Telling us the truth about ourselves

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the season of Lent. The Ash Wednesday liturgy from the Book of Common Prayer (page 267–269) is a powerful and meaningful text for me. I find that it names, clearly and aptly, the ways I tend to fall short of my intentions for myself and what I believe to be God’s intentions for me.

Our self-indulgent appetites and ways; our dishonesty in daily life and work; our failure to commend the faith that is in us; our indifference to injustice and cruelty; our prejudice and contempt towards those who differ from us — we confess to you, Lord.

It marches onward, hard truth after hard truth. It cuts deep, every time. I don’t know how else to say it: it helps me repent. We confess to you, Lord.

Lent is a season when the Church invites us to self-examination and repentance. Many churches, including mine, begin their Sunday worship in this season with the Penitential Order (page 351 or 319). Essentially, this means we move the Confession and Absolution from the middle of the liturgy, between the Prayers and the Peace, to the beginning. And it’s often accompanied — per the rubrics — with one or more texts that remind us of the daily shape of our commitment to God. One of the texts offered is Mark 12:29–31, Jesus’ reminder to that the greatest commandment is to love God and love your neighbor as yourself. The other is the Ten Commandments (the Decalogue), the central law of faith for Judaism and the Old Testament tradition.

You shall not make for yourself any idol. You shall not commit murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal.

Now, far be it from me to question the usefulness of the Decalogue. There is no question in my mind that our world would be a better and a more just place if we all lived by this moral code. And there are several commandments that nudge my conscience. Idolatry: what am I putting in God’s place in my life? Sabbath: how could I better honor God’s call to rest? Covetousness: Help me know more deeply that I have — that I am — enough.

That said: Taken as a whole, I find that the Ash Wednesday litany calls me to repentance and amendment of life more completely, more unavoidably, than the Decalogue. The Decalogue, enacted in liturgy, feels to me like reciting Scripture. The Ash Wednesday Litany of Penitence feels like confession. And I wish we could use it more.

Liturgically speaking, that Litany of Penitence would work just fine as an alternate Penitential Order at the beginning of Sunday worship in Lent. But there’s no provision for making that swap in our rubrics — the italic text in the prayer book that tells you when and how to use particular liturgical texts.

Clergy whose liturgical theology is not heavily rubrically-bound, and whose bishops are open to liturgical adaptation and experimentation, could easily begin Lenten liturgies with the Ash Wednesday litany. But the Prayer Book doesn’t invite us to do it — and that means some of us can’t, or won’t, or will never think to.

And that’s a shame. Because this text tells us the truth about ourselves, and that’s something we need to hear.