How is it With Your Soul?

Posted on February 18, 2026 by Jim Pitsenberger

Philip Roth wrote a novel set in the 1990s, The Human Stain, being the last of a trilogy on American life. It looks at the messiness of human existence, and how, in finality, there are no complete remakes, no ultimate do-overs. The American myth of self-reinvention is just that – a myth. In many ways, we’re stuck with who we are. And this year we feel so stuck.

I’m reminded of a high school friend telling me the story of his first and last motorcycle ride. Several of us were standing around at my good friend Jerry Weisner’s house talking big bikes when he told us why he didn’t ride one anymore.

He had come to a friend’s house to admire his new Harley-Davison and the friend asked if he wanted to try it out. Of course, he knew how to ride it. What kind of sissy did his friend think he was, anyway? Of course, he knew! Though he did have some considerable trouble in getting it fired up.

As he listened to the deep bass of the muffler, revving the engine, he popped the clutch accidentally. The bike shot across the street at very high speed. Jumped the curb and roared across a neighbor’s front lawn on the opposite corner. When he came to, he was lying sprawled out on the remnants of a coffee table in the front room. Cut to ribbons. Shards of broken glass and lamps all around. Did I mention blood? Lots of it.

When a hysterical woman ran in screaming, my friend said that all he could mumble was, “Lady, I’ve really screwed myself up.” Although “screwed” was not the word he used.

My friend’s plight vividly describes our situation, personally and nationally.

As Ricky Ricardo, upon coming home to the latest domestic disaster, would, in exasperation upbraid Lucy, “Lucy, you’ve got a lot of ‘splaining to do”. We all do. And life is short. Eventually, ashes to ashes we all end up.

O Lord, teach us to number our days that we might get a heart of wisdom.

We’re cooking the planet. We in America are awash in a sea of guns. Poverty stalks the streets of our cities and rural countryside. You know the litany. Got a lot of ‘splaining to do. And then there are our personal failings: lethargy, our half-truths, pretended helplessness, frivolity, cowardice — pretending that the evil all about us is none of our concern.

What’s left? What’s left is an opportune time for some deep soul searching. Taking a moral inventory.

As we receive these ashes, let us remember that we are but a moment of sunlight fading on the grass. In the passages we read in these forty days, we are again presented with the opportunity to allow them to sink deeply into our being.

During these forty days we are presented with the opportunity to allow the Spirit to move us beyond ourselves, to move us to something greater, something of eternity.

Time to take stock.

What’s left is “in the meantime.” Only to come before our Maker with the words of that old gospel song: “It’s me, It’s me, It’s me, O lord. Standing in the need of prayer.”

Answered with another hymn: “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy like the wideness of the sea.”

In and through faith we find restoration. We are lifted beyond the muck and distracting voices that we might hear that “Still, Small Voice.” This is what a Holy Lent is all about.

As we pray every Sunday, “It’s in giving that we receive, and in dying that we’re born to eternal life.” In the Christ let loose in creation, we also shall rise. Amen.”