I find myself not working a text too much when I preach Ash Wednesday, which worries me, but not much. You just surrender yourself to it.” * * * Sometimes I’m overwhelmed, just watching people in line. I just stand in line and say Here I am, I’m with them, the community of faith. Martin Sheen's riveting insight, which he shared with Krista Tippett on On Being, was this: “How can we understand these great mysteries of the church? I don’t have a clue. On some Ash Wednesdays (or when we have Eucharist or Baptismal renewal, and my people have to stand in line), I call attention to the time it takes to be in line - to preemptively speak to those who might groan or feel rushed - and invite them to relish the quiet time in God's presence, which they desperately need, always. I think I can let it explain itself, let it be sacramental, powerful, or at least a little unsettling. The power of coming forward, the palpable touch of ashes to the head (which they have to deal with after they've left the building). Eliot’s moving “ Ash Wednesday” as mental and spiritual preparation. Perhaps such preaching should be poetic it wouldn’t hurt the preacher to ponder Malcolm Guite's elegant " Ash Wednesday," or T.S. I think for years my homily was nothing more than an intro to or defense of Ash Wednesday. On Ash Wednesday, people come for the ashes, not a mountain of words.
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