Over my years of ministry, I have learned that Ash Wednesday
is one of the holiest and most profound holidays for a pastor. The very act of
smudging ashes on a person creates moments of great humanity. There are the practical
aspects of the act, such as navigating glasses, hairstyles, and the way a
little bit of ash can go a really long way on a human face. These details pale
in comparison to the real power of the ashes, which has everything to do with
the people themselves.
Speaking the words “remember you are dust, and to dust you
shall return” to people whose burdens you know well is hugely affecting.
Speaking those same words to persons about whom you haven’t got a clue reminds
a pastor that God’s grace isn’t reliant on the pastor at all.
Tell your own child as you smudge ashes on them, “Remember
that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” and you’ll be unable to
parent in the same way again. (At least through dinnertime.) Ditto for spouses.
You will see the people you love most with new eyes when the ashes on your
thumb match the ashprint on their foreheads.
More than once, I have looked into the eyes of a parishioner
while saying those words, and both of us have known with certainty that before
the year is out I’ll be saying “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” over them in a
cemetery. The raw, aching honesty of those moments remains a part of me.
The ashes are only the first stop. Directly behind me and my
bowl of ashes is the Lord’s table, where the body and blood of Christ await. After
all, Christ himself knew all about ashes and death. The deepest ash heap is
nothing compared to the grace and hope found in Christ, and we cannot receive
the ashes without receiving the gift of bread and cup and hope.
I can't help but look at my last week through the lens of Ash Wednesday. Some of you may be aware that I’ve been endorsed as a candidate for a
different position come July. As part of
that process, I was blessed to participate in a wide variety of conversations (okay, well, "interviews") last
week with a whole bunch of people who are working diligently for the future of
the UMC.
I am deeply appreciative of all of their hard work, because
we’ve got to get this crucial moment in the life of our denomination right. But
on this Ash Wednesday, I’ll have the responsibility and privilege of speaking
to my people about the realities of their souls. When they come forward for the
ashes, their main concern in those moments will not be on the future of the
UMC. Their focus this night will be inevitably on weightier issues of
mortality, faith, and hope. Their gaze will be over my shoulder to the
life-giving communion elements awaiting them.
“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Once you’ve heard that, nothing else matters more than the words, “The body and
blood of Christ, given for you.” For all of us working towards a renewed UMC,
my hope and prayer this Ash Wednesday is simply that the body of the UMC may continue
to be the body of Christ, broken yet life-giving, for an ash-smudged, hurting
world.
