years later, like the destruction of Jerusalem.  It’s one of the so-called penitential psalms.  Others include psalms numbered 6, 32, 38, 102, 130, and 143.  But this is the one most associated with Ash Wednesday.

            It hits all the right notes.  There’s a full admission of guilt, acknowledgment that no pardon is deserved, and loving joy because God does forgive.  Plus, there’s an expressed awareness that “unless a radical change is [done] by God, the future will be but a repetition of the past.”  That’s why the psalmist “appeals to God for a clean heart and a new spirit.”[2]

            Most people, when asked what their favorite holiday is, will not immediately respond, “No doubt about it, baby, it’s Ash Wednesday!  Yeah!”

Are you kidding?  It’s too gloomy; it’s too drab.  Who wants ashes put on their forehead?  Where’s the fun in that?  Mardi Gras—now there’s a holiday!

            Madeleine L’Engle, in her book The Irrational Season, reflects on one of the beatitudes of Jesus, which we’ll soon read together:  “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Mt 5:4).

            “Everything in the secular world tries to keep us from the essential comfort of mourning,” she says.  “Even comfort has been diluted to mean coziness, rather than comfort, with strength.”[3]  The word “comfort” comes from Latin, and it literally means “with strength.”

            In order to mourn, one needs to really care.  And it takes strength to really care.  It’s very easy to just say, “Oh, how awful that is!”—and then go on about our daily business.

            The psalmist understands that his confession of sin, if it is to be actual repentance, cannot stop with himself.  Verse 13 says, “Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.”  The psalmist cares about the world around him.

            L’Engle says, “I pray for courage to mourn so that I may be strengthened.  There is much to mourn, for we feel grief not only for the physical death of one we love or admire.  I mourn for the loss of dreams and the presence of nightmare…Until I can mourn the loss of a dream I cannot be comforted enough to have vision for a fresh one.”[4]  I’m struck by that phrase, “the presence of nightmare.”  Of course, we all can come up with our own versions of nightmare, some very private and some very public.

            A key verse in our psalm is verse 14.  The psalmist seems to be on the precipice of some kind of horror, something that he dreads.  “Deliver me from bloodshed, O God,” he pleads, “O God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance.”

            Opinions differ as to what “bloodshed” here is all about.  Is it something that the psalmist himself has done—or something that he fears he’ll do?  Or is it a comment about the whole nation, something we frequently see in Old Testament prayers?  I would say that it’s both.

            I feel like we’re in “the presence of nightmare” right now, and it is a bloody and public nightmare.  I’ve spoken of this before.  It is the nightmare of torture.  But I’m not going to go on some political rant!  I see it as not only public nightmare, but also private nightmare.

I call it “private nightmare,” because I’m disturbed at how we’ve largely remained silent about Americans engaging in torture.  And I include myself in that group that’s remained silent about it!  Every time we drive by the Robert H. Jackson Center, we’re reminded of the importance of international law.

            If you think I’m overstating this by calling it a nightmare, listen to the comments of Dick Durbin, who served on the Senate Intelligence Committee until last year.  I’m not a huge fan of his, but I did find his testimony compelling.

While he and “fellow lawmakers responsible for oversight were kept in the dark on covert interrogation operations, before he left the committee he and others [Republicans and Democrats] viewed hundreds of classified photos of torture from Abu Ghraib.  According to Durbin, a number of the images they witnessed were even more horrific than the public has seen…though he declined to go into detail, because they remain classified.

‘In all of my years of public service, [he says,] I’ll never forget that day.  I was standing there in a room with fellow senators, some of whom were in tears, as we watched brought up on a screen hundreds and hundreds of photos showing the most unimaginable treatment of prisoners.’

“‘I honestly believe that when this war is over, we'll look back on this treatment of prisoners as our own Japanese internment-camp issue…It’s further illustration that when a nation is in fear…a nation will do things that do not stand up well at all by the judgment of history.’”[5]

            The vast majority of us don’t approve of torture.  It’s a betrayal of what our country is supposed to be about.  It’s certainly a betrayal of what Jesus is about.  Yet despite its horrendous nature, we quickly tune it out—as though we had the attention span of a three year old.  Maybe it all seems too big.  Maybe we’re convinced that the government won’t listen to us, anyway.  But that’s still a sorry excuse.

            Verse 17:  “The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”  It begins right here, right now, during this season of Lent.  Will we comfort those who mourn?  Will we ask for the strength to do so?

            I’ll close with Madeleine L’Engle:  “When we are given the grace to be peacemakers even in…little, unimpressive ways, then we are children of God, children by adoption and grace, but children nonetheless, who are bold to call him Father, Abba.  So we children are helped to become peacemakers, and one day we will truly be able to cry, Shalom!”[6]  Peace!

            May God create in each of us a clean heart and a new spirit.

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