Ash Wednesday marks the entrance into Lent. Typically, we’d participate in a worship service filled with time for reflection, repentance, and experience the imposition of ashes.
As a pastor, some of the most powerful ministry moments happen on occasions such as this. Reminding folks that they’re God’s beloved dust, knowing that you may officiate at their funeral, hear their hurts, baptize their babes, or sit with them in silence as they come to terms with life stuff. All of it. And marking a baby with an ashen cross? Whoa. Cuts right to the heart.
Post-imposition, the presider’s eye view reveals the stark sea of ashen foreheads. The ash penetrating the skin of our pastor thumbs, wedged into cuticle space, sticking with us long after the sending hymn. Humanity. Frailty. Finitude. In constant need of God’s grace, love, and mercy. Dust and all.
Why do you ash? What if you can’t get your ash in church or haven’t set foot in a church for much longer than a pandemic? God’s got you.
This year, consider other reminders of your dusty, broken, belovedness. Read Psalm 51 in a different version of the Bible than your usual go to. Spend extended time in prayer, conversing with the Creator. Take a walk. Observe your surroundings. What’s speaking to you?
My reminder today was road salt:
Salt spreaders scatter salt to keep the roads safe and clear.
God is clearing your path and protecting you along the way.
The salt makes a mess of my vehicle.
You are dusty just like that Honda, sister.
The windshield…I can’t see. No amount of washer fluid is going to fix this.
You see through your life experience filters. All will be revealed in God’s way and time. Besides, you have all the fluid you need: the waters into which you were baptized.
And now I’ve got salt all over my coat because I accidentally rubbed against my car.
You are dust, my beloved.
You are the salt of the earth.
You traveled in and exited the vehicle safely.
I called you. I claimed you. I named you beloved.
I’ve got you, now and forever.
Thanks for the reminder, God. Also thanks for car washes and constant care. Now let’s do Lent.
