{"id":342,"date":"2011-03-11T13:43:18","date_gmt":"2011-03-11T21:43:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/yearofsundays.com\/?p=342"},"modified":"2011-04-26T02:30:28","modified_gmt":"2011-04-26T06:30:28","slug":"ash-wednesday-because-sunday-just-isnt-enough","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/yearofsundays\/2011\/03\/ash-wednesday-because-sunday-just-isnt-enough.html","title":{"rendered":"Ash Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn’t Enough"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
With Jules, one of our favorite blog commenters, who boldly invited us to hear her lovely choir at St. Mary's. Yep, I lined up to get the smudge, FTW!<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

You may already know how keen I am on the idea of getting up on Sunday morning and going to church just to be told what a lousy, sinning piece of crap I am. So why would I put myself through that in the middle of the week?<\/p>\n

I did it for you, dear reader.<\/p>\n

You’re welcome.<\/p>\n

Ash Wednesday only comes once a year (thank God!) and it’s conveniently tucked in after Shrove Tuesday, a.k.a. Mardis Gras (Hallelujah!). It kicks off the 40-day lent period during which Catholics and members of a few other churches swear off something they hold near and dear. According to a quick Google search, it’s a personal sacrifice that could include (but is not limited to) taking a break from:<\/p>\n

Coffee, Internet use, red meat, white meat, chocolate, saying the “F” word, doing the “F” word, cigarettes, shopping at Nordstrom, browsing the QVC channel, beer, thinking not-nice thoughts, reality TV, OK Cupid, heavy metal, heavy sarcasm, heavy petting, Facebook, Diet Coke, tortilla chips, Twitter and pancakes.<\/p>\n

Why do this? Because Lent is a time for reflection and repentance from sin. (If you went to church, you’d already know this, sinner!) When you attend the Ash Wednesday service, the priest will even smudge a cross of black ashes on your forehead — a throw-back to the Bible-times practice of showing repentance by putting ashes on your head. You’re supposed to keep it there until it wears off, but with rain in the forecast, I decided to cut my penance short.<\/p>\n

We attended the service at St. Mary’s Cathedral<\/a>. And, yes, it was all about sin and kneeling before the Holy Word of The Lord whenever a snippet of scripture was read. But the choir was off-the-hook amazing. Humble repentance in pitch-perfect, four part harmony. It made me want to sin some more just so I could come back for some more forgiving hymns.<\/p>\n

My gateway to learning about Ash Wednesday wasn’t through church, but, rather, T. S. Eliot. And, just for the helliot, I thought I’d share his poem, \u201cAsh Wednesday,\u201d which is his personal take on cessation from sin and materialistic striving. It has as much in common with the Buddhistic concept of Nirvana<\/a> as it does with the precepts of the Anglican church, to which he’d converted when he wrote the damn thing.<\/p>\n

Fans of the prophet Ezekiel or of blues spirituals might catch his reference to \u201cDem Dry Bones\u201d; and if you’ve read 1 Kings 19:1\u20138<\/a> or the Grimm Brothers’ \u201cThe Juniper Tree,\u201d<\/a> you’ll get another one of Eliot’s trademark inside jokes.<\/p>\n

\u201cAsh Wednesday<\/a>\u201d weighs in at 1599 words, so pour yourself a cup of coffee (if you haven’t given it up for Lent). The closing lines are sort of well known, and they’re even better if you’ve read the poem from the beginning. If you prefer, you can even invite T. S. into your computer, where he can read the poem directly to you<\/a>.\u00a0 Anyway, enjoy the poem and quit sinning, you crappy piece of crap!<\/p>\n

\n

h Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn’t Enough<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You may already know how keen I am on the idea of getting up on Sunday morning and going to church just to be told what lousy, sinning piece of shit I am. So why would I put myself through that in the middle of the week?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I did it for you, dear reader.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You’re welcome.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ash Wedenesday only comes once a year (thank God!) and it’s conveniently tucked in after Shrove Tuesday, a.k.a. Mardis Gras (Hallelujah!). It kicks off the 40-day lent period during which Catholics and members of a few other churches swear off something they hold near and dear. According to a quick Google search, it’s a personal sacrifice that could include (but is not limited to) taking a break from:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Coffee, Internet use, red meat, white meat, chocolate, saying \u201cfuck\u201d, fucking, cigarettes, shopping at Nordstrom, browsing the QVC channel, beer, thinking not-nice thoughts, reality TV, OK Cupid, heavy metal, heavy sarcasm, heavy petting, Facebook, Diet Coke, tortilla chips, Twitter and pancakes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Why do this? Because Lent is a time for reflection and repentance from sin. (If you went to church, you’d already know this, sinner!) When you attend the Ash Wednesday service, the priest will even smudge a cross of black ashes on your forehead, a throw-back to the Bible-times practice of showing repentance by putting ashes on your head. You’re supposed to keep it there until it wears off, but with rain in the forecast, I decided to cut my penance short.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We attended the service at St. Mary’s Cathedral http:\/\/maryscathedral.com\/<\/a>. And, yes, it was all about sin and kneeling before the Holy Word of The Lord whenever a snippet of scripture was read. But the choir was off-the-hook amazing. Humble repentance in pitch-perfect, four part harmony. It made me want to sin some more just so I could come back for more forgiveness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My gateway to Ash Wednesday wasn’t through church, but, rather, T. S. Eliot. And, just for the helliot, I thought I’d share his poem, \u201cAsh Wednesday,\u201d which is his personal take on cessation from sin and materialistic striving and shares as much in common with the Buddhistic concept of Nirvana http:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Nirvana<\/a> as it does with the precepts of the Anglican church, to which he’d converted when he wrote the damn thing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fans of the prophet Ezekiel or of blues spirituals might catch his reference to \u201cDem Dry Bones\u201d; and if you’ve read 1 Kings 19:1\u20138 or the Grimm Brothers’ \u201cThe Juniper Tree,\u201d you’ll get another one of Eliot’s trademark inside jokes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAsh Wednesday\u201d weighs in at 1599 words, so pour yourself a cup of coffee (if you haven’t given it up for Lent). But the closing lines really are worth it, and they’re even better if you’ve read the poem from the beginning. If you prefer, you can even invite T. S. into your computer, where he can read the poem directly to you! http:\/\/www.dailymotion.com\/video\/xc5zoo_t-s-eliot-ash-wednesday_creation<\/a> Anyway, enjoy the poem and quit sinning, you shitty piece of shit!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

ASH WEDNESDAY<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Because I do not hope to turn again<\/p>\n

Because I do not hope<\/p>\n

Because I do not hope to turn<\/p>\n

Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope<\/p>\n

I no longer strive to strive towards such things<\/p>\n

(Why should the ag\u00e8d eagle stretch its wings?)<\/p>\n

Why should I mourn<\/p>\n

The vanished power of the usual reign?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Because I do not hope to know<\/p>\n

The infirm glory of the positive hour<\/p>\n

Because I do not think<\/p>\n

Because I know I shall not know<\/p>\n

The one veritable transitory power<\/p>\n

Because I cannot drink<\/p>\n

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is<\/p>\n

nothing again<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Because I know that time is always time<\/p>\n

And place is always and only place<\/p>\n

And what is actual is actual only for one time<\/p>\n

And only for one place<\/p>\n

I rejoice that things are as they are and<\/p>\n

I renounce the bless\u00e8d face<\/p>\n

And renounce the voice<\/p>\n

Because I cannot hope to turn again<\/p>\n

Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something<\/p>\n

Upon which to rejoice<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And pray to God to have mercy upon us<\/p>\n

And pray that I may forget<\/p>\n

These matters that with myself I too much discuss<\/p>\n

Too much explain<\/p>\n

Because I do not hope to turn again<\/p>\n

Let these words answer<\/p>\n

For what is done, not to be done again<\/p>\n

May the judgement not be too heavy upon us<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly<\/p>\n

But merely vans to beat the air<\/p>\n

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry<\/p>\n

Smaller and dryer than the will<\/p>\n

Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death<\/p>\n

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree<\/p>\n

In the cool of the day, having fed to sateity<\/p>\n

On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been<\/p>\n

contained<\/p>\n

In the hollow round of my skull. And God said<\/p>\n

Shall these bones live? shall these<\/p>\n

Bones live? And that which had been contained<\/p>\n

In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:<\/p>\n

Because of the goodness of this Lady<\/p>\n

And because of her loveliness, and because<\/p>\n

She honours the Virgin in meditation,<\/p>\n

We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled<\/p>\n

Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love<\/p>\n

To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.<\/p>\n

It is this which recovers<\/p>\n

My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions<\/p>\n

Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn<\/p>\n

In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.<\/p>\n

Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.<\/p>\n

There is no life in them. As I am forgotten<\/p>\n

And would be forgotten, so I would forget<\/p>\n

Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said<\/p>\n

Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only<\/p>\n

The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping<\/p>\n

With the burden of the grasshopper, saying<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lady of silences<\/p>\n

Calm and distressed<\/p>\n

Torn and most whole<\/p>\n

Rose of memory<\/p>\n

Rose of forgetfulness<\/p>\n

Exhausted and life-giving<\/p>\n

Worried reposeful<\/p>\n

The single Rose<\/p>\n

Is now the Garden<\/p>\n

Where all loves end<\/p>\n

Terminate torment<\/p>\n

Of love unsatisfied<\/p>\n

The greater torment<\/p>\n

Of love satisfied<\/p>\n

End of the endless<\/p>\n

Journey to no end<\/p>\n

Conclusion of all that<\/p>\n

Is inconclusible<\/p>\n

Speech without word and<\/p>\n

Word of no speech<\/p>\n

Grace to the Mother<\/p>\n

For the Garden<\/p>\n

Where all love ends.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining<\/p>\n

We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each<\/p>\n

other,<\/p>\n

Under a tree in the cool of day, with the blessing of sand,<\/p>\n

Forgetting themselves and each other, united<\/p>\n

In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye<\/p>\n

Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity<\/p>\n

Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

III<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the first turning of the second stair<\/p>\n

I turned and saw below<\/p>\n

The same shape twisted on the banister<\/p>\n

Under the vapour in the fetid air<\/p>\n

Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears<\/p>\n

The deceitul face of hope and of despair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the second turning of the second stair<\/p>\n

I left them twisting, turning below;<\/p>\n

There were no more faces and the stair was dark,<\/p>\n

Damp, jagg\u00e8d, like an old man’s mouth drivelling, beyond<\/p>\n

repair,<\/p>\n

Or the toothed gullet of an ag\u00e8d shark.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the first turning of the third stair<\/p>\n

Was a slotted window bellied like the figs’s fruit<\/p>\n

And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene<\/p>\n

The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green<\/p>\n

Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.<\/p>\n

Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,<\/p>\n

Lilac and brown hair;<\/p>\n

Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind<\/p>\n

over the third stair,<\/p>\n

Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair<\/p>\n

Climbing the third stair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lord, I am not worthy<\/p>\n

Lord, I am not worthy<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

but speak the word only.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

IV<\/p>\n

Who walked between the violet and the violet<\/p>\n

Whe walked between<\/p>\n

The various ranks of varied green<\/p>\n

Going in white and blue, in Mary’s colour,<\/p>\n

Talking of trivial things<\/p>\n

In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour<\/p>\n

Who moved among the others as they walked,<\/p>\n

Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand<\/p>\n

In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary’s colour,<\/p>\n

Sovegna vos<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Here are the years that walk between, bearing<\/p>\n

Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring<\/p>\n

One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.<\/p>\n

The new years walk, restoring<\/p>\n

Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring<\/p>\n

With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem<\/p>\n

The time. Redeem<\/p>\n

The unread vision in the higher dream<\/p>\n

While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The silent sister veiled in white and blue<\/p>\n

Between the yews, behind the garden god,<\/p>\n

Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke<\/p>\n

no word<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down<\/p>\n

Redeem the time, redeem the dream<\/p>\n

The token of the word unheard, unspoken<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And after this our exile<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

V<\/p>\n

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent<\/p>\n

If the unheard, unspoken<\/p>\n

Word is unspoken, unheard;<\/p>\n

Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,<\/p>\n

The Word without a word, the Word within<\/p>\n

The world and for the world;<\/p>\n

And the light shone in darkness and<\/p>\n

Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled<\/p>\n

About the centre of the silent Word.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O my people, what have I done unto thee.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Where shall the word be found, where will the word<\/p>\n

Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence<\/p>\n

Not on the sea or on the islands, not<\/p>\n

On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,<\/p>\n

For those who walk in darkness<\/p>\n

Both in the day time and in the night time<\/p>\n

The right time and the right place are not here<\/p>\n

No place of grace for those who avoid the face<\/p>\n

No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny<\/p>\n

the voice<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Will the veiled sister pray for<\/p>\n

Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,<\/p>\n

Those who are torn on the horn between season and season,<\/p>\n

time and time, between<\/p>\n

Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait<\/p>\n

In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray<\/p>\n

For children at the gate<\/p>\n

Who will not go away and cannot pray:<\/p>\n

Pray for those who chose and oppose<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O my people, what have I done unto thee.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Will the veiled sister between the slender<\/p>\n

Yew trees pray for those who offend her<\/p>\n

And are terrified and cannot surrender<\/p>\n

And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks<\/p>\n

In the last desert before the last blue rocks<\/p>\n

The desert in the garden the garden in the desert<\/p>\n

Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O my people.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

VI<\/p>\n

Although I do not hope to turn again<\/p>\n

Although I do not hope<\/p>\n

Although I do not hope to turn<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wavering between the profit and the loss<\/p>\n

In this brief transit where the dreams cross<\/p>\n

The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying<\/p>\n

(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things<\/p>\n

From the wide window towards the granite shore<\/p>\n

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying<\/p>\n

Unbroken wings<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices<\/p>\n

In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices<\/p>\n

And the weak spirit quickens to rebel<\/p>\n

For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell<\/p>\n

Quickens to recover<\/p>\n

The cry of quail and the whirling plover<\/p>\n

And the blind eye creates<\/p>\n

The empty forms between the ivory gates<\/p>\n

And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This is the time of tension between dying and birth<\/p>\n

The place of solitude where three dreams cross<\/p>\n

Between blue rocks<\/p>\n

But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away<\/p>\n

Let the other yew be shaken and reply.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bless\u00e8d sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit<\/p>\n

of the garden,<\/p>\n

Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood<\/p>\n

Teach us to care and not to care<\/p>\n

Teach us to sit still<\/p>\n

Even among these rocks,<\/p>\n

Our peace in His will<\/p>\n

And even among these rocks<\/p>\n

Sister, mother<\/p>\n

And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,<\/p>\n

Suffer me not to be separated<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And let my cry come unto Thee.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

You may already know how keen I am on the idea of getting up on Sunday morning and going to church just to be told what a lousy, sinning piece of crap I am. So why would I put myself through that in the middle of the week? I did it for you, dear reader.…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":389,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[36,37,50],"tags":[137,144,522,523,57,142,146,143,145,55,61],"class_list":["post-342","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-catholic","category-catholicism","category-year-of-sundays","tag-ash-wednesday","tag-ashes","tag-catholic","tag-catholicism","tag-joel-gunz","tag-jules","tag-lent","tag-smudge","tag-t-s-eliot","tag-year-of-sundays-2","tag-yearofsundays"],"yoast_head":"\nAsh Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn't Enough - Year of Sundays<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/yearofsundays\/2011\/03\/ash-wednesday-because-sunday-just-isnt-enough.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Ash Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn't Enough - Year of Sundays\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"You may already know how keen I am on the idea of getting up on Sunday morning and going to church just to be told what a lousy, sinning piece of crap I am. So why would I put myself through that in the middle of the week? I did it for you, dear reader.…\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/yearofsundays\/2011\/03\/ash-wednesday-because-sunday-just-isnt-enough.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Year of Sundays\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2011-03-11T21:43:18+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2011-04-26T06:30:28+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/blog.beliefnet.com\/yearofsundays\/files\/2011\/03\/jules1.jpg?w=300\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Joel Gunz\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Ash Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn't Enough - Year of Sundays","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/yearofsundays\/2011\/03\/ash-wednesday-because-sunday-just-isnt-enough.html","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Ash Wednesday: Because Sunday Just Isn't Enough - Year of Sundays","og_description":"You may already know how keen I am on the idea of getting up on Sunday morning and going to church just to be told what a lousy, sinning piece of crap I am. 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