Ash Wednesday

Neither my husband nor I had ever celebrated Ash Wednesday until a few years ago. It was just not part of the Easter celebration in any of the churches we attended until we went to Redeemer. The first year we decided to attend we sort of sat through the liturgy (which was also a new concept for us) not knowing what to do with ourselves. When it came time to receive ashes, we weren't totally sure if we should do it or not.

I wrestled with my heart motivations. Was I doing it to look holy to others? Was I doing it to blend in at Redeemer? Did I want to try this new thing just for the sake of having the experience? After spending time praying, both Mark and I decided to receive ashes. If you are not familiar with this, receiving ashes is when the pastor looks at you and says “Remember that dust you are, and to dust you shall return,” which comes from Genesis 3:19. He then dips his finger in ashes and makes a cross on your forehead.

What happened next, I actually didn't expect. I had braced myself to do battle with my pride; to fend of any false claims of holiness that these ashes on my head could offer. But, to my astonishment, I felt humility.

Having these ashes on my forehead was at best... embarrassing. Not because there was a gray smudge on my head, but because that smudge spoke volumes. "I am incapable of saving myself." they mumbled. "I need...very deeply just NEED." the ashes whimpered. The mark on my head knowingly declared "I am more sinful than I will even admit to myself and I need to be rescued."

When one symbol says all of those very intimate and painful things, you sort of just want to hang your head...to hide. By God's blessing, I looked around me and I saw the ashes on everyone else too. Their ashes said the same things. In moments like those I get a rare glimpse of what heaven might be like.