For Wilshire Baptist Church
Confession: I dread Ash Wednesday services. Not because of the darkness it calls up; not because of the “coming from dust and returning to dust” message. I can deal with that looming reality most of the time. No, I dread Ash Wednesday services because of the actual ashes. I don’t like having oily grit rubbed on my forehead, flakes of it sometimes falling onto my shirt, the feeling of dirt on my forehead as I leave, and the stares I get if I go somewhere afterward.
Feeling “dirty” like that goes against my most basic sensibilities. I grew up in a household where everything was in its place, and where spills were quickly cleaned up. Dirty dishes were not left in the sink, vacuum cleaners and brooms moved through rooms with regularity, and we certainly didn’t walk around with dirt on our faces. My father worked hard in the yard every week and was quick to shower afterward and not spread debris through the house. The rules were the same for us kids and that stuck with me. We never did ashes at the church where I grew up, so I don’t know what my father would have done about that.
Be that as it may, on Wednesday we went to the noon Ash Wednesday service at Wilshire led by Brianna, John and Jeff. It was reverent and thoughtful as you would expect. I heard the words about dust and mortality and took them in, and then I stood in line and received the ashes. We left in silence as we were instructed, but as we drove home, I could feel the ashes drying and cracking on my forehead. I spun out an excuse about having a patch of eczema on my forehead, which I do, and how the ashes irritate that, which it does, but that was mostly a convenient alignment of events. I really just wanted to clean up, and that’s what I did.
Later, watching the late local news on television, one of the anchors had ashes on his forehead and I was torn between admiring him for being more dedicated than me and thinking he was just showing off like we’re told in the scriptures not to do. I don’t know if one thought makes me a bad Christian or the other makes me a good Christian.
I think it mostly just makes me human: self-conscious, self-absorbed, vain, superficial, too easily embarrassed, and overly fussy about things that don’t really matter. And maybe that’s the not-so-hidden message of Ash Wednesday: We are very human and we’re encumbered by that. We can’t separate ourselves from ourselves enough to see the bigger, spiritual picture. We need the Christ of Easter, who was fully God and fully human, to guide us through this gritty, dirty life and get us safely to whatever comes on that day when we return to where we started and arrive at where we are headed.