Most, if not all of us will be familiar with the Imposition of Ashes, which we will receive together, following our liturgy of penitence this morning.

In ancient Israel, the symbolism of ashes was a forceful reminder of the pervasiveness of human sin and of the inevitability of human death.  Ashes represented that which, in the human experience, was burned out and wasted; that which once was but is no more. 

This tradition, which we as Christians have inherited, serves as a reminder of our own sinful mortality as human beings, and as a forerunner of the coming dark days in Jesus’ life:  of his passion and death.  And yet, as our readings remind us, the keeping of Ash Wednesday also points us forward to the redemptive power of God’s grace:  bringing us before God who “despises not a broken and contrite heart”, in whose Son our resurrection hope is founded.

The reading from Joel is an alarm bell in the darkness of the night.  We are not told what the crisis is or any of the detail, but there is no mistaking its urgency.  Those who are caught in this terrible moment cannot hope to save themselves, because they are basically powerless on their own.  It appears the only thing they can do is repent and open themselves to God’s mercy.

Then the Psalm that we shared – Psalm 51 – is arguably the classic text that captures the faithful man or woman of God in the act of throwing him-or herself open to God’s mercy.  The psalmist is convinced of the personal and profound manner in which he or she has offended God and shattered a relationship that God intended to be warm and intimate.  In casting him-or herself on God’s grace, the psalmist not only acknowledges God’s role as the unique saviour of faithful people, but also the inevitable result of God’s intervention:  that is, a changed and redirected life.

The reading taken from Matthew’s version of the Sermon on the Mount seems, on the surface, to be an extended warning against false and manipulative piety.  Understood in more depth, however, it is a declaration that God responds in mercy to the faithfulness of those who attempt to do God’s will.  Exactly how the faithful will “receive their reward” is not spelt out, but the strong implication is that it is bound up in their sense of engagement with the ongoing purposes of God. 

Now as disciples of Christ, we could argue that this is our constant quest – to engage with God’s purposes, but actually – I don’t know about you – but I need help.

Whilst individual penitence, and private prayer, and reading the Bible by ourselves are all very well, the very nature of our Christian faith calls us into relationship with God (whose Trinitarian nature is all about relationship); into relationship with one another and in relationship as a worshipping community. 

So, counting our blessings and building ourselves up as the Body of Christ in this community, so that others may know the saving power of God’s healing, forgiving love for themselves, we may seek to deepen our faith and our understanding of God’s purposes for our shared life together. 

One way we can do this is to join one of the Lent Groups starting up next week – these are detailed in the green leaflets, in case you are not aware.  In groups, we will be studying the Beatitudes described by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, and seeking to learn how God might be calling us to live them, here and now.

A school of prayer will also be offered on Wednesday evenings through Lent, culminating in a Passiontide Sermon by Bishop David on March 16^th. 

Reflecting in the subject f forgiveness, I recalled about five years ago reading a book by Johann Christoph Arnold of the Bruderhof Community[1], entitled, “The Lost Art of Forgiving”, which is a very moving collection of stories demonstrating the healing power of forgiveness in the experiences of ordinary people scarred by betrayal, war, crime, abuse and bigotry.  It lets the voices of those who have forgiven - and those who haven’t speak for themselves.  The testimony of such victims speaks to us through the commonality of our human nature:  if people who have suffered so at the hands of others have the capacity to forgive those others, how much more are we called to practice forgiveness in our comparatively ordinary existence in community?  Especially when we recall all that God in Christ has done for us.

In my experience, amongst those unchurched and in people coming to faith for the first time, there is often a profound sense of unworthiness; a sense of disbelief that God could possibly love them, perhaps because they don’t love themselves very much.

As Christians, we are called to be givers and receivers of forgiveness.  We receive God’s forgiveness and offer one another forgiveness when we need to.  But forgiveness cannot be forced on another:  it can only be offered.  And if you have ever had your offer rejected you will know the pain that causes. 

In the Epilogue to this book, the author writes:

“Forgiveness is power.  It frees us from our past, overcoming every evil.  It can heal both the person forgiving and the person forgiven.  In fact, it could change the world if we would only allow it to flow through us unchecked.  But how often we stand in its way!  We hold the keys to forgiveness in our hands, and we must choose whether or not to use them every day.”

By the grace and mercy of God, as penitent people who believe we are forgiven, may we fully grasp what this means, both for us and in our dealings with others. 

Forgiven people are people poised for mission. 

As we seek to imitate Christ and so to share God’s love with others, let this Lent be a time to engage with the ongoing purposes of God in our lives: as individuals and as a church, in and for our community.

Amen