sound the alarm on my holy mountain!
Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble,
for the day of the LORD is coming, it is near-
a day of darkness and gloom,
a day of clouds and thick darkness!
Like blackness spread upon the mountains
a great and powerful army comes;
their like has never been from of old,
nor will be again after them in ages to come.
Yet even now, says the LORD,
return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the LORD, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love,
and relents from punishing.
Who knows whether he will not turn and relent,
and leave a blessing behind him,
a grain offering and a drink offering
for the LORD, your God?
Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast;
call a solemn assembly; gather the people.
Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged;
gather the children, even infants at the breast.
Let the bridegroom leave his room,
and the bride her canopy.
Between the vestibule and the altar
let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep.
Let them say, "Spare your people, O LORD,
and do not make your heritage a mockery,
a byword among the nations.
Why should it be said among the peoples,
'Where is their God?'"
Hypocrite and Slanderer
Franz Xaver Messerschmidt, ca. 1780
My dear friends,
Today we gather to reflect on a text that resonates profoundly across traditions, religions, and cultural boundaries. From the Book of Joel, we encounter the call for repentance, the invitation to return with all our hearts to the divine, the compassionate source of all being. This call, issued in moments of turmoil and darkness, serves as a significant reminder for us today.
When we read, "Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain!", it is a wake-up call. Like the resonating chime of a Tibetan bell in meditation, it stirs us from our unconscious patterns of harmful actions, and invites us to awaken. It invites us to confront the harsh realities that may be encroaching upon us, the days of "darkness and gloom, of clouds and thick darkness".
These words may evoke in us a sense of fear or trepidation, of foreboding, for they remind us of the consequences of our collective and individual actions. If we interpret this not just as a prophecy but also as a reflection of the law of karma, we can see that our harmful actions—our ignorance, our greed, our destructive anger—can result in collective suffering. Like a great and powerful army, our negative karma can seem overwhelming and unbeatable.
Yet, my dear friends, this is not a message of despair, but of hope and transformation. For even in the midst of such gloomy portents, the Lord says, "Yet even now, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning." This is a call for change, for genuine remorse and repentance, for transformation.
The beauty in this verse lies in its call for inner change. "Rend your hearts and not your clothing." The emphasis is not on the outward expression of remorse but on genuine internal transformation. The external act of fasting, weeping, mourning is but a reflection of our internal spiritual work. It is a call to purify our hearts, to release our attachment to negative thoughts, emotions, and actions, and to cultivate instead love, compassion, and wisdom.
The text assures us that the divine source, the 'LORD', is "gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing." In the Buddhist tradition, we talk about our intrinsic Buddha-nature, the potential for enlightenment inherent in every sentient being. This is akin to the loving, merciful nature of the divine source. It is a call to awaken our Buddha-nature, our compassionate and wise self, which is obscured by layers of delusion and ignorance.
In response to this call for transformation, the text instructs us to "Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly." Here, we see a call for collective action. It emphasizes the importance of the community in effecting transformative change. It speaks of collective repentance, of collective transformation. We are not alone on this spiritual path; we are interconnected, and our collective actions and intentions can have a profound impact on the world.
"Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep. Let them say, 'Spare your people, O LORD, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, 'Where is their God?''" Here, we see a plea for divine compassion, a reminder that the transformative path involves both human effort and divine grace.
On this Ash Wednesday, let us heed this call for repentance, this invitation to return wholeheartedly to our divine source. Let us take up the spiritual work of fasting, weeping, and mourning—not merely as external acts, but as genuine expressions of internal transformation. And let us remember the importance of collective action, of working together as a community, a Sangha, to bring about change. For in the end, my dear friends, the journey of transformation is not one we undertake alone, but together, guided by compassion and wisdom.