Tag Archives: Ash Wednesday

Please Explain the Ashes

Last night I arrived home with a dirty forehead and an ashy-black left thumbnail. Serving the church can be messy business! My thumb reminded me of my dad’s hands when I was growing up – grease settled into the lines of his palms, framing his nails after decades of fixing vehicles.

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything?

Ash Wednesday, in my experience, draws a crowd. Perhaps deep down we all know we are the broken ones who need fixing. We have fixed our attention here, there, and everywhere but on the simple mercy of Jesus Christ. We have broken our bodies and our spirits by trying to keep up with a fast-moving conveyor belt of fake promises.

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything? Please explain the ashes.

To the little ones, I would say: “These ashes remind you that you belong with Jesus forever.”

To the teenagers, I would say: “These ashes assure you that nothing you do can undo Christ’s eternal love for you.”

To the young adults, I would say: “These ashes ground you in an unending relationship with God amid the uncertainty of life.”

To the middle aged, I would say, “These ashes speak of the fragility of life and your temporary place in it. Christ’s death takes away the ending of your life story.”

To those in the last third of life, I would say, “Your forehead has worn these ashes so many times. By now you have seen me trace this cross above the graves of so many people you love. It’s time for you to be the teacher by the way that you live: hold tightly to God’s eternal love and loosely to your earthly life.”

But to keep things simple, we say the same words to the baby with a brand-new forehead that we say to the elder with the crumpled-up forehead: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything?

Absolutely yes.

The ashes smeared on your forehead fix your broken self with the healing grace of God’s promise:

This life is only for now and not forever. Your life with Christ, however, is both for now and forever.

Unlike the fake promises that come at you in ads, in that nagging voice in your head, in the endless ways we compare ourselves with others, God’s promise to be faithful is Gospel truth. It is an unbreakable promise for the broken ones to fix our attention where it belongs. Remember you are dust. To dust you shall return.

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

Everything is Fake

Late last night, my daughter and I flew home from a lovely vacation with my mom in New York City. It was so great! The city resembles the kingdom of God, just as Elizabeth Passarella describes it. Every kind of people reside within the five boroughs. Elbow-to-elbow, they share sidewalks, subway trains, and tiny apartments. I squeezed my eyes shut while vehicles squeezed around remarkably tight corners, narrowly missing bikers and pedestrians.

Thousands of religions are represented in the city. In Times Square, we listened to the Muslims chant the mysterious Ramadan prayers. Skull caps and head coverings move through the crowds. Today, my Manhattan friend, Pastor Marsh pointed out, the Christians will be visible with their ashy crosses.

To witness New York City is to see the kingdom of God at work. We are not intended to be a nation of Christians, but a nation of God’s people reflecting God’s limitless glory.

On this Ash Wednesday, I am drawn to a particular story from our trip. We spent much of one day on a bus tour to see some of the major sights that one must see in New York City.

The city that holds every kind of people also holds people with sketchy intentions. We drove by perfectly lined up purses on the sidewalk. Nearby were women with black coats and black bags. Next to them were young men selling AirPods.

“Everything is fake,” our snarky tour guide translated the scene for us. “Those purses,” he explained, “just look closely before buying. The purse might say ‘Couch.’ See the woman with the bag? She will tell you her best handbags are in a building down the street. And who knows what you might buy. Oh, and the box with the AirPods just might be empty.”

He had been a detective once, he explained as he went on to identify a number of other scams we might encounter.

Everything is fake, we remember on Ash Wednesday. The handbags that make us feel as though we have arrived; the purchases that appear to be a good deal when they are no more than an empty box.

Everything is fake. The skincare products that promise to keep us young; the news that convinces us to fear our neighbor; the abundant salary that tricks us into a job we know will leave us miserable.

Everything is fake. The snake in the garden. The voice in our heads that whispers we will never fit in. The machine you work for that never ceases to demand more of you.

Everything is fake. Except for…

the ashy cross someone will draw on your forehead today. This is not fake. It is real. It is as real as the death of Christ for you, as real as God’s promise that you belong to God for all eternity. In fact, the cross is a symbol of the very real promise that no matter how many times you get tricked by the Couch purse or the snake in the garden, you have been claimed forever by the God who remains genuinely faithful.

Photo by Andreas Niendorf on Unsplash

It’s Too Cold for Ash Wednesday

In much of the upper Midwest, we may as well crawl into our deep freezers. This is ridiculous. It is so cold, ashes tossed into the crisp, fresh air will turn into icicles. It is too cold for Ash Wednesday.

There are other things to do than go to a church building to be smeared with ashes. It is too busy a time for Ash Wednesday.

It is an unpopular idea to remember our mortality, to name the false promises of our lives, and to admit we need help. It is too hard to face Ash Wednesday.

Yes, it is too cold, too busy, and too hard to face Ash Wednesday. However, there is something on your face that already has. The invisible reminder on your forehead is made visible in the smearing of ashes. Only on this day each year when you do the work of cleaning off the ashes can you see that Christ has already broken into our cold hearts, our busy schedules, and our hard and complicated lives.

Christ has left his mark of mercy on you.

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

The Week Before the Ashes

‘Tis the week before Ash Wednesday, and all through the churches, pastors and deacons are scurrying about!

They locate the burnt, pulverized palm branches and remind each other not to mix ashes with water. On Ash Wednesday, we smear ashes where they can be seen and say out loud what is meant to be left unsaid: “From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.”

In one week, the word will be out. You cannot buy your way out of death, or schmooze your way, or overpower your way. No matter what you have or who you are, no matter the power you have accumulated or the reputation you have earned, your composition matches everyone else’s. You are dust.

This is bad news for those who have multiple homes and multiple savings accounts. Bad news for those who have worked their way to the top. Bad news for those who can buy a younger face or a great, big boat. Bad news for those whose dreams are made of plastic or steel or engineered wood siding. Dust dirties our dreams.

And yet, this is good news for everyone else. For those who have no home, who have no work, who have a leathery face and no boat. For those who have wrecked their reputation, lost their way, and tasted the dust of despair. These beloved know quite well that life is dust and therefore we are dust.

From the dusty and despairing, the rest of us might learn to let go. You are dust, and therefore your life is not your own. You are dust, beloved dust, with a dusty future that entails none of what you own, none of what you did, none of what you wrecked. Dust is a pile of forgiveness smeared on your forehead.

‘Tis the week before Ash Wednesday. Already you are dust. Good news abounds.

Photo by Zach Lucero on Unsplash