THE REV. DAVID STODDART
This week, many of our parishioners are undergoing diagnostic procedures: lab tests, MRIs, PET scans, biopsies, you name it. Most of these protocols are not fun; all of them entail waiting and anxiety. And even as I hold these people in prayer, I cannot help but remember on this Ash Wednesday that we are—all of us—subject to a rigorous spiritual assessment as well.
When I write that, I am not referring primarily to moral failings. We certainly have plenty of those, but so often they are merely presenting symptoms of a deeper malaise. Indeed, the word that leaps to my mind as we enter this penitential season is not “guilt” or “shame.” What I think of is “brokenness,” and what our Lenten liturgies call us to is a thorough and unflinching diagnosis. We have thoughts, habits, attitudes, and ways of being in the world that harm us and hurt others. Can we honestly name them? Are we willing to expose them to God’s healing light?
When I think of myself and ponder my personal confession, I try to admit the things that stop me from loving God and others as much as I would like. It’s not a pretty list: it includes selfishness, comparing myself unfavorably with others, stress that I don’t handle well, an innate perfectionism I afflict on myself and those around me, and a besetting fear of failure. I know these things inhibit the free flow of grace in my life as surely as clogged arteries block the flow of blood to the heart. And I know that, while your list may be different than mine, you do have one. All of us are broken in various ways: that’s what it means to say that we’re sinners.
But Jesus, our divine physician, does not seek to condemn any of us. If he puts us through a painful diagnosis, it is only so that we can undergo healing and renewal. The more we own and accept our spiritual ailments, the more room we give the Holy Spirit to move within us and make us whole. In fact, if I were to suggest a Lenten discipline, it would be simple: spend time looking with God at the most broken parts of your life. And I mean just that: look with God. Don’t judge. Don’t excuse. Don’t condemn. Just keep breathing and look at all of it in the unquenchable light of God’s love. She’s waiting to pour mercy on us; she’s longing to mend us. We cannot control or predict how God will do that, but I’ve experienced it enough to know that it’s true and to make me want more. And as Jesus, Ash Wednesday, and the medical travails of my parishioners all remind me, every successful cure begins with an accurate diagnosis.
