By the time I was born, both of my Dad's parents had already died--grandma first, in the summer of 1956 and grandpa fourteen days later. We had grown up knowing only my mom's parents as grandparents, and my mom's siblings and their children as extended family. Until the day Aunt Gertrude and Uncle George showed up at our front door, we had only heard stories about Dad's siblings, and now here was living, breathing proof that my Dad wasn't an orphan, at least not biologically.

Well, with four sons living at home, and only one double bed in the house, my dad did the next best thing-he put his sister and her husband up in a nearby motel for the night; maybe two nights, if I'm not mistaken. And so for a couple of days, we got to visit with this woman who turned up out of nowhere, a complete stranger, claiming to be my Aunt Gert, Dad's next eldest sibling, the sister who had rescued his marbles by winning them all back long, long ago, in a serious game of marbles, the story of which had been told to me more times than I can count. Aunt Gertie really existed after all.

For whatever reason, as an adult, my Dad was an orphan by choice. Through my study of genealogy and family systems history I am beginning to understand that this behavior was not that uncommon from the children of East European immigrant parents, particularly the male children. Apparently, once they left home (often a bilingual home) and started a family on their own, they often stopped staying in regular contact with their family of origin.

Aunt Gertrude and Uncle George's unexpected (and perhaps unwanted) arrival at our house that day forced my Dad to make a choice. He had to choose whether he was going to acknowledge his true family, or not. Luckily for us, if only for a day or so, he chose to let this woman back into his life-beloved sisters are hard to resist, I'm told.

For many people, Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent arrive unexpectedly, or perhaps unwanted, once a year, like an Aunt Gertrude and Uncle George. And we stand at the door and have to think and decide how we are going to deal with them. Like distant relatives who pay us an occasional visit, we can either dread the time spent with them, or make the best of it, and perhaps even enjoy it. But it's really left up to us to decide, and our attitude has a lot to do with it.

For years I have agreed with theologian Hans Küng who reportedly claimed that the church could absolutely be reborn by the Ash Wednesday liturgy, for no greater corrective to one's attitude toward God and life existed than the phrase: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." If that line doesn't put our head on straight about life, the universe and everything, then nothing else will. To embrace this idea is not to embrace some existential, "it's meaningless that life is meaningless" concept popularized many years ago by the rock band Kansas-"Dust in the wind; all we are is dust in the wind."

Rather, to realize that we "are dust, and to dust we shall return," is to recognize our intimate connection with the creation narrative in the book of Genesis; it is to realize that the God who fashioned the universe also fashioned us and all humanity out of the womb of the earth, and put the breath of life within us: Nefesh, in Hebrew, God's living breath of wind, or spirit.

To embrace the idea that we are "God-breathed-into-life" dust forces us to recognize that this mortal life has its limits, and will one day be exchanged for the life that is immortal; furthermore, we realize that it is good that life works in this way. Death represents the final chapter of life in the body, and the opening chapter to life everlasting.

Ash Wednesday reminds us that our lives are truly in God's hands, the maker of heaven and dust, and because of this we have nothing to fear in this life.

As the second surprise visitor standing at the door, the season of Lent itself might appear to some as that famous Saturday Night Live faux movie trailer featuring the late John Belushi, as "The Guest Who Wouldn't Leave." Looked at it in this way, as some big, fat, Geek imposition, Lent can come off as a horrible experience not to be repeated. Six and half weeks of self-denial (and guilt over cheating!) would be enough to drive any one over the edge.

In reality, Lent does not come to us with the intention of being hard or overbearing-not that any of our relatives would EVER act anything like that, either. Lent actually offers us an invitation. Lent invites us to pursue God directly, intentionally, during a forty day period. And believe it or not, one of the all around best ways to pursue God during Lent is to not do anything. Allow me to explain.

We live in a culture saturated thousands of times over everyday with verbal and non-verbal messages. It is easy to lose one's direction in life, one's focus, to grow cold in wanting to know God or hear the voice of God, because these distractions are so tremendous. Lent invites us to explore rekindling that inner desire for God. Notice I said, explore. Lent wants us to taste and see that the Lord is good-and to go forward from there. Lent is not about weighing oneself down with an impossible calendar of "things to do" in order to be holy.

Perhaps one of the most necessary things that anyone of us could do this Lent is to stop doing things-to sit in silence, with no words spoken, no perfunctory prayers offered to God. Maybe just sitting in silence somewhere, a little everyday, is really what your souls wants and needs this Lent. The choice is really up to us, as we stand at the door.

We can be disappointed or ashamed of these uninvited, inconvenient guests; or we can embrace them, as distant family and friends, whom we haven't seen in a while, and provide a warm, accepting, listening place to get caught up with them, and to listen to our own lives, as well. Lent can do this for us, if only we let it.

I pray that you will pray as to how you should respond, and then, look up: For, indeed, your beloved visitors stand at your door now, ready to be welcomed in.

The Rev'd Timothy M. Dombek
ST. JAMES EPISCOPAL CHURCH
301 Piney Mountain Road
Greenville, SC 29609-3035
(864) 244-6358
timothy@stjamesgreenville.org

Copyright © 2003 Timothy M. Dombek All Rights Reserved.