Ponder: "The Call of the Leader's Trumpet"

The true and dutiful children of the Church, the loyal soldiers of Christ Jesus will next Wednesday hear the call of their Leader’s trumpet, rousing them up, as on all Ash-Wednesdays, to set about his work, to fight his battle, in earnest. It will be the old note, but you will not therefore scorn it, if you are true men and brave soldiers. You know it would never do for a soldier, when the trumpet or bugle sounds in the morning, to say, “It is only the old call over again, what I have been used to so very often; I am not going to disturb myself for that,” and so to stay quietly in his quarters. No more will it do for you, Christian warriors, to make light of your Lord’s summons, now that he is calling upon you at the opening of another Lent; another holy season of penitent self-denial and prayers. He calls you morning by morning, and morning by morning, you must answer his call.”

John Keble, “Sermon XXI. Preparation for Holy Communion, Preparation for Death and for Judgment,” Sermons for Septuagesima to Ash-Wednesday, with Sermons for Confirmation and on the Litany. (1879).

Ashes for All

“Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people.

Sanctify the congregation; assemble the elders; gather the children, even nursing infants.”

Joel 2:15-16

Once upon a time, you needed to qualify for ashes on Ash Wednesday.  They were reserved for notorious sinners, those whose evil deeds had cut them off from the communion of the Church.   Like more than one of our inherited Lenten practices, the ashes were originally part of the church’s discipline for flagrant lawbreakers—thieves, adulterers, murderers, those who actions brought scandal to all those who profess Christ’s Name. 

Forty days before Easter, these lawbreakers would come to the courtyard before the church barefoot and dressed in sackcloth, confessing their misdeeds.  These penitents, as they were called, would heap ashes on their heads, as God’s people had done in ancient times.  This was a a way of expressing their sorrow for their sins.  The whole community would surround them, chanting the seven Penitential Psalms, which exalt God’s mercy for the wicked.  The bishop would read from Genesis about Adam and Eve’s expulsion from paradise.  Then the penitents would be sent away, forbidden from entering the church door.  They could return after they had proved their intention to make a new start through a rigorous fast. 

Bringing Back the 'Gesimas: A Liturgical Proposal

From Covenant, 10 Feb. 2017

My mother is a church organist, and my brothers and I spent many Saturday afternoons roaming freely around the church’s dusty corners while she worked out her footpedals and chose her stops for the next morning’s selections. Sometimes, when rehearsal was finished, we would help her find the numbers for the hymnboard that hung over the pastor’s chair.

The wooden box that held the hymn numbers also had a section for the words that made up the Sundays and festivals of the Church Year. We were Reformed, but the liturgy’s patterns were still important for us, and I knew most of the words on the black cards well enough: Advent and Lent, Christmas and Pentecost, New Year and Harvest Home.

The longest cards, though, at the back of the stack, were always a bit of a puzzle. They were shinier and less crinkled than the others, and obviously hadn’t been used in a long time. The names were certainly unusual: Quinquagesima, Septuagesima, Sexagesima. Young boys have rather vivid imaginations; I wondered just what kind of religious undertakings were intended for such occasions. Exotic ones, to be sure. Mother didn’t really know. The names sounded Latin, she thought, and maybe someone had sent our little church the Church Year cards intended for the Catholics or Episcopalians.