Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025
ASH WEDNESDAY
Holy Cross Monastery
March 5, 2025
Isaiah 58:1-12 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10 Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Among all the creatures that inhabit the earth, we humans are unique in that we are conscious of our own mortality. And if we pay attention, we are reminded of this reality every day. Wars, natural fires, mass shootings, earthquakes, floods all remind us of how quickly things can change. We may behold our aging selves in mirrors that reflect the passing of years as we journey closer and closer to our own earthly demise. Or we may experience a nagging pain, a frightening diagnosis, the death of a loved one, or a day like today reminding us that we are made up of the stuff of the earth; dust, the same dust that was once the stuff that stars were made of. And when our life on this earth is over, we shall return to that dust.
Our liturgy today is infused with this ancient reality, and we are invited to embrace our own mortality because death lies at the heart of what it means to be human. Life is precious because it is fragile. The reminder that we get just this one time on earth, and it is short, and then we die calls us to live to the fullest potential of who we are, and in the words of Henri Frederic Amiel to “be swift to love”, and “to make haste to be kind”. It can compel us to pay attention to where we are going, to look for paths that are grace-filled, and to be alive to all that is possible here and now. Being reminded of our mortality can also lead us to say yes to that call from God we have been missing because we are so distracted and busy trying to control our own destiny.
During the past two months I’ve had the occasion to reflect a lot on my own mortality and the preciousness of life. Back on January 16, I woke up with severe pain, so extreme that I wasn’t sure I could actually get out of bed. In true fashion, I thought: “Oh no, no, pain is not on my schedule for today. I have a class to teach, a choir practice to lead, and I need coffee.” God is infinitely patient with me, and so are my Brothers, so after teaching class that morning and leading choir practice, I made my way to the urgent care clinic while the pain continued to increase. At the clinic, I was told I was experiencing sciatic pain and would need physical therapy. In the meantime, I was prescribed some pain medication and was told I needed to be in bed for the next few days. Now, those who know me well can imagine the terror mixed with annoyance the thought of being in bed for a few days produced in my whole being. But the pain seemed to be increasing by the minute, and liked it or not, I had to stay in bed.
The next few days were a gift- a very strange gift (God works in mysterious ways) but a gift nonetheless. A gift, because I felt the presence of God in ways I have never felt the presence of God before. It’s one thing to feel God’s presence when we are stimulated with beautiful art or music, or an awesome experience, or the wonders of nature. I have experience God’s presence countless times in those situations. It is a completely different matter to experience God’s presence in the midst of terrible pain.
At first, I was in so much pain, I didn’t know how I would pray. I couldn’t kneel or sit in any one position for too long to do centering prayer. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read from a prayer book or pray the rosary. I finally managed to say: “God, I am in so much pain I can’t pray right now. I know I need to get through this. Please grant me the strength to do so, and stay with me, dear God.” No, I did not ask God to take my pain away. My brain does not work that way, and I know from the Gospels that when Jesus asked: “if it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me” it didn’t happen, so I wasn’t going to go there.
But, God was with me the whole time. I felt God’s presence in my pain. And it didn’t require any doing from me- sitting, kneeling, reading prayers, centering prayer, rosary, nothing. I could have asked God to forgive my sins, but I forgot, and it didn’t matter, God was with me and held me through my pain. God was with me in the form of Brothers who came to my cell to check on me, and bring me meals, and ask if I needed anything. All that was required of me was open receptivity- a spirit of yes; of welcome. The situation was the situation. It was not going to change. Now to welcome something doesn’t mean we have to like it. It just means we need to temporarily suspend our rush to judgement, and just to be open to what’s occurring, and to find some point of gratitude. I reflected with great gratitude on how thankful I am for my comfortable bed, good healthcare, adequate food, loving community. I felt great sorrow for those who may have sciatica or worse in Gaza, or Ukraine, or Sudan, or so many other places in the world, without appropriate care, or even a bed. God, please be with them.
In the reading from the epistle we just heard, St. Paul entreats the Corinthians (and us) to be reconciled to God. And he does not suggest a confession, or self-examination, or lays out a lengthy program of spiritual exercises. He tells us that we should simply accept the grace of God when the time is right, and see, now is that acceptable time. Life is short. Don’t wait. Now is the time! In the Gospel lesson Jesus tells us to go to our room, shut the door and pray to our God who is in secret. That secret place where God abides is our heart. It is a call to the kind of intimacy with God that nourishes, grounds, and sustains in ways that are beyond words. The fleeting, fragile, uncertain nature of life compels us to venture deeply into that secret place.
So today, as our foreheads are marked with ashen crosses to remind us of our mortality, may we meet the season of Lent with a spirit of welcome come what may; may we find the courage to say yes to what we know God is calling us to do; may we be swift to love; may we make haste to be kind; and may we dare to enter that secret place in our heart where we can be reconciled to God who always meets us where we are in our lives with loving grace and an open embrace that nourishes, grounds and sustains us in ways that are beyond words. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+
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