St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Wesley Chapel, FL
Preacher: The Rev. Adrienne R. Hymes
Ash Wednesday ▪ February 17, 2021
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
“The After Hours” is a classic “Twilight Zone” episode which aired in 1960. The main character is Marsha White, who is a perfectly coiffed and styled woman, moving about the world. Marsha seems to be going through the motions of her life in two primary settings—her residence and a vaguely familiar department store. As the episode progresses, Marsha is distressed by moments of deja-vu and surroundings that seem to, at once, call to her spirit, and spark an ongoing terror as she began to fear for her life. Marsha had an inherent awareness that “something,” oddly known and unknown, was coming for her—and the fear of that “something” caused her great suffering.
That haunting “something” happened to be a non-existent floor on the elevator, where her community of friends lovingly called her to remember her true identity and her true home. You see, the plot twist is that, unbeknownst to Marsha, she was a mannequin. Like her fellow mannequins, Marsha became a part of the sensory world of the living for one month each year—the human experience vacation—a fleeting life with a sure expiration.
Surrounded by the community of mannequins, they said to Marsha, “Remember now? All of us will try to help you. We’ll help you concentrate. Remember now? Coming back to you?” Without the community of mannequins, who shared Marsha’s nature, calling her to remembrance and subsequently home, Marsha’s true nature would have never been recovered, leaving her isolated and lost, helplessly suffering. They made it possible for Marsha to reclaim her true nature, and to surrender to her truth–that her time amongst the living had come to an end.
Marsha’s expressed fear of returning to nothingness, glaringly brings to light the fear of all human beings that is often suppressed and rarely spoken of—the inherent knowledge that human life is finite, and our time amongst the living will come to an end. This tension between “being” and “nothingness” is the constant vibration of the human condition—suffering. Swedish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, called this unique human experience of despair as the sickness unto death.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
After the year that humankind has had; the year that Americans have had; the year that the places where we live, work, play, shop have had; the year that our church has had; and the ongoing grief for the loss of relational moments, long taken for granted, that remind us that we are alive.
Smiles, now imagined through masks; human touch, now off limits, until further notice; breaking bread with our families and friends, without the fear of virus transmission, an anticipated hope, yet all remain out of reach. It is not likely that anyone would need to be reminded of their mortality after the year we have had, even in navigating the reality of the death-dealing pandemic that clings to the year just begun. Yet as a community of faith we gather to not only be reminded of the finitude of life, but to lean on, and into, our faith which helps us to make sense of that reality.
The Christian community is a community of remembrance. We remember Jesus’ death and resurrection by being joined to both with him through Holy Baptism. We remember Jesus’ body broken, and his precious blood shed for the forgiveness of our sins, each time we partake of the sacraments in the Holy Eucharist. We remember because, even when we fall into sin, there is muscle memory embedded in the depths of our souls that reminds us to repent—to turn away from sin and to turn toward God and our true nature as children of God—ever hopeful of being lovingly called home to the eternal love that created us.
In the season of Lent the church intentionally sets apart time for God’s “forgetful faithful” to remember that God is the creator of both the human body and the soul, and it is God who will call his souls home at a time of his choosing. In the meantime, in this in-between time, we live in the hope of Christ’s resurrection.
This year we will experience the imposition of ashes differently. As the ashes are sprinkled upon your head, you are to be reminded of your own mortality—calling to mind the sprinkling of the earth on a coffin before it is lowered into the ground.
Remember who you are and whose you are. And, remember that that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Remember, remember, remember. Amen.
