I pulled my hair back this morning. Normally I wear it down, but long strands will sometimes flop down against my face, angling in such a way that it cuts right across my forehead.
Today, I swept my hair back. My forehead was bare.
At breakfast I told the kids I would be attending an Ash Wednesday service at a church near ours. The service was at noon, I said, so I would leave around 11:40 to get there. I assured them that it was not a biblical mandate to get the ashes and since our church doesn’t follow the custom, I saw no reason why they should feel obligated to attend; however, I would be delighted to have them join me. Did anyone want to go with me?
They turned me down. Well, one of the girls considered it, but ended up getting a babysitting gig. So I went to my first-ever Ash Wednesday service alone, worshiping with Lutherans at the church building directly across the street from ours.
In spite of my slow-down fast, I got a late start and parked far from the door. I ran through the light rain without bothering to open my umbrella. Apparently Lutherans start right on time, because by the time I was slipping into the sanctuary a mere three minutes late, they had already finished the opening remarks and pastor’s welcome, and were on the last lines of a hymn. I slid into a pew, set my purse down, and wiped beads of moisture from my forehead.
We followed a program with responsive readings, Scripture readings, hymns, and a children’s message about “I” being right in the middle of “prIde” and “sIn.” We heard a short sermon for adults, recited the Nicene Creed, prayed, confessed—kneeling—and said the Lord’s Prayer.
The ancient custom of applying ashes, they said, reminds us of the wages of sin; that we are dust and to dust we will return. The ashes remind us that our sins need to be removed by the grace of God in Christ Jesus.
We took communion first. Filing up, row by row, we were given the wafer, took a small cup of wine, and then presented our forehead or hand to the pastor for the “imposition of ashes.”
I presented my forehead; that is, I stood there in front of the pastor, my forehead wiped dry from the rain and swept clear of hair, a blank canvas for him to do his work of “imposition.”
As he smeared the ashes in the form of a cross, he said, “though you are dust, Jesus died for you.”
I walked back to my pew, glancing at others in the room bearing their crosses. This was a first for me, to see a room full of people living with the ashen cross on their person in this way, remembering their frailty, their sin, dust on dust.
The fidgety little boy in the row in front of me quieted when he noticed the mark on his mother’s forehead. He pointed, then leaned forward and poked it, smearing the mark. Who can blame him? It’s impossible to ignore.
When the service was over, I walked out the door and popped up the umbrella. I didn’t want the ashes to wash off yet. I wanted to live with them a while longer.
As it happens, I have worn my ashes all day and watched the kids glance up at the mark and smile. Though they missed the service, they can’t miss the symbol, the reminder, the cross.
Though I am dust, Jesus died for me.
Because I am dust, Jesus died for me.
Amen.
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Glynn Young wrote about Ash Wednesday, as well, at his blog Faith, Fiction, Friends. He wrote a poem, which begins:
I always envied my friends
who came to schoolthe day after Mardi Gras
with a smudged forehead,
a spot of ash or soot
index-fingered
upon skin to signify
what – exactly?
“On Ash Wednesday, we stare death in the face,” says Mark D. Roberts. Mark explains the Ash Wednesday tradition in depth at his post, “Ash Wednesday: Practice and Meaning” and offers a shorter reflection in his daily devotional today: “Remembering the Compassion of God on Ash Wednesday.”A
Credit: Image of Ann Kroeker’s Ash Wednesday forehead taken by Sophie Kroeker and edited by Ann Kroeker. Used with permission.
Lovely sequence here. God takes us just as we are, dust that we are. I’m celebrating the fact that He knows I’m dust.
I did create a link to this post at the Moonboat tonight.
I confess that I get a bit confused with all the buttons and linky things. But I can certainly put you in my list and I’m honored to have you there!
Thank you, Cassandra, for your sweet support and friendship!
Yes, we Lutherans start on time. 🙂
I am glad that you attended Ash Wednesday. I also recommend attending a Stations of the Cross service if you can find one.
Now I know! There are so many churches around these parts, surely I can find one? Do you think that would be most likely offered during a Good Friday service?
This was such a sweet post. Your children missed a wonderful event to learn more about church history! Loved your photo, and I could see you scampering through the rain to get to the church on time. A bad habit of mine is being late. I should give that up for Lent.
Thanks for connecting with me with this.
Ann,
I loved reading your account here. I was surprised by how many of us first timers are out there:) I wrote a similar account of my own first experience with ashes. Powerful! I’ve had them on all day (we did two services so I actually had them applied twice, after wiping off the first time!) Thank you for your insight. And for sharing it with is.
Grace and Love,
Cameron
How interesting to get a double-swipe! Thank you for your comment, Cameron.
Lovely post, Ann. I grew up in the Catholic church and remember Ash Wednesday well. I no longer practice the Catholic religion, but seeing a man at a restaurant today with his ashen forehead and now reading your post takes me back to the memories and church traditions I enjoyed in my youth. Part of me wanted to visit the nearby church with its noon bells ringing, to get the cross thumbed on my forehead. Not out of obligation, but out of honor to Jesus. Thanks also for sharing the great links!
p.s. – totally different note, but our family is returning to Indiana (Evansville). We’ll almost be neighbors! 🙂
Brock — I live just 20 minutes south of Ann, so I’m even closer to Evansville. Welcome back, neighbor!
That’s cool, Charity! I thought I read somewhere (High Calling, maybe?) that you also lived in Indiana. Good to know all the writers aren’t in Colorado. 🙂
Maybe we need a writers coffee sometime. What’s halfway between Evansville & Indy? Wait! I know what’s about halfway: Bloomington! And Bloomington is a fun place for writers to meet–shall we plan it?
Thanks for your note–that’s the heart of it for me, just a chance to experience something with Him…humbly.
Thanks for the mention, Ann.
One of these years, I’m going to get one of those sumdges on my forehead.
I think you should, with so many memories associated with it dating back to childhood!
Hi Ann,
Having been raised Catholic, I especially enjoyed your post. It’s amazing to me how many people are returning to the practice of observing Lent in some sense that draws them closer to the cross of Christ, closer to Him.
As our family has attended a different church for several years, I do not make it a regular practice to get ashes any longer. However, we still fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and do not eat meat. Amazing which things you hang onto. Of course, Communion will always hold a deeper meaning for me because of my Catholic roots.
I’m so glad I stopped by here tonight. It’s been a refreshing pause in the midst of my writing. My post today was on “denying yourself and taking up your cross” daily. A reflection on last night’s Women’s Bible Study by Cynthia Heald. If you get a chance, stop by and see what you think.
I’m also having a drawing for a copy of Ann’s book, “One Thousand Gifts.” It’s a way of celebrating my First Year of Blogging.
Lenten blessings to you,
Janis
I’m always interested in hearing from those who have lived with the practice much longer. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and background, Janis.
I LOVE this post…years ago, I was grappling with unforgiveness. I couldn’t believe God could forgive me…I was praying and reading Psalm 51, these verses have become a benchmark for me, Christ alone is my sufficiency, He alone is my righteousness, He alone delivers us and cleanses us from all our smut and grime. At that time I wiped ashes all over my face, I know, Jesus freak. I looked long and hard in the mirror and I wept.
The beauty of His forgiveness utterly disarms me, arrests me, delivers me.
I thank and praise Him.
Beautiful…thank you for this.
The mark is a visible sign of hopefully a pentitent heart.
May the ash always be visible in my life
Yes. Yes….that’s the heart of it.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Oh! So delighted to see you here!
Ann —
Your first ashes . . . I have yet to get mine, though with a littler more planning this could have been my first year, too. I love what the Pastor said as he made the mark – though you are dust, Jesus died for you. And I like your variation with BECAUSE. It’s hard to be dust. But I am so thankful God remembers and treats us as such. We dust people try to be more, try to be like God himself. But alas and always, dust.
Thanks again for joining up with There and Back Again. I did something a little different this week, too, as you know, so we have linked up with MANY friends at the High Calling between the two of us.
I loved your no-ash post!
I am certainly no expert in any of this , Ann.
But was there something incredibly humbling and beautiful about the first time I went to an Ash Wednesday service. I’m smiling that you did this.
Have you ever written about it on your blog? I’d love to hear your story.
Ashes were definitely not a part of my fundamentalist background. But now I take them. Almost like Peter when he said, not only my feet, my whole body. Just the words: “though you are dust, Jesus died for you” make me tearfully thankful. Am very glad you shared so eloquently about this.
Thank you for joining the conversation, Margie.