Ash Heap Wednesday

“The Lord is exalted over all the nations, His glory above the heavens. Who is like the Lord our God, the One who sits enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth? He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap.” Psalm 113:4-7

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I was busy with my grandkids over the past five days and couldn’t get uninterrupted final thoughts until today. It’s a good thing the season of Lent is forty days!

“Ash Heap” time. Although I attended church since I was a teenager, I don’t recall ever being part of an Ash Wednesday service. I assumed it was a Catholic tradition only. I included the humorous picture above because, I too, wasn’t sure exactly what was placed on a person’s forehead. In fact, years ago, while I was substitute teaching, I noticed a “smudge” on our office manager’s forehead. Not knowing or keeping track of the liturgical calendar at the time, I thought she should know that she had a big ink smudge from the copier on her head. Her response was gracious, informing me that she had just attended a noon-time Ash Wednesday service. Oh dear! Was I embarrassed! From that time on I became more curious about this yearly practice and have read, sometimes devoured, all I can in the way of good Lenten devotionals.

One of the greatest delights I had in a ministry role was to introduce people to the season of Lent. In previous years there seemed to be an emphasis on Holy Week, but little on the details of Ash Wednesday and the forty days leading up to Easter. With the help of colleagues, we created an interactive service on Ash Wednesday where people could receive the ashes once they had gone through all the stations. (By the way, the ashes of the palm branches used in the previous year’s Palm Sunday service are to be the source of the present year’s ashes, which means someone had to hold on to the previous year’s branches and burn them to get them ready for this year. This feels mysterious and important, but I’m not exactly sure of the significance of this practice. I’m guessing it speaks to the burning of the old ways as a template for new life. Please correct me if that’s not accurate.)

I have very wonderful memories of the experiences I had during past Ash Wednesday events, especially in imposing the sign of the cross in ashes on participants’ foreheads: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” On one such occasion, the husband of someone who has become a dear friend came to the final station to receive the ashes. His wife, my friend, was unable to attend due to multiple chronic illnesses from which she still suffers. I knew a little about their situation at the time, and as I began to make the sign of the cross on her husband’s head and pray, I literally broke down and could barely regain composure. The dark valley this young family navigates on a daily basis made the significance of Lent ever profound to me. He was teaching me something by just showing up, one wounded pilgrim to another.

The cross speaks of unimaginable suffering and the great lengths Jesus went to heal our brokenness before God. He endured the cross for the generations before and those ahead of us, and He invites us to lean in and come to Him with the messy parts of ourselves. This is what Lent is about: acknowledging that we have a loving and gracious Savior who stays with us through the long haul; through the mysterious diseases that attack our bodies; through the heartache of loss and grief; through broken dreams and relationships; through choices we make that resist His love and mercy; in (daily) acts of confession and repentance. He came to rescue you and me from the ash heap and restore us with His presence, comfort, and peace. Oh, the depths of His love! His name for us? BELOVED.

Lent reminds us to be real and raw in our prayers, to cry out to Him for mercy and restoration; to come to Him for forgiveness and healing, compassion and hope. It’s also a time to be instructed on how to be a transformed and loving instrument of His healing and peace on behalf of others.

Be forewarned: The journey is bumpy, with surprising twists and turns if we are willing to be vulnerable and authentic before Him. We will bump up against our own inadequacies and failures, ways we resist His love and grace. As author and counselor Dan Allender pointedly puts it, “Humility comes from humiliation, not from the choice to be self-effacing or a strong urge to give others the credit. Humility comes only by wounds suffered from foolish falls. This is the terrible secret about leadership and life: we achieve brokenness by falling off our throne.”

I need Jesus now more than ever because I am learning, often through my own failures and stubbornness, of the importance of taking a deeper inventory of my soul and being willing to surrender my life to God daily. Will you join in this journey of lament and holy disruption? There is hope for our weary souls in this season. “Every need we share, every silent prayer, in Your hands, Lord, in Your hands.”

I’ll leave you with the prayer I prayed over every family who walked through the Ash Wednesday stations a few years ago. As I think of you, I too want to pray this over you as well. Written by Mary DeMuth, let her words wash over you during this season of reflection and growth:

Jesus, 

I pray for my family and friends. Would you woo them to Yourself? Would You bring peace into whatever chaos they find themselves in today? Would you show them how deeply and widely and wildly You love them? Remind them that You are there. You are available. You offer grace to approach You- no stern looks, no sighs of disappointment, no shaking of the head. Your arms, they are wide open, and Your embrace is always available. Take our friends on a journey to deepen their relationship with You. Empower them to run to You when life careens or hope wanes. Invigorate their prayer life. Move mountains. Unleash freedom. Heal wounds. Restore what’s been lost. Demonstrate Your love to them.

Thank you that You’re the empathetic Savior who understands what it’s like to walk this dusty earth, clay-footed. Thank you for making a way for them to be safe, forgiven, and welcomed-all because You left the glory of heaven for earth’s sin-scarred shore. Oh how You love them. Oh how they need You. Do something new in their hearts and may spiritual growth and freedom spring forth like a new river through a wild land.

 Amen and Amen.