Lenten Reflections

Icons and Ashes

When the appliance repair man pulled a small lump of debris out of the washing machine filter, I sorted through it and found that it was mostly just lint, along with a nickel, a penny, and a piece of corroded metal about the size of a quarter. The latter had a four-leaf shape and seemed to be etched with images, so I got my photographer’s loupe and gave it a closer look. Sure enough, each of the leaves bore an image: Jesus, Mary, Saint Joseph and Saint Christopher. In the middle was a dove.

What I found was one of the many religious medals that my late wife Debra carried in her pocket during her lifetime as a devout Catholic. Finding it brought reminders of a faith that was stronger than most, and it raised thoughts about icons and spiritual practices.

Growing up in the Baptist church, I didn’t have much exposure to religious symbolism. Historically, Baptists have shied away from visual symbols in our worship spaces. We don’t want anything to come between us and God – or to become an object of worship in itself, as is the common misconception.

I learned from Debra that these symbols and icons are not objects of worship. Seeing them and touching them helps focus our thoughts on Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I know the medal I found was lost during the height of Debra’s illness. And I know it was a touchstone that led to prayer and trust, and not a lucky charm to ward off death.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and I appreciate how Wilshire is among Baptist churches that have embraced the practice of rubbing ashes on the forehead. There is no magic or medicine in the doing; there is only reflection and remembrance. The ashes represent the dust from which we come and the dust to which we return. And etched on our forehead in the shape of a cross, the ashes remind us of Christ’s sacrifice that turned dust into life.

If you have not participated in this tradition, consider letting go of your inhibitions to be marked with this wearable icon. Feel the cross being etched on your skin, touch the mark as it becomes dry and rough, see the cross when you look at yourself in the mirror. Every time you become aware of that presence, focus on what Christ’s sacrifice means to you.

As for the little medal I found, the more I held it the more it crumbled. Like ashes, it reminded me of the brevity of this life and the faith that there is more to come. Rather than toss it into a wastebasket, I buried it at the base of the new camellia bushes we are nursing through the winter. There’s no spiritual magic in that – I’m not expecting huge blossoms next winter – but I’m thinking the iron in the medal might provide some welcome fertilizer as the plant grows. And that is what ashes and icons can do: nurture our spiritual growth.