Ash Wednesday

(Originally written February 18, 2010)

I suppose it might look a little odd to the people walking past. A dyke sitting at the bar, drinking a beer, with ashes on her forehead. This one looks surprised; that one looks scandalized. I’m not hypocritical, I want to tell them. I am a sinner, I recognize that. Isn’t that what this day is about?
Do you even know what this day is about?

Sitting here yesterday, thirty minutes ago even, you would not have batted an eye. Not unless you saw the cross tattooed on my forearm – “who is it for?” the artist asked. “It’s for me.” – and the schism of a Christian with a tattoo, a geek dyke, an out homo for Jesus, struck you. And if it did, then look around. See me and Julio down by the schoolyard; everyone sings along. We’re in Union Square, freak central #3, in New York City, and we hum Paul Simon while the game’s on mute and you pour me another one.


The beer goes down cold and the muscles in my feet uncoil in pain. Another reminder that I’m only human, destined to die. I suppose it’s good to have a reminder of that each year. I suppose it would do Christianity good if more (Christian) people would think about that from time to time. I’m a sinner, you’re a sinner, we’re all of us just sinners. So what are you thinking as you stare at my haircut and my ashes? Before you point out the mote in my eye, how ’bout you remove the log from your own?

Did you go to church today?
Did you get on your knees and thank God, the universe, fate, whomever or whatever sparked the beginning of the world as you know it?
Did you think about the fact that for the next 40 days we are charged with preparing for death?

With only 40 days remaining, what would you treasure most? What would you spend 960 hours holding in your arms? What would you choose to turn around and take away from your neighbor; what would you deny another person having for his or her final five weeks on Earth?

Life is short and it is not for us to judge, to deny, or to take. If there is anything we can do that is in the least bit God-like, the least bit the answer to “WWJD?”, it would be to give. No one can allow me to sit at that bar, because no one has the right to deny me from sitting at that bar. (editor’s note: I suppose the management of the venue has that right, but you know what I’m driving at)

This Lenten season challenge yourself not to give up something, not to take on something, but to give away something. Ultimately the only thing we really have to give is ourselves, so give deeply of that. You can give your time, your company to someone who has no one in that moment, your love to someone who treasures it or to someone who has never known it. Give peace to someone who may not have respite from the storm, or give a quiet look and then turn away; give nothing more than a moment without a look or comment or stare.

Happy Ash Wednesday, everyone. I mean, as happy as a period of preparation for death can possibly be. Let the peaceful darkness of these 40 days serve as a canvas upon which the light of the world can truly shine and be seen.

Matthew 6

¹Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven. ²Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. ³But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: ⁴That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly. ⁵And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. ⁶But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.

–That is, don’t do it for show, people! Don’t do it to demonstrate that you’re a Christian. Do it so no one sees, and prove that you are one.

Phat Tuesday

(Originally written: February 24, 2009)

It’s Mardi Gras, also known as Fat Tuesday or shrove Tuesday. Which means only one thing: pancakes.
Yes, in preparation for the beginning of Lent and the ribald 40 days of fasting and penitence that brings, Christians of various denominations gather this evening… to eat flapjacks.

I’ve never understood this tradition and, though I’ve looked it up numerous times and know that there’s a reason for it, I can never remember that reason for more than the time it takes to close wikipedia and walk across the room.
I do have childhood memories of pancakes being consumed in a church basement meeting room, after which there was a large bundt cake into which someone had baked a tiny plastic baby. Whoever found, and failed to choke on, the doll was dubbed king or queen.

And people wonder how I can be both serious and tongue-in-cheek about religion.
Seriously? Let’s prepare for death and solemnity by lauding IHOP and flashing people for party beads? I know I haven’t read the WHOLE thing, but the parts of the Bible that I’ve read so far don’t seem to include anything about all that.

I mean, except for that bit in the apocrypha:

“And Jesus spoke to the disciples and said ‘verily I say to you, let us prepare the way for sacrifice, for as it is written one of you will betray me.’ And the disciples said to him ‘but Lord, how shall we prepare? Through fasting and pious deeds?’ And Jesus looked across the crowds and said ‘yes, but the night before all of this, there shall be pancakes. But lo, there shall be no fruited toppings, nor acoutrements from the vine or the tree, for on a pancake they are an abomination. Let there also be a cake. One with no frosting for the children will already be filled with the syrup of the pancakes. If thou lovest me, place in this cake a small doll but let neither the man nor the woman cease vigilance, lest the children who consume it eat the doll.’ The disciples listened to what He said, but they were confused.”

It may have been years since I’ve been an active member of any one congregation, whether I’ve attended services or not. But here’s the thing; that faith, that feeling of being imbued by the spirit, that…need… for pancakes on a Tuesday evening? That never goes away.