Ash Wednesday 2006

Changing Trains

 

            In May, 1977, I had finished my degree exams at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland.  Graduation (provided I had passed my exams) wasn’t until July.  For the first time in 29 years, academically speaking, I was a free man.  I had to be out my residence hall to make room for summer visitors, so, even if I had remained in St. Andrews, I’d have had no place to stay.  The most logical thing to do was to hit the road. 

Having been a Classics major, the two countries I most wanted to visit were Italy and Greece.  As it turned out, the young lassie who had won my heart also fancied a trip to Italy and Greece, so we went along to the travel agent with our student i.d’s., bought some really cheap tickets from Glasgow to Pisa, borrowed a couple of backpacks (called “rucksacks” in the local lingo) and took off.

At least that’s how I remember it.  I’m sure Andra’s version is far more accurate.  For instance, I have completely blanked out on exactly how we got permission from her parents in Edinburgh for her to go on this trip.  Would you let your undergraduate daughter go off to the Continent with a foreign graduate student?

Please don’t answer that question.

We arrived in Pisa in the wee hours of the morning.  (The plane got diverted by fog and landed at some other airport the name of which escapes me now.)  We checked out the famous tower. (Boy, does that sucker lean.)  As I recall, the next destination was Rome.

We studied the map and the train timetable.  We bought our second class tickets at the station.  We climbed aboard, stashed our rucksacks, and congratulated ourselves on our obvious urbanity and sophistication.

A couple of hours into the trip we began to study the map.  For some reason the stops along the line didn’t seem to correspond to the route we had planned. 

There was a good reason for that.  We were on the wrong train.  While it might have been true in classical times that all roads led to Rome, in 1977 all trains did not do the same.

Italian train conductors are the most nonplussed of all people.  If you explain to one that you are on the wrong train, he will shrug his shoulders as if to say, “Si, this kind of thing happens all the time.  Que sera, sera.”

Eventually we figured out where we would have to get off that train in order to catch another train that was going in another direction.  We did, and eventually we made it to the Eternal City, having seen far more of the Italian countryside than we had bargained for.   

And, that, beloved, is the meaning of repentance.  To repent is to change direction, to acknowledge that where you’re headed is not where you want to go, to get off the train and to head in a new direction. 

In Hebrew the term basically means “to turn” or specifically “to return,” as from Babylonian exile.  It is especially associated with “way,” or “path,” or “journey.”  In Greek the word for repentance is metanoia.  It means more than just changing your mind; it means embarking on a way that goes beyond the mind that you have. 

Among other things, Ash Wednesday is a day for repentance.  It’s the day we examine the route we’ve been on and decide if it’s time to get off the train and go in a new direction.  Some folks call Ash Wednesday “the Christian Yom Kippur,” the Day of Atonement, but that’s not quite right.  The point is not so much to confess the sins you’ve committed in the past as it is to focus on future you and God could have together if only you’d change direction.

For us, that future involves going with Jesus on his way to Jerusalem, the place where he will confront the twisted value system of his day and face the furry of those in power who refuse to repent and change the direction of their lives.  There is risk in taking that path, but it’s the only way to get from here to Easter. 

Just lately we have already seen many examples of false repentance. 

·        I’m so sorry I’ve run my bank into the ground by lending money to people to buy houses they can’t afford.  Let me get on my private jet and fly over to tell you how sorry I am.  Then you can give me more money to spend on fancy drapes and bonuses.

·        I do apologize for not paying my taxes.  If I had known I’d be appointed to the Cabinet, I’d have been more careful.

·        I’m truly sorry your child’s school is closing, but there’s nothing I can do.  You see, there just weren’t enough newcomers and tourists to tax this year, and I’m sure you’ll agree we couldn’t possibly change the tax structure. 

That’s not repentance.  That’s not changing direction. That’s changing seats on a train headed toward disaster.

The ashes of Ash Wednesday recall the sackcloth and ashes the ancient Hebrews used to put on to show that they were sorry for the past and ready to change – or rather to be changed by the mercy of God.  They also remind us of our mortality – of the fact that we came from the dust and it is to dust that we shall return. 

You’d think these ashes would be a burden to bear, but they aren’t.  They’re a reminder of God’s grace and mercy.  God remembers that we are dust,  that we are children who sometimes get lost, adults who get off track, travelers who lose their way.  God calls us, in Christ, to remember who we are and whose we are. 

Remember that you are dust.  Every breath you take is a gift from God.  That’s a call to repentance.  It’s also the best good news we’ll ever hear.

So, welcome to Lent.  Check the map.  Grab the rucksack.  The train to Easter is pulling into the station.  There’s still time to make a change.

 

 

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