If tonight's liturgy is the carrier of TEC's theology, we are in for a doozy.
The only way I experienced a thin place is by ignoring the servile, sadomasochistic theology and bringing my heart into it despite the words.

The thin space for me was imposing the ashes on a nearly two-year-old girl. To impose on one so young a symbol of death brought home to me that life and death are all one in Jesus Christ, and we need not fear.

It was a beautiful February night, with a beautiful church beautifully filled with beautiful people; and a simple, straightforward liturgy, if I do say so myself, well executed. The thin places for me were three: Imposing ashes on a family, the ashes of whose grandfather we buried just this weekend; seeing something of my lesser self in each and every one of the petitions I read during the litany of penitence; and our organist quietly playing the old Baptist hymn "I need thee every hour" as folks came forward for Communion. A doozy indeed.

I found "thin places" in the invitation to Lent ("Dear People of God...") with its reminder of baptism, the heartfelt cry of Psalm 51, the Litany of Penitence (really makes one take stock of behaviors we're too easily willing to ignore), the gentle touch and compassionate expression of the presbyter at the imposition of ashes, and the faces of the communicants around me, reflecting the anticipation and fulfillment of receiving something quiet and solemn, yet full of joy. And, of course, the communal singing of ol' Hymn 142 ("Lord who throughout these forty days..."), something I look forward to every year.

It really made stepping out on a chilly, soggy, rainy night worthwhile. Thank you, God, and children of God through whom he spoke and touched and inspired...

A blessed and fruitful Lent to all. "By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord, bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection," indeed.

For myself, it seems like this is the first time I heard the words of the penitential litany and I was struck by what I heard. Maybe it's just that I was ready this time around. Also, the words: "Remember that you are dust...." really seemed profound to me today and echoed Saint Benedict's advice to "keep death always before your eyes." How many times have we all heard stories about near death experiences or terminal illnesses that have changed people's hearts and their priorities? I really had a very blessed day and a wonderful start to Lent.

It is just about a perfect liturgy, which conveys the heart of the Christian faith in a way that suggests in subdued, anticipatory ways the mysteries that will come to the fore throughout Lent and during Holy Week. Just follow the rubrics and preach the lessons. Usually psalm 103 is what does it for me, and the imposition of ashes.

Loved the newly ordained priest in our parish who used Ash Wednesday as a lead-in on his Facebook page, saying, "I am going to spend a good portion of the day telling people, many of them children, that they are going to die." Wide range of responses, including a few from folks who may have initially been a bit taken aback. Great way to remind folks of the importance of our liturgy and its relevance to modern life and to stimulate conversation--and wonderful use of social media.

Eric Bonetti

Josh Magda: thanks for your comment - I struggle with much of that liturgy as well. Here is a site Words Matter. From the site: Words Matter is not a set of rules or requirements. It is not a book that you need to sit down and read. It is not someone else’s opinion that you should adopt. It is not only for women. It is not only for “feminists.” It is not only for academics.

The Words Matter project is a conversation.

Those who agree that Words Matter believe that the words we use shape our realities. We believe that real, personal and social justice is tied together with the language we use. We believe that the words we use can even reinforce the very systems of injustice we say we want to dismantle.

I always find the Litany of Penitence and Psalm 51 as my "thin space."

John Shirley

I went to a simple said noon service. It was, I agree, "just about perfect." The Litany of Penitence is a wonderful yearly reminder of what's really going on, however much I might try to pull the wool over my own eyes most of the time. And Psalm 51 is a wonderful hyperbolic lament - just right for the day.

The thing that moved me most this year was this section, at the end of the liturgy:

"Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us;
Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great."

Again I marvel at the church year, and its ability to address all the things that human beings experience in living life - and all the emotions we experience, too, from heights to depths and everything in between. The best thing about Ash Wednesday (and Lent) is that it brings me up short again, and surprises and shocks me out of complacency. And what could be better, I think, than starting out - again! - on a long, fascinating journey?

I thought this was a great homily by a priest in Diocese of Newark. Text of homily on link http://nicklannon.blogspot.com/2012/02/sermon-for-ash-wednesday.html

Alex Large

Imposing ashes on my 6 year-old daughter really brought it home for me this year.

Any service that shocks us out of our materialistic insulation and makes us confront the realities of God's creation and the cycles of life and death found within it is a good thing in my book.

After I completed the imposition on all my parishioners I was the only one without ashes on my forehead. I knelt before the youngest member of our group and this six-year old solemnly blessed me with the sign of the cross and a murmured "You are dust."

One of my wonderful moments was returning home late in the evening from services to hear, to my great surprise, that a presidential debate had been going. That some of the world stopped in the midst of all the daily hurly-burly of life to mark the moment and receive the ashes, and some didn't stop. I'm not saying the latter group isn't holy or worthy; I just mean that somehow it struck me as poignant in a way I can't really explain.

Torey Lightcap