Miserere Mei, Deus {Have Mercy on Me, O God}

 

I remember exactly where I first heard the piercing note at the 2:00 minute mark in the above song. Surrounded by chilly stone and tile, and later by rich warm wood and angels overhead. That first moment I was just outside the chapel, overhearing the New College Choir practise for Ash Wednesday evensong.

The piece was even more stunning when I was sitting in the pew a few hours later and those notes rang out from every stone and surface, as if the angels high above were giving voice to the Creator. . .

. . .Let me explain that when I say there were angels overhead, I mean there were really angels above me.

Ever since that day, I love to listen to the haunting Miserere Mei, Deus on Ash Wednesday (and throughout Lent). Though I had been attending an Anglican church for a while before spending four months in Oxford, I don't think I knew then that Psalm 51 was specifically associated with Ash Wednesday. 

Have mercy on me, O God,

    according to Your steadfast love;

according to Your abundant mercy

    blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

    and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,

    and my sin is ever before me.

Against You, You only, have I sinned

    and done what is evil in Your sight

. . . 

Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being,

    and You teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

    wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

. . .

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

    and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from Your presence,

    and take not Your Holy Spirit from me.

(Psalm 51.1-4a, 6-7, 10-11 ESV UK)

This Ash Wednesday has been grey with great white flakes of snow sifting o'er the valley like powdered sugar. They came more and more rapidly, until a fluffy almost-four-inches of snow crunched underfoot and buried the roads. My sweet boyfriend offered to come pick me up for evensong in his four-wheel-drive truck, but it was not to be. After quite a harrowing afternoon that ended with his work truck being towed, we both decided that staying home was best. 

In the gathering dusk I put the kettle on, lit three candles, and streamed our Ash Wednesday service. I even crushed my blackened match so I could join in the receiving the sign of death on my forehead whilst saying, "Remember that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return." And though I couldn't receive the physical Eucharist with the congregation, I prayed the Prayer of Spiritual Communion, receiving the sign of death that leads to Eternal Life. 

It was not the way I would prefer to step into Lent—separated from my physical church family—but there was still a sacred space, a sacred time that I was able to step into, perhaps in a deeper way than if I had been physically present with other believers. Still, I look forward to gathering in person as we continue this Lenten journey.

I also look forward to removing some noise in my life (the car radio, shows, certain foods) in order to listen to the call of the Father. I can only say I sense that He is moving, that He wants to speak something to me that I have not had the quiet or space to hear before this season. So I ask for an open, hearing, obedient heart. I ask for eyes to see. And I give thanks for all the ways I have experienced His kindness today—from beautiful, much-needed snow and Nick's safety, to the quiet darkness, lit by a trio of beeswax candles and warmed by a mug of tea. 

O Lord our God, grant us grace 

to desire You with our whole heart,
that desiring You we may seek You;

and that seeking You we may find You,
and that finding You we may love You;
and loving You we may hate those sins
from which You have redeemed us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

—St Anselm

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Like thousands of Christians worldwide, I rose early to repeat the Confession, the Kyrie Eleison, and the Agnus Dei. Participants in the service went to the altar rail for the 'imposition of ashes' to "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

In Scripture we see over and again that when a person, or group of persons, sought repentance they would don sackcloth and cover themselves with dust and ashes. Fasting for a period of time often accompanied the season of repentance. It is fitting that we recall to mind that true forgiveness comes not because of outward forms, but from the Son of God

O Lamb of God, You take away the sin of the world.
Have mercy on us.
O Lamb of God, You take away the sin of the world.
Have mercy on us.
O Lamb of God, You take away the sin of the world.

Grant us peace.

It is not ashes or our own penitence which save us, it is only the blood of the Lamb of God that purifies us. Thus, the liturgy ended with the Lord's Supper.

Though we may be made of dust, our eternal spirit will live on. Though our flesh returns to dirt, our souls cannot. Lord have mercy upon us. Christ have mercy upon us. Lord have mercy upon us.

Life is real!  Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

~ Johanna