ash wednesday

Last night, a little under thirty people gathered at the Holy Spirit house to observe Ash Wednesday. This is the third year in a row that our church has done this, and I look forward to it every year.

One of the most powerful parts of the service is when people write on a piece of paper those things for which they are sorry and from which they want to repent. Then, they hand them to me (without their name written on the paper) and I read them aloud. After reading each individual confession, I say, “Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.” So, with over 25 people there, you get a sense of how that simple prayer has the potential to increase in impact. Over and over again those present hear the words of simple need, simple faith. Try it out now, pausing in between each repetition, allowing time to let the meaning of the words sink in.

“Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.”


“Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.”


“Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.”


“Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.”

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This year, something happened during this part of the service that came as a rather pleasing surprise.

After reading the first confession, I spoke the words “Lord, have mercy on us…” and discovered that others in the room wanted to speak those words with me. That is, they intuitively felt that crying out for God’s mercy was not something solely relegated to the pastor, but was something for which they themselves needed to plead. So, as we went on with this part of the service, more and more people joined in on the refrain, in spite of the fact that folks were instructed this was something the pastor would pronounce.

I, for one, was heartened to see everyone chiming in on this classic Christian confession: “Lord, have mercy on us, poor sinners, in the hour of our need.”

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Another thing that was quite powerful about this time occurred because of the sheer number of confessions that were read aloud. What stuck out to me this year was the realization that we all struggle with sin (yes, serious sin, even!). And not just “sin”, in general. It amazed me how many of the specific sins confessed occurred over and over again from one person’s confession to the next.

Someone commented to me afterwards that often they think of themselves, “I must be the only one who struggles with this!” But, they said, it gave hope hearing that other people in that very room struggled with the very same thing.

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This year, Ash Wednesday gave me a sense of family, like never before. We were all in it together, we all wanted to cry out for God’s mercy.

And, as we sang “Holy is the Lord”, I looked around the room. Hands were raised, heads were bowed, people were singing at full voice, with all their heart. I smiled, grateful to God for this strange, little family; grateful that, for once in my life, I could be a part of a church that isn’t perfect, and doesn’t pretend to be.