“I’ll have what she’s having.”

One day, when I was about eight years old, a classmate came to class with a gray smudge in the middle of her forehead. “You have a dirty spot on your face,” Suzie told her, reaching out to rub it off, “right there.” “No!” Theresa swatted her hand away, “Leave it! It has to stay there all day.”

The rest of us, surprised by this outburst from our mild-mannered friend, flocked together on the other side of the room, twittering in confusion. Anthony filled us in, “It’s Ash Wednesday. The priest puts those ashes on your forehead, and you’re not supposed to wash them off.”

Thus I was introduced to the practice of commemorating Ash Wednesday. It was a mysterious and fascinating notion: sacred dirt that couldn’t be removed. Who would have thought?

Where did the ashes come from? What did it mean? And why couldn’t I have a mark like that? After all, I was a Christian, too.

A “Catholic Thing”

At our next Sunday School class Mrs. Carroll and Mrs. Williams assured us that Jesus loved Protestant children just as much as he cared for little Roman Catholics (and maybe preferred us, but that was our secret). Because we were confident of that love, we didn’t need to make a public display of it — in fact, the Lord said that we should not do any such thing. To prove their point, they referred to this week’s Gospel lesson.

The matter was closed. The imposition of ashes was a “Catholic thing”: an unnecessary and flamboyant addition to Genuine Christianity. Like leopard-print steering wheel covers or a hula girl swaying on the dashboard, it was decorative rather than practical. It wouldn’t guide you on the road to heaven as reliably as the good solid Protestant road map (the Bible).

We didn’t need it, ought not to have it, and shouldn’t pay any attention to it. And yet ...

Hopes and Dreams

It is not necessary to mark ourselves as Christians on this first day of Lent. And yet there is something within us that cries out — a yearning to claim our place in the saga of salvation; to affirm that we would walk alongside Jesus “as he turned his face toward Jerusalem.” For now, as the days grow longer, the shadow of the Cross extends further into the life of our Lord.

We, who now are living, see what Jesus saw: we know, as he did, that his mission and ministry will lead him irrevocably to Calvary. Our hearts tremble, our spirits draw back in horror at the suffering that lies ahead. And yet the Lord Christ did not cease proclaiming the Gospel: he continued to declare God’s goodness and mercy, to bless and to heal, and to invite the faithful to follow him.

And of course we want to share a measure of that devotion. If only we could stand by his side, rejoice in his Presence ... if only we could bless and to heal as he promised his disciples would do. We would never deny him, never betray him, never abandon him.

We would be there for him and with him every step of the Way. Oh yes! We would do it, and gladly!

Until the centurions showed up.

A Reality Check

Who among us would willingly give ourselves over to our enemies? Who would face an angry tribunal, a hostile judge, a bloodthirsty crowd? Who would submit to abuse, scorn, and torture — to flogging, derision, and a lingering death by crucifixion?

Despite our claims and hopes, our fantasies and dreams, we would be no different from the disciples who fled in terror. Jesus did what we cannot do.

That is the grace and glory of Ash Wednesday. It is a celebration of what our Lord did, and a confession of what we cannot do. We repent in dust and ashes — for we are weak and weary mortals: inclined to sin and foolishness, often filled with fear or puffed up with conceit. We argue and squabble and insist on our own way. We hold grudges and cling to mindless prejudices. We snub and exclude, hate and berate. We are far from perfect, and yet we readily judge others and find them wanting.

On our own we would be nothing; merely “dust which returns to dust,” but through Christ we are renewed and redeemed. He has shown us the Way that leads to abundant life here and eternal life hereafter. He has taught us to love, to forgive, to bless, to heal. He has revealed that God’s kingdom is in the midst of us.

Sacred Dirt

An ashen smudge on our forehead marks us as those “set apart” — not as holier than our fellows, but as greater sinners with no cause to judge others, for we have been called to a higher standard. We have been called to be Christ-like but have fallen short in countless ways. We have much cause for sorrow and repentance for we have failed to do as Jesus taught. That truth should hit us “right between the eyes.”

And yet...

And yet this “sacred dirt” is also a cause for celebration. It is not a mark of shame, but a reminder that we have been blessed. Despite all that we have done and left undone — our “dirty secrets,” the smudges and stains on our souls — all is not lost. God’s love for us has made us worthy; and Christ’s teachings can make us holy.

The ashes are supposed to be washed off. It is God’s will that we be redeemed and restored to full life.

There is still time to follow the Lord.

A Holy Day

Ash Wednesday is the threshold of Lent; the starting point for sincere Christian witness. Whether or not we mark our foreheads with ashes, it is a day to confess our sins and shortcomings, and declare our need for forgiveness and mercy. And it is a day to testify to the marvelous and transforming good news of Jesus: God loves us with a deep and abiding passion and never gives up on us. It is never “too late.”

It is not to late for us to walk with the Lord, to be the bearers of the Good News that he proclaimed. There is still time for us to be his faithful witnesses: bringing compassion and mercy, healing and hope to everyone we meet.

That is the sacred, redeeming truth that permeates the celebration of Ash Wednesday. May it warm your heart and illuminate your soul every day.

Virtual hugs and real-time blessings,

Deborah +

This Week's Spiritual Exercise

“Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel.” ~ Mark 1:15