While in London, England
for an international Red Cross meeting, I decided to attend an Ash Wednesday service
at Westminster Abbey. As I approached the Abbey, the West Great Door loomed
ahead. After a thirty-minute wait, the large wooden door opened and we were
beckoned in. I followed, walking beneath statues of 20th century Christian
martyrs, noticing Martin Luther King Jr. among the ten. I entered into a hushed,
softly lit place of peace and breathed deeply.
A hundred feet above the floor, the ribbed vaulting crisscrossed
the length of the nave, which stretched from the main entrance to the High
Altar. The height along with a single aisle drew my eyes upward in wonder. I
was in a house of worship.
The story of Westminster Abbey has played a significant role in
the history of the world. The coronation of every British monarch has occurred in
this abbey since the crowning of William the Conqueror in 1066, along with
numerous funerals and sixteen royal weddings, most recently Prince William to commoner
Kate Middleton.
As I walked along the left side of the nave, the early evening’s
light shown through the stain glass windows from the west, lighting the floor
in rays of color. Stone monuments honoring historically influential people lined
the path and I occasionally stopped to read a name. I continued until I reached
the spacious area between the “quire”, an ornate area where the choir resides
and the High Altar. Rows of wooden folding chairs lined the north and south transepts,
which lay on either side of the spacious area designed for coronations. A distinct, British accent directed us, as others
took their seats.
The service began as a thurifer, a priest carrying incense,
walked down the center aisle. As the metal container called a censer swung in a
semi circle motion, the sweet smell filled the air. Large candlelit chandeliers
hung from the lofty ceiling, creating an atmosphere of quiet reflection.
Priests followed carrying gold crosses and banners. Their vibrant vestments or
outer garments brushed the floor as they walked. The magical voices of the boys’
choir pierced the silence as musical notes floated upward towards the archways.
After blessing the ashes from last year's Palm Sunday service,
four priests left the High Altar and stood on either side. We were directed to
come forward in an orderly procession. Drawing a cross on my forehead, the
priest’s soothing voice said, “Remember that dust you are, and to dust you
shall return”. I closed my eyes as I received the call for repentance.
The Very Reverend Dr. John Hall, Dean of the Abbey, delivered
the homily, speaking of the service that had occurred two days earlier,
honoring Nelson Mandela, former leader of South Africa. Mandela was one of a
select few non-Britons given this distinction. According to Dr. Hall, Mandela
was able to lead His country into reconciliation because of his years in captivity.
Mandela showed the world the power of forgiveness when he forgave his
tormentors for his twenty-seven years in prison.
In Lent, we witness Jesus’s ultimate act of forgiveness while on
the cross. As he looked out at his persecutors, He asked, “Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do". He offered compassion instead of seeking
justice.
What is forgiveness? It is not excusing the behavior. Instead,
it is letting go of the desire for vengeance, acknowledging the pain, and then
releasing it. When we forgive, our hearts become pure again and the one
forgiven is disarmed. Their defenses are lowered and there is clarity to see
their wrongdoings more clearly.
On the cross, God forgave our sins through Jesus's sacrifice.
This incredible gift lowers our defenses and allows us to see our sins, which
are wiped clean with our repentance. We are given access to our Father. This
forgiveness can motivate us to change.
In this Easter season, I challenge you to forgive yourself and
others. Only then, will we discover the power of forgiveness that Jesus Christ and
Nelson Mandela modeled so eloquently.
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