I really love the Olympics, especially the Winter Olympics. I do not miss the irony at how frequently I am on the couch in my sweatpants with snacks in hand pointing out, “oh yeah, see the way she landed on her skate, that’s going to affect the grade of execution and cost her some points.” Obviously, anyone just making it to the olympics is nothing short of astounding in and of itself, but there is just something about getting incredibly invested in the stories of these strangers on my tv, who I do not know, but I admire so much for the sheer will and dedication they have invested into making their dreams come true.
Of course, along with those highpoints are the moments and the stories of tremendous disappointments. Minnesotan downhill skier Lindsey Vonn, a highly decorated olympian, suffered a series of awful injuries, ending her olympic career in a painful display. Ilia Malanen, known as the “quad god” for his ability to complete jump after jump with four rotations in the air was expected to come in and win it all, yet after several devastating falls, ended up coming in eighth and not even making the podium. These athletes can hit every mark over and over and over again, and one slight hiccup, one minor setback can mean the difference in all of it, whether their countless hours of practice and dedication and sacrifice will result in earning a medal to bring back to their home country. Watching the games has a way of illuminating the humility of remembering that even with so much work, so much dedication, there are still no guarantees.
Obviously I am no Olympic athlete with all my couch commentaries and Cheetos, but these Olympic games this year have really been pushing me to reflect on our human and Earthly concepts of “achievement” as we begin this shared season of Lent. Now, I am not for a minute suggesting that these brilliant athletes shouldn’t be giving their all, striving to achieve and to push the limits. But what I am saying is that God doesn’t love Ilia Malanin any less because he surprised everyone and fell during his free skate and is not coming home with a medal. God doesn’t love Lindsay Vonn any less because she was injured and couldn’t finish her ski runs. And God does not love us any less when we fall short of the expectations and achievements the powers of this world pushes upon us. God’s love and grace are not dependent on what we achieve, what we earn, any of us. And, our mortality is not dependent on anything we do or do not do. The veil between the Earth and God’s heavenly kingdom is thin and so is the sobering reality that we are dust and to dust we will return, and it is our calling to use the time we have in between that dust to work individually and communally to make real God’s kingdom here on Earth.
Jesus tells us in today’s gospel passage to not do this important work in a way that boasts, but to do so in a way that acknowledges that it is God who sees it. And, we are reminded to act. To pray with our feet. To not just pray for God’s intercession but to be God’s intercession.
I am buoyed beyond belief to see so many ways that people are quietly and not boastfully stepping up, interceding, to help their neighbors right now. And it is not lost on me that in the case of helping our closest neighbors right now, that their safety relies on us not boasting, not calling attention to it. I see teachers quietly and discreetly finding rides for their students whose families feel unsafe having them wait at bus stops or being on the buses. I see pastors reaching out quietly to their networks to organize food drop offs for people who can’t leave their homes. And the lists go on and on and on.
We begin this season of Lent, a season of lament and reflection by journeying with Jesus, by reflecting on what our own lives in Christ mean. The shortness and fleetingness of our Earthly lives are certain, just as is God’s love and redemption for us. It can be so easy for us to work ourselves to the bone to achieve, to make more money, to check boxes of certifications or accolades, but guess what, when we return to the dust, which we all will, we take none of those things with us. Not the awards, or the money, not the medals. What we do leave behind is the legacy of how we treated our neighbors and did the work Christ empowers us to do in the in between the dust times.
Theologian Ben Cremer writes, “As we begin this journey of lent, may we begin by acknowledging the ashes of our best laid plans laid to waste. May we repent from all the ways we have expected Christ and his kingdom to look like the kings and empires of this world. May we rediscover the hope of Jesus, who brings breath where we only see dust and life where we only see death. Not through the violent forceful ways of the world, but through the self sacrificial love of the cross.”
My prayer for myself and for all of us as we begin this season of reflection and of lament is that we take the time to notice the broken places of the world where we dwell which fall short of God’s directives to love and serve those in need. May we pray and then pray with our feet, doing this vital work of making real God’s kingdom here on Earth not to give accolades to ourselves but because it is precisely what we are freed to do.
In closing, I share the following prayer from Pastor Cole Arthur Riley, author of both This Here Flesh and Black Liturgies:
God of the Ashes,
Today let us hold the tension of the story of our making- born of the dirt, beautifully connected to the earth we walk on. And yet, possessing the knowledge of our own mortality- that our common decay cannot be escaped. As we begin Lent, help us to become honest about the ways our societies and our selfhoods are marred by injustice, cruelty, neglect, and greed. Help us to see our own role in the degeneration of the world; that as we push back evil around us, we might also admit those secret evils that dwell in us. As we name how we’ve become complicit in the ashes of this world, help us to bear them in solidarity and hope. I, we will carry the ashes. God, bring rest to the suffering. There is breath in these ashes. No death is final.
Amen.
Vicar Karla Leitzman